Aldred found that every hymn, psalm, and reading had something in it that reminded him of the trial. One of today’s psalms was number seven, and Aldred chanted the words with feeling: “Save me from them that persecute me, and deliver me, lest he tear my soul like a lion.”

He ate little at breakfast but drained his cup of ale and wished for more. Before the service of Terce, which was about the Crucifixion, Sheriff Den knocked on the abbey door, and Aldred put on his cloak and went out.

Den was accompanied by a servant carrying a basket. “It’s all in there,” he said. “The dies, the adulterated metal, the false coins.”

“Good.” Physical evidence could be important, especially if someone was prepared to swear to its authenticity.

They headed for the ealdorman’s compound, where Wilwulf normally held court in front of the great hall; but as they passed the cathedral, they were stopped by Ithamar. “The trial will be held here,” he said smugly. “At the west door of the church.”

Den said indignantly: “Who decided that?”

“Ealdorman Wilwulf, of course.”

Den turned to Aldred. “This is Wynstan’s doing.”

Aldred nodded. “It will remind everyone of Wynstan’s high status as a bishop. They will be reluctant to convict him in front of the cathedral.”

Den looked at Ithamar. “He’s still guilty, and we can prove it.”

“He is God’s representative on earth,” said Ithamar, and he walked away.

Aldred said: “This may not be entirely a bad thing. Probably more townspeople will come to listen to the proceedings—and they’ll be against Wynstan: anyone who messes with the currency is unpopular, because it’s the town tradesmen who end up with dud coins in their purses.”

Den looked dubious. “I don’t suppose the feelings of the crowd will make much difference.”

Aldred was afraid he was right.

The townspeople began to gather, early arrivers securing places with a good view. People were curious about the contents of Den’s basket. Aldred told him to let them look. “Wynstan may try to prevent your showing the evidence during the proceedings,” he said. “Better if everyone sees it beforehand.”

A group gathered around them, and Den answered their questions. Everyone had already heard about the forgery, but seeing the precision dies, the perfect imitation coins, and the big cold lump of brown alloy made the whole thing real to them, and they were shocked all over again.

Wigbert, the captain of the sheriff’s men, brought the two prisoners, Cuthbert and Degbert, their hands tied and their ankles roped together so that they could not make a sudden dash for freedom.

A servant arrived carrying the ealdorman’s seat and its red plush cushion. He placed it just in front of the great oak door. Next, a priest set a small table beside the seat and placed on it a reliquary—an engraved silver container for the relics of a saint—on which people could swear.

The crowd thickened, and the air became heavy with the dunghill smell of unwashed people. Soon the bell tolled in the tower, announcing the court, and the magnates of the region—the thanes and senior clergy—arrived and stood around the ealdorman’s still-empty seat, pushing the ordinary townspeople back. Aldred bowed to Ragna as she appeared, and nodded to Edgar, who was beside her.

When the booming notes died away, a choir inside the church began a hymn. Den was furious. “This is a court, not a service!” he said. “What does Wynstan think he’s doing?”

Aldred knew exactly what Wynstan was doing. In the next moment the bishop came out through the great west door. He wore a white ecclesiastical robe embroidered with biblical scenes and a tall conical hat with fur trim. He was doing all he could to make it difficult for people to regard him as a criminal.

Wynstan walked to the ealdorman’s seat and stood beside it, eyes closed, hands folded in prayer.

“This is outrageous,” Den fumed.

“It won’t work,” Aldred said. “People know him too well.”

Finally Wilwulf arrived with a large escort of men-at-arms. Aldred wondered briefly why he had such a large bodyguard. The crowd fell quiet. Somewhere a hammer rang on iron as a busy blacksmith worked on despite the attraction of a big trial. Wilwulf strode through the crowd, nodding to the assembled magnates, and made himself comfortable on the cushion. He was the only person sitting.

The proceedings opened with the swearing of oaths. Everyone who was to be accused, accuser, or oath helper had to put his hand on the silver box and promise God that he would tell the truth, convict the guilty, and free the innocent. Wilwulf looked bored, but Wynstan watched carefully, as if he thought he might catch someone making an imperfect vow. He was normally careless of ritual details, Aldred knew, but today he pretended to be meticulous.

When it was done, Aldred felt Sheriff Den tense up, ready to begin his prosecution speech. But Wilwulf turned to Wynstan and nodded, and to Aldred’s astonishment Wynstan addressed the court. “A dreadful crime has been committed,” he said, his voice booming out in tones of deep sorrow. “A crime, and a terrible sin.”

Den stepped forward. “Wait!” he shouted. “This is wrong!”

Wilwulf said: “Nothing is wrong, Den.”

“I am the sheriff and I am here to prosecute this case. Forgery is a crime against the king.”

“You’ll have your chance to speak.”

Aldred frowned worriedly. He could not quite figure out what the two brothers were up to, but he was sure it was not good.

Den said: “I insist! I speak for the king, and the king must be heard!”

“I, too, speak for the king, who appointed me ealdorman,” said Wilwulf. “And now you will shut your mouth, Den, or I will shut it for you.”

Den put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Wilwulf’s men-at-arms tensed.

Aldred looked around swiftly and counted twelve men-at-arms with Wilwulf. Now he understood why there were so many. Den, who had not foreseen violence, had only Wigbert.

Den made the same calculation and took his hand off his sword.

Wilwulf said: “Carry on, Bishop Wynstan.”

This was why King Ethelred wanted courts to follow procedures, Aldred reflected; so that noblemen could not make arbitrary decisions as Wilwulf had just done. Opponents of Ethelred’s reform argued that rules made no difference, and justice was guaranteed only by having a wise nobleman use his judgment. The people who said that were usually noblemen.

Wynstan pointed at Degbert and Cuthbert. “Untie those priests,” he said.

Den protested: “They are my prisoners!”

Wilwulf said: “They are the court’s prisoners. Untie them.”

Den had to give in. He nodded to Wigbert, who undid the ropes.

The two priests looked less guilty now.

Wynstan raised his voice again so that all could hear. “The crime, and the sin, is forgery of the king’s currency.” He pointed straight at Wigbert, who looked startled. “Come forward,” Wynstan said. “Show the court what is in the basket.”

Wigbert looked at Den, who shrugged.

Aldred was mystified. He had expected Wynstan to try to conceal the physical evidence, yet here he was demanding that it be shown. What was he up to? He had made an elaborate pretense of innocence—but now he seemed to be prosecuting himself.

He took the objects out of the basket one by one. “The adulterated metal!” he said dramatically. “The pile. The trussel. The collar. And finally, the coins, half silver, half copper.”

The assembled magnates looked as puzzled as Aldred felt. Why was Wynstan underlining his own wickedness?

“And worse of all,” Wynstan cried, “these belonged to a priest!”

Yes, Aldred thought; they belonged to you.

Then Wynstan pointed dramatically and said: “Cuthbert!”

Everyone looked at Cuthbert.

Wynstan said: “Imagine my surprise—imagine my horror—when I learned that this foul crime was being committed under my very nose!”

Aldred’s mouth dropped open in shock.

There was a stunned silence in the crowd: everyone was astonished. They had all thought Wynstan was the culprit.

Wynstan said: “I should have known. I accuse myself of negligence. A bishop must be vigilant, and I failed.”

Aldred found his voice. He shouted at Wynstan: “But you were the instigator!”

Wynstan said sorrowfully: “Ah—I knew wicked men would try to implicate me. It’s my own fault. I gave them the opening.”

Cuthbert said: “You told me to forge money. I just wanted to make ornaments for the church. You made me do it!” He was crying.

Wynstan maintained his regretful expression. “My son, you think you will make your crime seem less if you pretend you were talked into it by your superiors—”

“I was!”

Wynstan shook his head sadly. “It won’t work. You did what you did. So don’t add perjury to your list of crimes.”

Cuthbert turned to Wilwulf. “I confess,” he said miserably. “I forged pennies. I know I will be punished. But the bishop dreamed up the whole scheme. Don’t let him escape blame.”

Wilwulf said: “Remember that false accusation is a serious matter, Cuthbert.” He turned to Wynstan. “Carry on, bishop.”