“The seal.”

It hung from his left hand. The gold looked rich, the bands of precious stones sparkled as the jewel twisted on its chain. The Seal of St. Matthew. Ebenezer took it, almost reverently, to the table. He put it down.

Scammell stared at it as if, until this moment, he had doubted its existence.

Campion was half crouching, her back against the window-sill. She held her dress with both hands. At her feet was Mildred’s bloody fur.

Ebenezer stepped away from the table. The chain of the seal hung over the edge, swinging slightly. He smiled. “Who does it belong to?”

No one answered him. Behind Campion, below in the garden, a file of prisoners was marched toward the ruins of the gatehouse. The smoke of the explosion still lingered above the valley.

Ebenezer reached for the bed-hangings. The cords that had tied them had long been cut up for the matchlock musket fuses. He wiped his knife blade clean on the embroidered silk, sheathed the knife, then wiped his hands as if the bed-curtains were a towel. “I asked who it belonged to?”

Scammell’s armor scraped harshly as he turned to look at Ebenezer.

Ebenezer rubbed his hands together fastidiously. “Is it yours, Brother Scammell? Or is it mine? I thought we were brothers-in-law.”

Scammell said nothing.

“Come, Brother Scammell!” Ebenezer made his voice hearty. “She’s your wife, is she not? Do you not want her? She’s pretty enough. She may not be a virgin, of course, but she’s still your wife. Don’t you want to beget heirs? Shall not the tribe of Scammell inherit the earth?”

Scammell licked his lips. Frowned.

Ebenezer put his hand on the collar of Scammell’s leather jerkin. It seemed to rest there in a friendly manner. “If she’s your wife, brother, then the seal is yours. Don’t you want it? The bitch has burned your business down, at the very least you can take her money. Go on! Take her!” He pulled at the collar, yanking upward. “Go on! Move!”

The harshness of the command rather than the pull on his collar made Scammell jerk upright. He seemed to have no volition of his own. He was terrified of Ebenezer, as he was terrified of the soldiers sent by Sir Grenville who waited outside the door. He looked at Campion, crouched by the window, and he licked his lips.

Ebenezer pushed him. “Go on, brother. Claim your bride! Claim the seal! Think what I do for you? I could take it myself, but those whom the Lord hath joined together, let no man part asunder.”

Scammell’s lips parted in a silent, automatic “amen.” He was breathing heavily, fear on his face, but he stumbled toward Campion in the window, Ebenezer’s hand still on the collar that protruded above his backplate. He walked clumsily, the flanges on his thighs scraping.

Ebenezer smiled. “You do want her, brother, don’t you?”

“Brother Slythe?” Scammell found his tongue and turned nervously to his tormentor.

“Look! Look!” Ebenezer lashed out with his right foot, holding his balance by gripping on Scammell’s collar. “Look!” His foot lashed into Campion’s face, bruising her, forcing her to cover her face with her hands. The dress fell open, showing her naked breasts and Ebenezer pushed down with his hand. “Look at her! Don’t you want her?”