‘This vagrant, who stumbled upon the scene, promised he could bureaucratise away the murders so they accepted his shenanigans and lodged him in the position he now pretends to, and out of which he makes his monies. But once the townspeople repented, the liberalness of his blade and their own actions meant that they could have no recourse to any justice, they being so guilty themselves.’

Harold gasps and they all look at the man, even Mary, whose teary face is pale beneath the blood and who is shaking with either delirium tremens or fear. The man who was Ambrosio looks appealingly at de Flunkl.

‘My liege,’ he says. ‘I beseech you. Will you stand by and watch a good man slandered by the report of a woman? Let me call forth Colca and he will make sensible plea for me.’

Mary releases a wail that fills the room like another living body. ‘That devil,’ she screams, ‘forced me into strangeness with him out of wedlock. He said I would be torn at the roadside by bandit Gaels unless he protected me, and I humoured him as a wife for fear. He said either he took me, or every man in the town would. I only did so for my daughter, but even she he has stolen from me in gross and unspeakable violations. But I swear to you, I never saw him before last month, and furthermore …’

She points at the largest shroud.

‘… that sack is full of the mayor. Next to him lie his wife and his only son in their littler sacks. And if they do leave these properties there shall be no proofs against him, or this accursed town.’

She finishes, fainting back into William’s arms. The nameless man lunges forward as though to catch her, but is stopped by Harold, who steps in front of him. Harold is almost retching, overwhelmed, and then, almost immediately, he draws a breath and his face goes blank.

‘You speak of business with a wanted murderer who brings the estate of the king into disrepute,’ Harold says to de Flunkl.

Harold, silent and emotionless for the first time all day, walks slowly over to the sack, wrenches it firmly out of de Flunkl’s hand, leans over and begins searching within it.

‘Produce the paperwork for those corpses or you will hang by the law’s noose,’ Harold says, kneeling over the sack, peering into it, rooting around.

A mote of light crosses the room from the door, and the nameless man is perspiring so much he must blink his eyes. He raises his palms up.