Wynstan smiled. Money for nothing, he thought. Few sights pleased him more.

Two things gave him joy: money and power. And they were the same, really. He loved to have power over people, and money gave him that. He could not imagine ever having more power and money than he wanted. He was a bishop, but he wanted to be archbishop, and when he achieved that he would strive to become the king’s chancellor, perhaps to be king; and even then he would want more power and money. But life was like that, he thought; you could eat your fill in the evening and still be hungry come breakfast time.

Cuthbert replaced the clay crucible in the fire and refilled it with another measure of mixed real coins and copper pieces.

While it was melting, he hammered the trussel again and popped out another penny.

“Fresh as a virgin’s tit,” Wynstan said appreciatively.

Cuthbert dropped the penny in the vitriol.

There was a sound from outside.

Cuthbert and Wynstan froze and listened in silence.

They heard the voice of Cnebba saying: “Go away.”

A young man’s voice said: “I’ve come to see Cuthbert.”

Cuthbert whispered: “That’s Edgar the builder.”

Wynstan relaxed.

Outside, Cnebba said: “Why do you want Cuthbert?”

“To give him an eel.”

“You can give it to me.”

“I can give it to the devil, but it’s for Cuthbert.”

“Cuthbert is busy. Now piss off.”

“And a very good day to you, too, kind sir.”

“Insolent dog.”

They waited in silence, but there was no more conversation, and after a minute Cuthbert resumed his work. He sped up, inserting the blanks and banging the trussel and popping the pennies out almost like a kitchen maid podding peas. The real moneyer, Elfwine of Shiring, working in a team of three, could produce something like seven hundred coins per hour. Cuthbert dropped the brown pennies in the acid and stopped his work every few minutes to retrieve the newly silvered coins.

Wynstan looked on, fascinated, hardly noticing the passage of time. The hard part, he reflected wryly, was spending the cash. Because copper was not as heavy as silver, the forged coins could not be used for any transaction large enough to require the money to be weighed. But Wynstan used Cuthbert’s pennies in alehouses and whorehouses and gambling dens, where he enjoyed spending freely.

He was watching Cuthbert lift the crucible of molten metal out of the charcoal a second time when his reverie was disturbed by another noise outside. “What now?” he murmured irritably.

This time Cnebba’s tone was different. Speaking to Edgar, he had sounded scornful; now he seemed startled and intimidated, causing Wynstan to frown uneasily. Cnebba said: “Who are you?” in a voice that was loud but anxious. “Where did you all come from? What do you mean by sneaking up on a man like that?”

Cuthbert set the crucible down on the workbench and said: “Oh, Jesus save me. Who is it?”

Someone rattled the door, but it was firmly barred.