Wynstan heard a voice he thought he knew. “There’s another entrance,” it said. “Through the main house.”

Who was that? The name came to him in a moment: Brother Aldred from Shiring Abbey.

Wynstan remembered telling his mother that Aldred was no threat.

“I will have him crucified,” Wynstan muttered.

Cuthbert was standing stock still, paralyzed by fright.

Wynstan looked around quickly. There was incriminating evidence everywhere: adulterated metal, illicit dies, and forged coins. It would be impossible to hide everything: molten metal in a red-hot crucible could not be tucked away into a chest. His only hope was to keep the visitors out of the workshop.

He stepped through the interior door that led into the minster. The clergy and their families were around the room, the men talking, the women preparing vegetables, the children playing. They all looked up suddenly when Wynstan slammed the door.

A moment later, Sheriff Den came in through the main entrance.

He and Wynstan stared at each other for a moment. Wynstan was shocked and dismayed. Aldred had clearly brought Den here, and there could only be one reason for that.

My mother warned me, Wynstan thought, and I didn’t listen.

He recovered his composure with an effort. “Sheriff Den!” he said. “This is a surprise visit. Come in, sit down, have a cup of ale.”

Aldred entered behind Den and pointed to the door behind Wynstan. “The workshop is through there,” he said.

They were followed in by two armed men Wynstan knew as Wigbert and Godwine.

Wynstan had four men-at-arms. Cnebba was guarding the outer door of the workshop. The other three had spent the night in the stables. Where were they now?

More of the sheriff’s men entered the minster, and Wynstan realized that it hardly mattered where his men were: they were hopelessly outnumbered. The wretched cowards had probably lain down their arms already.

Aldred strode across the room, but Wynstan stood squarely in front of the workshop door, blocking his way. Aldred looked at him but spoke to Den. “It’s in there.”

Den said: “Stand aside, my lord bishop.”

Wynstan knew he had no defense now but his rank. “Get out of this place,” he said. “It’s a priests’ house.”

Den looked around at the priests and their families, all staring silently at the confrontation. “It doesn’t look like a priests’ house,” said Den.

“You’ll answer for this in the shire court,” Wynstan said.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to the shire court, all right,” said Den. “Now stand aside.”

Aldred pushed past Wynstan and put his hand on the door. Wynstan, furious, punched Aldred’s face as hard as he could. Aldred fell back. Wynstan’s knuckles hurt: he was not accustomed to fisticuffs. He rubbed his right hand with his left.

Den made a gesture to the men-at-arms.

Wigbert approached Wynstan. The bishop was bigger, but Wigbert seemed more dangerous.

“Don’t you dare touch a bishop!” Wynstan said furiously. “You’ll bring God’s curse down upon yourselves.”

The men hesitated.