Den said: “A man as wicked as Wynstan can’t bring down God’s curse, even if he is a bishop.”

His scornful tone maddened Wynstan.

“Seize him,” said Den.

Wynstan moved, but Wigbert was faster. Before Wynstan could dodge, Wigbert grabbed him, lifted him off his feet, and moved him away from the door. Wynstan struggled in vain: Wigbert’s muscles were like ships’ ropes.

Wynstan’s rage became as incandescent as the metal in Cuthbert’s crucible.

Aldred darted into the workshop, with Den and Godwine right behind him.

Wynstan was still being held by Wigbert. For a moment he had no inclination to move. The experience of being manhandled by a sheriff’s officer had shocked him. Wigbert slightly relaxed his grip.

Wynstan heard Aldred say: “Look at this: copper to adulterate the silver, dies to counterfeit the king’s currency, and brand-new coins all over the bench. Cuthbert, my friend, what got into you?”

“They forced me,” said Cuthbert. “I only wanted to make ornaments for the church.”

Lying dog, Wynstan thought; you were eager for this work, and you got fat on the profits.

He heard Den say: “How long has that evil bishop had you debasing the king’s coinage?”

“Five years.”

“Well, it’s over now.”

Wynstan saw a river of silver coins change course and begin to flow away from him, and his fury boiled over. He pulled away from Wigbert with a sudden jerk.

Aldred was staring in astonishment at the sophisticated counterfeit factory that was Cuthbert’s workbench: the hammer and shears, the crucible in the fire, the dies and molds, and the pile of shiny, fake pennies; and at the same time he was rubbing his face where Wynstan had hit him, high on the left cheekbone; when he heard a roar of rage from Wynstan, followed by a surprised curse from Wigbert, and Wynstan charged into the workshop.

He was red in the face and there was spittle on his lips like the foam on the mouth of a sick horse. He was screaming obscenities like a lunatic.

Aldred had seen him angry but never like this: he appeared to have lost all control. Roaring with incoherent hatred, he hurled himself at Sheriff Den, who fell back against the wall, taken by surprise. But Den, who Aldred guessed must be experienced at this sort of thing, lifted one leg and kicked Wynstan hard in the chest, sending him lurching away.

Wynstan turned on Cuthbert, who cowered away. Then Wynstan grabbed the anvil and tipped it over, spilling tools and forged pennies.

Wynstan grabbed the iron-headed hammer and raised it high. There was murder in his eyes, Aldred saw, and for the first time in his life he felt he was in the presence of the devil.

Godwine bravely came at him. Wynstan changed his stance, drew back his arm, and swung the hammer at the crucible of molten metal standing on the work bench. The clay shattered and the metal sprayed.