Aldred nodded. “He sent Ithamar to threaten Edgar with eviction, but Edgar persuaded Ragna to promise him a farm if necessary, so he’s solid now.”

“And I gather you prevailed in chapter.”

“Wilwulf tried to bully Abbot Osmund, but in the end the chapter backed me, just.”

“Wynstan isn’t liked in the religious community. He brings them all into disrepute.”

“There’s a lot of interest in this case, not just in Shiring. There will be several bishops and abbots present, and I would expect them to support us.”

Den offered Aldred more ale. Aldred declined, but Den took another cupful.

Aldred said: “How will Wynstan be punished?”

“One law says that a forger’s hand should be cut off and nailed over the door to the mint. But another prescribes the death penalty for forgers who work in the woods, which might include Dreng’s Ferry. And anyway judges don’t always read the books of law. Often do as they please, especially men such as Wilwulf. But we have to get Wynstan convicted first.”

Aldred frowned. “I don’t see how the court can fail to convict. Last year King Ethelred made every ealdorman swear an oath with his twelve leading magnates. They had to vow not to conceal any guilty person.”

Den shrugged. “Wilwulf will break that oath. So will Wigelm.”

“The bishops and abbots will keep theirs.”

“And there’s no reason why other thanes, unrelated to Wilwulf, should imperil their immortal souls to save Wynstan.”

“God’s will be done,” said Aldred.

CHAPTER 23

November 1, 998

uring the predawn service of Matins, Aldred’s mind wandered. He tried to concentrate on the prayers and their meaning, but all he could think about was Wynstan. Aldred had caught a lion by the tail, and if he did not kill the beast then it would kill him. Failure in court today would be a catastrophe. Wynstan’s revenge would be brutal.

The monks returned to bed after Matins, but got up again soon afterward for Lauds. They crossed the courtyard in the cold November air and entered the church shivering.

Aldred found that every hymn, psalm, and reading had something in it that reminded him of the trial. One of today’s psalms was number seven, and Aldred chanted the words with feeling: “Save me from them that persecute me, and deliver me, lest he tear my soul like a lion.”

He ate little at breakfast but drained his cup of ale and wished for more. Before the service of Terce, which was about the Crucifixion, Sheriff Den knocked on the abbey door, and Aldred put on his cloak and went out.

Den was accompanied by a servant carrying a basket. “It’s all in there,” he said. “The dies, the adulterated metal, the false coins.”

“Good.” Physical evidence could be important, especially if someone was prepared to swear to its authenticity.

They headed for the ealdorman’s compound, where Wilwulf normally held court in front of the great hall; but as they passed the cathedral, they were stopped by Ithamar. “The trial will be held here,” he said smugly. “At the west door of the church.”