Den said indignantly: “Who decided that?”

“Ealdorman Wilwulf, of course.”

Den turned to Aldred. “This is Wynstan’s doing.”

Aldred nodded. “It will remind everyone of Wynstan’s high status as a bishop. They will be reluctant to convict him in front of the cathedral.”

Den looked at Ithamar. “He’s still guilty, and we can prove it.”

“He is God’s representative on earth,” said Ithamar, and he walked away.

Aldred said: “This may not be entirely a bad thing. Probably more townspeople will come to listen to the proceedings—and they’ll be against Wynstan: anyone who messes with the currency is unpopular, because it’s the town tradesmen who end up with dud coins in their purses.”

Den looked dubious. “I don’t suppose the feelings of the crowd will make much difference.”

Aldred was afraid he was right.

The townspeople began to gather, early arrivers securing places with a good view. People were curious about the contents of Den’s basket. Aldred told him to let them look. “Wynstan may try to prevent your showing the evidence during the proceedings,” he said. “Better if everyone sees it beforehand.”

A group gathered around them, and Den answered their questions. Everyone had already heard about the forgery, but seeing the precision dies, the perfect imitation coins, and the big cold lump of brown alloy made the whole thing real to them, and they were shocked all over again.

Wigbert, the captain of the sheriff’s men, brought the two prisoners, Cuthbert and Degbert, their hands tied and their ankles roped together so that they could not make a sudden dash for freedom.

A servant arrived carrying the ealdorman’s seat and its red plush cushion. He placed it just in front of the great oak door. Next, a priest set a small table beside the seat and placed on it a reliquary—an engraved silver container for the relics of a saint—on which people could swear.

The crowd thickened, and the air became heavy with the dunghill smell of unwashed people. Soon the bell tolled in the tower, announcing the court, and the magnates of the region—the thanes and senior clergy—arrived and stood around the ealdorman’s still-empty seat, pushing the ordinary townspeople back. Aldred bowed to Ragna as she appeared, and nodded to Edgar, who was beside her.

When the booming notes died away, a choir inside the church began a hymn. Den was furious. “This is a court, not a service!” he said. “What does Wynstan think he’s doing?”

Aldred knew exactly what Wynstan was doing. In the next moment the bishop came out through the great west door. He wore a white ecclesiastical robe embroidered with biblical scenes and a tall conical hat with fur trim. He was doing all he could to make it difficult for people to regard him as a criminal.

Wynstan walked to the ealdorman’s seat and stood beside it, eyes closed, hands folded in prayer.

“This is outrageous,” Den fumed.

“It won’t work,” Aldred said. “People know him too well.”

Finally Wilwulf arrived with a large escort of men-at-arms. Aldred wondered briefly why he had such a large bodyguard. The crowd fell quiet. Somewhere a hammer rang on iron as a busy blacksmith worked on despite the attraction of a big trial. Wilwulf strode through the crowd, nodding to the assembled magnates, and made himself comfortable on the cushion. He was the only person sitting.