His son. His boy. That is it. That was why the threat had carried such weight. Thomas stands in silence, as must a canon of St Gilbert, and the Prior dares not look at him as he speaks. Riven claps his hands together over the fire as the flames begin to pick up around the logs.

‘Well?’ the Prior asks. ‘Is there anything you have to say?’

Thomas can hardly speak.

‘It is a lie,’ he manages.

Riven smiles.

‘You accuse me of falsehood?’ he asks.

Thomas can think of no answer that will not directly insult him and make the situation graver yet.

‘Yes,’ he says at last.

‘Well, well,’ Riven says. ‘Well, well.’

The Prior opens his mouth to say something but seems unable to think of anything worthy, so closes it. The room seems to darken. Riven helps himself to more wine.

‘Let me tell you what will happen now,’ he says. ‘If my boy dies tonight then I will have Morrant – the big fellow out there – pluck out your eyes and rip out your stones at dawn tomorrow, then I shall have you burned to death, starting with your feet, and I will have this done in the very centre of your cloister for all your monks to see and smell.’

‘But, sir! He is a cleric,’ the Prior bleats, the least he can do. ‘He is in cloister. He must at least be tried in an ecclesiastic court.’

Riven flicks his wrist.

‘I have no time for your ecclesiastic courts,’ he says. ‘I am riding to join the Queen in Coventry and I will see this done by Mass tomorrow and then be gone.’

‘And if your boy lives?’ the Dean asks, sensing hope.

Riven pauses.

‘If my boy lives, well then that will be a happy occasion, and to celebrate his delivery I will have the satisfaction of a trial by combat. What do you say to that, Brother Monk? This I do to accord you the honour of dying like a man, and to prove to you, Father, that God’s justice will be done.’

The Prior opens and closes his mouth, can think of nothing to say, and turns to look at Thomas for a fraction of a moment. Then nods his head.

‘So be it,’ he whispers.

And just then the bell in the church tower rings again, a slow reassuring clap to signal all is well, and that order has been restored, but Thomas knows that in the space of less than a hundred beats of the heart, the Prior has condemned him to certain death.

‘And of course’ – Riven smiles – ‘I must keep my promise to those two sisters, mustn’t I, Brother Monk?’