Merthin ignored him and looked expectantly at Edmund.

Edmund was shamefaced. “It cannot be denied that the prior has the right. The guildsmen are financing the bridge by loans, but the prior is overlord of the town. This was agreed from the start.”

Merthin turned to Godwyn. “Do you have anything else to say to me, lord prior?” He waited, hoping in his heart that Godwyn would come out with his real demands.

But Godwyn said stonily: “No.”

“Goodnight, then.”

He waited a second longer. No one spoke. The silence told him it was all over.

He left the room.

Outside the building, he took a deep breath of the cold night air. He could hardly believe what had happened. He was no longer master of the bridge.

He walked through the dark streets. It was a clear night, and he could find his way by starlight. He walked past Elizabeth’s house: he did °ot want to talk to her. He hesitated outside Caris’s, but passed that too and went down to the waterside. His small rowing-boat was tied up opposite Leper Island. He got in and rowed himself across.

When he reached his house, he paused outside and looked up at the stars, fighting back tears. The truth was that in the end he had not outwitted Godwyn – rather the reverse. He had underestimated the lengths to which the prior would go to punish those who opposed him. Merthin had thought himself clever, but Godwyn had been cleverer, or at least more ruthless. He was prepared to damage the town and the priory, if necessary, to avenge a wound to his pride. And that had given him victory.

Merthin went inside and lay down, alone and beaten.

38

Ralph lay awake all through the night before his trial.

He had seen many people die by hanging. Every year, twenty or thirty men and a few women rode the sheriffs cart from the prison in Shiring Castle down the hill to the market square where the gallows stood waiting. It was a common occurrence, but those people had remained in Ralph’s memory, and on this night they returned to torment him.

Some died fast, their necks snapped by the drop; but not many. Most strangled slowly. They kicked and struggled and opened their mouths wide in silent breathless screaming. They pissed and shat themselves. He recalled an old woman convicted of witchcraft: when she dropped she bit right through her tongue and spat it out, and the crowd around the gallows had backed away in fright from the bloody lump of flesh as it flew through the air and fell on the dusty ground.

Everyone told Ralph he was not going to be hanged, but he could not get the thought out of his mind. People said that Earl Roland could not allow one of his lords to be executed on the word of a serf. However, so far the earl had done nothing to intervene.

The preliminary jury had returned an indictment against Ralph to the justice of the peace in Shiring. Like all such juries, it had consisted mainly of knights of the county owing allegiance to Earl Roland – but, despite this, they had acted on the evidence of the Wigleigh peasants. The men – jurors were never women, of course – had not flinched from indicting one of their own. In fact the jurors had shown, by their questions, some distaste for what Ralph had done, and several had refused to shake his hand afterwards.

Ralph had planned to prevent Annet testifying again, at the trial proper, by imprisoning her in Wigleigh before she could leave for Shiring. However, when he went to her house to seize her he found she had already departed. She must have anticipated his move and left earlier to foil him.

Today another jury would hear the case but, to Ralph’s dismay, at least four of the men had been on the preliminary jury too. Since the evidence on both sides was likely to be exactly the same, he could not see how this group could return a different verdict, unless some kind of pressure was put on the jurors – and it was getting very late for that.

He got up at first light and went downstairs to the ground floor of the Courthouse inn on the market square of Shiring. He found a shivering boy breaking the ice on the well in the back yard and told him to fetch bread and ale. Then he went to the communal dormitory and woke his brother, Merthin.

They sat together in the cold parlour, with the stale smell of last night’s ale and wine, and Ralph said: “I’m afraid they’ll hang me.”

“So am I,” said Merthin.

“I don’t know what to do.” The boy brought two tankards and half a loaf. Ralph picked up his ale in a shaking hand and took a long draught.

Merthin ate some bread automatically, frowning and looking upwards out of the corners of his eyes in the way he always did when he was racking his brains. “The only thing I can think of is to try to persuade Annet to drop the charge and come to a settlement. You’ll have to offer her compensation.”

Ralph shook his head. “She can’t back out – it’s not allowed. They’ll punish her it she does.”

“I know. But she could deliberately give weak evidence, making room for doubt. That’s how it’s usually done, I believe.”

Hope sparked in Ralph’s heart. “I wonder if she would consent.”

The potboy brought in an armful of logs and knelt before the fireplace to start a fire.

Merthin said thoughtfully: “How much money could you offer Annet?”

“I’ve got twenty florins.” That was worth three pounds of English silver pennies.

Merthin ran a hand through his untidy red hair. “It’s not much.”

“It’s a lot to a peasant girl. On the other hand, her family are rich, for peasants.”

“Doesn’t Wigleigh yield you much money?”

“I’ve had to buy armour. When you’re a lord you need to be ready to go to war.”

“I could lend you money.”

“How much have you got?”

“Thirteen pounds.”

Ralph was so astonished that for a moment he forgot his troubles. “Where did you get all that?”

Merthin looked faintly resentful. “I work hard and I’m paid well.”

“But you were sacked as master builder of the bridge.”

“There’s plenty more work. And I rent out land on Leper Island.”

Ralph was indignant. “So a carpenter is richer than a lord!”

“Luckily for you, as it happens. How much do you think Annet will want?”

Ralph thought of a snag, and his spirits fell again. “It’s not her, it’s Wulfric. He’s the ringleader in this.”

“Of course.” Merthin had spent a lot of time in Wigleigh while building the fulling mill, and he knew that Wulfric had married Gwenda only after being jilted by Annet. “Then let’s talk to him.”

Ralph did not think it would do any good, but he had nothing to lose.

They went out into the bleak grey daylight, pulling their cloaks around their shoulders against a cold February wind. They crossed the market place and entered the Bull, where the Wigleigh folk were staying – paid for, Ralph presumed, by Lord William, without whose help they would not have begun this process. But Ralph had no doubt that his real enemy was William’s voluptuous, malevolent wife, Philippa, who seemed to hate Ralph, even though – or perhaps because – he found her fascinating and alluring.

Wulfric was up, and they found him eating porridge with bacon. When he saw Ralph his face turned thunderous and he rose from his seat.

Ralph put his hand on his sword, ready to fight there and then, but Menhin hastily stepped forward, holding his hands open in front of him in a conciliatory gesture. “I come as a friend, Wulfric,” he said. “Don’t get angry, or you’ll end up on trial instead of my brother.”

Wulfric remained standing with his hands at his sides. Ralph was disappointed: the agony of his suspense would have been eased by a fight.

Wulfric spat a piece of bacon rind on the floor and swallowed, then said: “What do you want, if not trouble?”

“To make a settlement. Ralph is willing to pay Annet ten pounds by way of recompense for what he did.”