Ralph was startled by the amount. Merthin would have to pay most of it – but he showed no hesitation.

Wulfric said: “Annet can’t withdraw the charge – it’s not allowed.”

“But she can alter her evidence. If she says that at first she consented, then changed her mind when it was too late, the jury wouldn’t convict Ralph.”

Ralph watched Wulfric’s face eagerly for a sign of willingness, but his expression remained stony, and he said: “So you’re offering her a bribe to commit perjury?”

Ralph began to despair. He could see that Wulfric did not want Annet to be paid money. Revenge was his aim, not compensation. He wanted a hanging.

Merthin said reasonably: “I’m offering her a different kind of justice.”

“You’re trying to get your brother off the hook.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same? You had a brother once.” Ralph recalled that Wulfric’s brother had been killed, along with his parents, when the bridge collapsed. Merthin went on: “Wouldn’t you try to save his life – even if he had done wrong?”

Wulfric appeared startled by this appeal to family feeling. Clearly it had never occurred to him to think of Ralph as someone with kinfolk who loved him. But he recovered after a moment and said: “My brother David would never have done what Ralph did.”

“Of course,” Merthin said soothingly. “All the same, you can’t blame me for wanting to find a way to save Ralph, especially if it can be managed without doing an injustice to Annet.”

Ralph admired his brother’s smooth way of talking. He could charm a bird out of a tree, he thought.

But Wulfric was not easily persuaded. “The villagers want to see the back of Ralph. They’re afraid he might do the same thing again.”

Merthin sidestepped that. “Perhaps you should put our offer to Annet. It should be her decision, surely.”

Wulfric looked thoughtful. “How could we be certain you would pay the money?”

Ralph’s heart leaped. Wulfric was softening.

Merthin replied: “We’ll give the cash to Caris Wooler before the trial. She will pay Annet after Ralph is declared innocent. You trust Caris, and we do too.”

Wulfric nodded. “As you say, it’s not my decision. I’ll put it to her.” He went upstairs.

Merthin let out his breath in a long sigh. “By heaven, there’s an angry man.”

“You talked him round, though,” Ralph said admiringly.

“He’s only agreed to pass on a message.”

They sat at the table Wulfric had vacated. A potboy asked them if they wanted breakfast, but they both refused. The parlour was full of guests calling for ham and cheese and ale. The inns were crowded with people attending the court. Unless they had a good excuse, all the knights of the shire were obliged to come, as were most other prominent men of the county: senior clergymen, wealthy merchants, and anyone with an income over forty pounds a year. Lord William, Prior Godwyn and Edmund Wooler were all included. Ralph and Merthin’s father, Sir Gerald, had been a regular attender before his fall from grace. They had to offer themselves as jurors and transact other business, such as paying their taxes or electing their Members of Parliament. In addition there was a host of accused men, victims, witnesses and sureties. A court brought a lot of business to the inns of a town.

Wulfric kept them waiting. Ralph said: “What do you think they’re talking about, up there?”

Merthin said: “Annet may be inclined to take the money. Her father would support her in that, and perhaps her husband, Billy Howard, too. But Wulfric is the type who thinks telling the truth is more important than money. His wife, Gwenda, will support him out of loyalty, and Father Gaspard will do the same on principle. Most importantly, they’ll have to consult Lord William; and he’ll do what Lady Philippa wants. She hates you, for some reason. On the other hand, a woman is more likely to choose reconciliation over confrontation.”

“So it could go either way.”

“Exactly.”

The patrons of the inn finished their breakfasts and began to drift out, heading across the square to the Courthouse inn, where the session would be held. Soon it would be too late.

At last Wulfric reappeared. “She says no,” he said abruptly, and he turned away.

“Just a minute!” Merthin said.

Wulfric took no notice, and disappeared again up the stairs.

Ralph cursed. For a while he had hoped for a reprieve. Now he was in the hands of the jury.

He heard the sound of a handbell being rung vigorously outside. A sheriff’s deputy was summoning all concerned to the court. Merthin stood up. Reluctantly, Ralph followed suit.

They walked back to the Courthouse and went into the large back room. At the far end, the justice’s bench stood on a raised dais. Although always called a bench, it was in fact a carved wooden chair like a throne. The justice was not seated, but his clerk was at a table in front of the dais, reading a scroll. Two long benches for the jurymen stood to one side. There were no other seats in the room: everyone else would stand wherever he wished. Order was maintained by the power of the justice to sentence instantly anyone who misbehaved: no trial was necessary for a crime that the judge had himself witnessed. Ralph spotted Alan Fernhill, looking terrified, and stood beside him without speaking.

Ralph began to think he should never have come here. He could have made an excuse: sickness, a misunderstanding about dates, a horse lamed on the road. But that would only have brought him a postponement. Eventually the sheriff would come, with armed deputies, to arrest him; and if he evaded them he would be declared an outlaw.

However, that was better than hanging. He wondered if he should flee now. He could probably fight his way out of the tavern. But he would not get far on foot. He would be chased by half the town, and if they did not catch him the sheriff’s deputies would follow on horseback. And his flight would be seen as an admission of guilt. As things stood, he still had a chance of acquittal. Annet might be too intimidated to give her evidence clearly. Perhaps key witnesses would fail to show up. There could be some last-minute intervention by Earl Roland.

The courtroom filled up: Annet, the villagers, Lord William and Lady Philippa, Edmund Wooler and Caris, Prior Godwyn and his slimy assistant Philemon. The clerk banged on his table for quiet, and the justice came through a side door. It was Sir Guy de Bois, a large landholder. He had a bald head and a fat belly. He was an old comrade-in-arms of the earl’s, which might stand in Ralph’s favour; but, on the other side of the balance, he was Lady Philippa’s uncle, and she might have whispered malice in his ear. He had the flushed look of a man who has breakfasted on salt beef and strong ale. He sat down, farted loudly, sighed with satisfaction and said: “All right, let’s get on with it.”

Earl Roland was not present.

Ralph’s case came first: it was the one that most interested everybody, including the justice. The indictment was read, and Annet was called to give her evidence.

Ralph found it strangely difficult to concentrate. He had heard it all before, of course, but he should have been listening hard for any discrepancy in the story Annet told today, any sign of uncertainty, any hesitation or faltering. But he felt fatalistic. His enemies were out in full force. His one powerful friend, Earl Roland, was absent. Only his brother stood beside him, and Merthin had already tried his best to help, and failed. Ralph was doomed.

The witnesses followed: Gwenda, Wulfric, Peg, Gaspard. Ralph had thought he had absolute power over these people, but somehow they had conquered him. The foreman of the jury, Sir Herbert Montain, was one of those who had refused to shake Ralph’s hand, and he asked questions that seemed designed to emphasize the horror of the crime: How bad was the pain? How much blood? Was she weeping?