Walter came in and stood watching. William hacked a deep notch in one of the supports and then cut halfway through a second. The platform above, which carried the enormous weight of the millstone, began to tremble. William said: “Get a rope.” Walter went out.

William cut into the other two timbers as deeply as he dared. The building was ready to collapse. Walter came back with some rope. William tied the rope to one of the timbers, then carried the other end outside and tied it around the neck of his war-horse.

The peasants watched in sullen silence.

When the rope was fixed, William said: “Where’s the miller?”

The miller approached, still trying to look like one who is being unjustly dealt with.

William said: “Gervase, tie him up and put him inside.”

The miller made a break for it, but Gilbert tripped him and sat on him, and Gervase tied his hands and feet with leather thongs. The two knights picked him up. He began to struggle and plead for mercy.

One of the villagers stepped out of the crowd and said: “You can’t do this. It’s murder. Even a lord can’t murder people.”

William pointed a trembling finger at him. “If you open your mouth again I’ll put you inside with him.”

For a moment the man looked defiant; then he thought better of it and turned away.

The knights came out of the mill. William walked his horse forward until it had taken up the slack in the rope. He slapped its rump, and it took the strain.

Inside the building, the miller began to scream. The noise was bloodcurdling. It was the sound of a man in mortal terror, a man who knew that within the next few moments he was going to be crushed to death.

The horse tossed its head, trying to slacken the rope around its neck. William yelled at it and kicked its rump to make it pull, then shouted at his knights: “Heave on the rope, you men!” The four knights grabbed the taut rope and pulled with the horse. The villagers’ voices were raised in protest, but they were all too frightened to interfere. Arthur was standing to one side, looking sick.

The miller’s screams became more shrill. William imagined the blind terror that must be possessing the man as he waited for his dreadful death. None of these peasants will ever forget the revenge of the Hamleighs, he thought.

The timber creaked loudly; then there was a loud crack as it broke. The horse bounded forward and the knights let go of the rope. A corner of the roof sagged. The women began to wail. The wooden walls of the mill seemed to shudder; the miller’s screams rose higher; there was a mighty crash as the upper floor gave way; the screaming was cut off abruptly; and the ground shook as the grindstone landed on the threshing floor. The walls splintered, the roof caved in, and in a moment the mill was nothing but a pile of firewood with a dead man inside it.

William began to feel better.

Some of the villagers ran forward and began to dig into the debris frantically. If they were hoping to find the miller alive they would be disappointed. His body would be a grisly sight. That was all to the good.

Looking around, William spotted the red-cheeked girl with the red-cheeked baby, standing at the back of the crowd, as if she were trying to be inconspicuous. He remembered how the man with the black beard-presumably her father-had been keen to keep her out of sight. He decided to solve that mystery before leaving the village. He caught her eye and beckoned her. She looked behind her, hoping he was pointing at someone else. “You,” William said. “Come here.”

The man with the black beard saw her and gave a grunt of exasperation.

William said: “Who’s your husband, wench?”

The father said: “She has no-”

He was too late, however, for the girl said: “Edmund.”

“So you are married. But who’s your father?”

“I am,” said the man with the black beard. “Theobald.”

William turned to Arthur. “Is Theobald a freeman?”

“He’s a serf, lord.”

“And when a serfs daughter marries, is it not the lord’s right, as her owner, to enjoy her on the wedding night?”

Arthur was shocked. “Lord! That primitive custom has not been enforced in this part of the world in living memory!”

“True,” said William. “The father pays a fine, instead. How much did Theobald pay?”

“He hasn’t paid yet, lord, but-”

“Not paid! And she with a fat red-cheeked child!”

Theobald said: “We never had the money, lord, and she was with child by Edmund, and wanted to be wed, but we can pay now, for we’ve got the crop in.”

William smiled at the girl. “Let me see the baby.”

She stared at him fearfully.

“Come. Give it to me.

She was afraid but she could not bring herself to hand over her baby. William stepped closer and gently took the child from her. Her eyes filled with terror but she did not resist him.

The baby began to squall. William held it for a moment, then grasped both its ankles in one hand and with a swift motion threw it into the air as high as he could.

The girl screamed like a banshee and gazed into the air as the baby flew upward.

The father ran forward with his arms outstretched to catch it as it fell.

While the girl was looking up and screaming, William took a handful of her dress and ripped it. She had a pink, rounded young body.

The father caught the baby safely.

The girl turned to run, but William caught her and threw her to the ground.

The father handed the baby to a woman and turned to look at William.

William said: “As I wasn’t given my due on the wedding night, and the fine hasn’t been paid, I’ll take what’s owed me now.”

The father rushed at him.

William drew his sword.

The father stopped.

William looked at the girl, lying on the ground, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Her fear aroused him. “And when I’ve done, my knights will have her too,” he said with a contented smile.

II

In three years Kingsbridge had changed beyond recognition.

William had not been here since the Whitsunday when Philip and his army of volunteers had frustrated Waleran Bigod’s scheme. Then it had been forty or fifty wooden houses clustered around the priory gate and scattered along the muddy footpath that led to the bridge. Now, he saw as he approached the village across the undulating fields, there were three times as many houses, at least. They formed a brown fringe all around the gray stone wall of the priory and completely filled the space between the priory and the river. Several of the houses looked large. Within the priory close there were new stone buildings, and the walls of the church seemed to be going up fast. There were two new quays beside the river. Kingsbridge had become a town.

The appearance of the place confirmed a suspicion that had been growing in his mind since he had come home from the war. As he had toured around, collecting arrears of rent and terrorizing disobedient serfs, he had continually heard talk of Kingsbridge. Landless young men were going there to work; prosperous families were sending their sons to school at the priory; smallholders would sell their eggs and cheese to the men working on the building site; and everyone who could went there on holy days, even though there was no cathedral. Today was a holy day-Michaelmas Day, which fell on a Sunday this year. It was a mild early-autumn morning, nice weather for traveling, so there should be a good crowd. William expected to find out what drew them to Kingsbridge.

His five henchmen rode with him. They had done sterling work in the villages. The news of William’s tour had spread with uncanny speed, and after the first few days people knew what to expect. At William’s approach they would send the children and young women to hide in the woods. It pleased William to strike fear into people’s hearts: it kept them in their place. They certainly knew he was in command now!