“Of course,” said Ralph. “That would explain why no one else saw this messenger – he never existed. Crafty bitch.”

She should be punished, but it might be difficult. She would probably say she did it for the best, and Ralph could hardly argue that she had been wrong to prevent her husband attacking the lord of the manor. Worse, if he made a fuss about her deception he would call attention to the fact that she had outwitted him. No, there would be no formal penalty – though he might find unofficial ways to chastise her.

As he was at Earlscastle, he took the opportunity to go hunting with the earl and his entourage, and he forgot about Annet – until the end of the second day, when Roland called him into his private chamber. Only the earl’s clerk, Father Jerome, was with him. Roland did not ask Ralph to sit down. “The priest of Wigleigh is here,” he said.

Ralph was surprised. “Father Gaspard? At Earlscastle?”

Roland did not bother to answer these rhetorical questions. “He complains that you raped a woman called Annet, the wife of Billy Howard, one of your serfs.”

Ralph’s heart missed a beat. He had not imagined the peasants would have the nerve to complain to the earl. It was very difficult for a serf to accuse a lord in a court of law. But they could be sly, and someone in Wigleigh had cleverly persuaded the priest to make the complaint.

Ralph put on an expression of carelessness. “Rubbish,” he said. “All right, I lay with her, but she was willing.” He gave Roland a man-to-man grin. “More than willing.”

An expression of distaste came over Roland’s face, and he turned to Father Jerome with an inquiring look.

Jerome was an educated, ambitious young man, a type Ralph particularly disliked. He had a snooty look as he said: “The girl is here. Woman, I should say, though she is only nineteen. She has massive bruises on her arms and a bloodstained dress. She says you encountered her in the forest, and your squire knelt on her to hold her down. And a man called Wulfric is here to say that you were seen riding away from the scene.”

Ralph guessed it was Wulfric who had persuaded Father Gaspard to come here to Earlscastle. “It’s not true,” he said, trying to put a note of indignation into his voice.

Jerome looked sceptical. “Why would she lie?”

“Maybe someone saw us and told her husband. He gave her the bruises, I expect. She cried rape to stop him beating her. Then she stained her dress with chicken blood.”

Roland sighed. “It’s a bit oafish, isn’t it, Ralph?”

Ralph was not sure what he meant. Did he expect his men to behave like damned monks?

Roland went on: “I was warned you’d be like this. My daughter-in-law always said you’d give me problems.”

“Philippa?”

“Lady Philippa, to you.”

Enlightenment dawned on Ralph, and he said incredulously: “Is that why you didn’t promote me after I saved your life – because a woman was against me? What sort of an army will you have if you let girls pick your men?”

“You’re right, of course, and that’s why I went against her judgement in the end. What women never realize is that a man without some bile in him is good for nothing but tilling the land. We can’t take milksops into battle. But she was right when she warned me that you would cause trouble. I don’t want to be bothered, in peacetime, with damned priests whining about serfs’ wives being raped. Don’t do it again. I don’t care if you lie with the peasant women. If it comes to that, I don’t care if you lie with the men. But if you take a man’s wife, willing or otherwise, be prepared to compensate the husband in some way. Most peasants can be bought. Just don’t let it become my problem.”

“Yes, lord.”

Jerome said: “What am I to do with this Gaspard?”

“Let me see,” Roland said thoughtfully. “Wigleigh is on the edge of my territory, not far from my son William’s landholding, is it not?”

“Yes,” Ralph said.

“How far were you from the border when you met this girl?”

“A mile. We were only just outside Wigleigh.”

“No matter.” He turned to Jerome. “Everyone will know this is just an excuse, but tell Father Gaspard that the incident took place in Lord William’s territory, so I can’t adjudicate.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Ralph said: “What if they go to William?”

“I doubt that they will. But, if they persist, you’ll have to come to some arrangement with William. The peasants will tire of complaining eventually.”

Ralph nodded, relieved. For a moment, he had suffered the dread thought that he had made a terrible error of judgement, and that after all he might be made to pay the price for raping Annet. But, in the end, he had got away with it, as he had expected to.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said.

He wondered what his brother would say about this. The thought filled him with shame. But perhaps Merthin would never find out.

“We must complain to Lord William,” said Wulfric when they got back to Wigleigh.

The entire village had gathered in the church to discuss the matter. Father Gaspard and Nathan Reeve were there but, somehow, Wulfric seemed to be the leader, despite his youth. He had gone to the front, leaving Gwenda and baby Sammy in the crowd.

Gwenda was praying that they would decide to drop the matter. It was not that she wanted Ralph to go unpunished – on the contrary, she would have liked to see him boiled alive. She herself had killed two men for merely threatening her with rape, something she remembered, every now and again during the discussion, with a shudder. But she did not like Wulfric taking the leading role. It was partly because he was driven by the unquenched flame of his feeling for Annet, which hurt and saddened Gwenda. But, more importantly, she feared for him. The enmity between him and Ralph had already cost Wulfric his inheritance. What other vengeance would Ralph take?

Perkin said: “I’m the father of the victim, and I don’t want any more trouble over this. It’s very dangerous to complain of the actions of a lord. He always finds a way to punish the complainers, right or wrong. Let’s drop it.”

“Too late for that,” said Wulfric. “We’ve already complained, or at least our priest has. There’s nothing to be gained by backing down now.”

“We’ve gone far enough,” Perkin argued. “Ralph has been embarrassed in front of his earl. He knows now that he can’t do just whatever he pleases.”

“On the contrary,” said Wulfric. “He thinks he’s got away with it. I’m afraid he’ll do it again. No woman in the village will be safe.”

Gwenda herself had said to Wulfric all the things Perkin was saying. Wulfric had not answered her. He had hardly spoken to her since she tripped him up at the back door of the manor house. At first, she had told herself that he was merely sulking because he had felt foolish. She had expected him to have forgotten about it by the time he returned from Earlscastle. But she had been wrong. He had not touched her, in bed or out of it, for a week; he rarely met her eye; and he talked to her in monosyllables and grunts. It was beginning to depress her.

Nathan Reeve said: “You’ll never win against Ralph. Serfs never overcome lords.”

“I’m not so sure,” Wulfric said. “Everyone has enemies. We might not be the only people who would like to see Ralph reined in. Perhaps we will never see him convicted in court – but we must inflict the maximum of trouble and embarrassment on him if we want him to hesitate before doing this sort of thing again.”

Several villagers nodded agreement, but no one spoke in support of Wulfric, and Gwenda began to hope that he would lose the argument. However, her husband was nothing if not determined, and he now turned to the priest. “What do you think, Father Gaspard?”

Gaspard was young, poor and earnest. He had no fear of the nobility. He was not ambitious – he did not want to become a bishop and join the ruling class – so he felt no need to please aristocrats. He said: “Annet has been cruelly violated, the peace of our village has been criminally broken, and Lord Ralph has committed a wicked, vile sin which he must confess and repent. For the sake of the victim, for our own self-respect, and to save Lord Ralph from the flames of hell, we must go to Lord William.”