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good.
    His wife wept. The sun rose higher, warming the day. Peasants knelt as the count passed. The road climbed into the hills that separated the lands of Villon and Labrouillade, and, though there had been death in the first, there would be rejoicing in the second because the count was revenged.
     
    Paville was only two hours’ ride west of the fallen castle. It had once been a prosperous town, famed for its monastery and for the excellence of its wine, but now there were only thirty-two monks left, and fewer than two hundred folk lived in the small town. The pestilence had come, and half the townsfolk were buried in the fields beside the river. The town walls were crumbling, and the monastery’s vineyards choked with weeds.
    The Hellequin gathered in the marketplace outside the monastery where they carried their wounded into the infirmary. Tired horses were walked and arrows repaired. Brother Michael wanted to find something to eat, but
le Bâtard
approached him. ‘Six of my men are dying in there,’ he jerked his head at the monastery, ‘and another four might not live. Sam tells me you worked in an infirmary?’
    ‘I did,’ the monk said, ‘but I also have a written message for you.’
    ‘From whom?’
    ‘The Earl of Northampton, lord.’
    ‘Don’t call me that. What does Billy want?’
Le Bâtard
waited for an answer, then scowled when none came. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t read the letter! What does he want?’
    ‘I didn’t read it!’ Brother Michael protested.
    ‘An honest monk? The world sees a miracle.’
Le Bâtard
ignored the proffered message. ‘Go and tend to my wounded men. I’ll read the letter later.’
    Brother Michael worked for an hour, helping two other monks wash and bind wounds, and when he had finished he went back to the sunlight to see two men counting a vast pile of shoddy-looking coins. ‘The agreement,’
le Bâtard
was saying to the abbot, ‘was that the payment should be in genoins.’
    The abbot looked worried. ‘The count insisted on replacing the coins,’ he said.
    ‘And you permitted that?’
le Bâtard
asked. The abbot shrugged. ‘He cheated us,’
le Bâtard
said, ‘and you allowed it to happen!’
    ‘He sent men-at-arms, lord,’ the abbot said unhappily. Labrouillade had agreed to pay
le Bâtard
’s fee in genoins, which were good golden coins, trusted everywhere, but since
le Bâtard
’s men had first checked the payment the count had sent men to take away the genoins and replace them with a mixture of obols, écus, agnos, florins, deniers and sacks of pence, none of them gold and most of them debased or clipped, and, though the face value of the coins was for the agreed amount, their worth was less than half. ‘His men assured me the value is the same, lord,’ the abbot added.
    ‘And you believed them?’
le Bâtard
asked sourly.
    ‘I protested,’ the abbot declared, concerned that he would not receive the customary fee for holding the cash.
    ‘I’m sure you did,’
le Bâtard
said in a tone suggesting the opposite. He was still in his black armour, but had taken off his bascinet to reveal black hair cut short. ‘Labrouillade’s a fool, isn’t he?’
    ‘A greedy fool,’ the abbot agreed eagerly. ‘His father was worse. The fief of Labrouillade once encompassed all the land from here to the sea, but his father gambled away most of the southern part. The son is more careful with his money. He’s rich, of course, very rich, but not a generous man.’ The abbot’s voice trailed away as he gazed at the piles of shoddy, misshapen and bent coins. ‘What will you do?’ he asked nervously.
    ‘Do?’
Le Bâtard
seemed to think about it, then shrugged. ‘I have the money,’ he finally said, ‘such as it is.’ He paused. ‘It is a matter for lawyers,’ he finally decided.
    ‘For lawyers, yes.’ The abbot, worried that he would be blamed for the substitution of the coins, could not hide his relief.
    ‘But not in the count’s own courts,’
le Bâtard
said.
    ‘It might be argued in the bishop’s court?’ the abbot suggested.
    Le Bâtard
nodded, then scowled at the abbot. ‘I shall depend on your testimony.’
    ‘Of course, lord.’
    ‘And pay well for it,’
le Bâtard
added.
    ‘You may depend on my support,’ the abbot said.
    Le Bâtard
tossed one of the coins up and down in a hand that was misshapen, as though the fingers had been mangled by a great weight. ‘So we shall leave it to the lawyers,’ he announced, then