‘What does that have to do with the old man we met?’
‘I’ve seen him before a hundred times,’ explained Golde. ‘Sometimes he’s old, something young, sometimes neither. But he’s always badly treated by his master. He’s always a reminder that a Saxon peasant lives at the mercy of his Norman overlord. Not that all members of your nation are harsh,’ she added, quickly, ‘because they’re most certainly not. Some are much kinder than the thegns they replaced. But I can’t change what I am, Alys. Though I married a Norman soldier and love him to distraction, I never forget where my roots lie. That old man we saw today was a symbol to me.’
‘Of what?’
‘You’ll understand in time,’ Golde brightened. ‘But enough of such thoughts! A banquet is being prepared for us. That should raise our spirits.’
‘Are we all invited?’
‘Oh, yes. Including Brother Daniel.’
‘Is a monk allowed to eat rich food?’ asked Alys, innocently.
‘You wouldn’t pose that question if you’d ever seen Canon Hubert at table. He has the appetite of half a dozen men. My guess is that Brother Daniel will not restrict himself to bread and water either,’ said Golde cheerfully. ‘He’s not just a scribe to the commissioners. He’s a Benedictine who’s been released for a while from his abbey.’
‘So?’
‘He’s here to enjoy himself, Alys.’
Brother Daniel was brimming with energy and filled with curiosity about his new abode. After he had been shown to the tiny room where he was to sleep, he found his way to the chapel and knelt down to offer up a prayer of thanks for their safe arrival. He then befriended the ancient chaplain, pumped him for information about the castle, and went out into the town to take stock of his surroundings. A paradox confronted him. Though there were plenty of people about, Norwich seemed curiously empty. In a city of almost five thousand souls, the monk felt oddly alone, as if the crowds that were drifting away from the market were mere assemblies of ghosts. Daniel was puzzled. It was not so much a question of what he could see as what he felt. He sensed bitterness, neglect and a resignation that bordered on despair. The castle was casting a long shadow.
As he walked down one of the side streets close to the fortress, he saw evidence of a destructive past. During the ill-fated revolt of the earl and his confederates, the castle had been besieged for three months. Many of the nearby dwellings were razed to the ground or simply abandoned by their panic-stricken owners. Those that remained were grim reminders of those troubled times. Daniel glanced into a few of them. The first was barely standing and the second boarded up with pieces of rough timber. Through the cracks in the shutters, he saw a small room with a sunken floor that was littered with rubbish. Something was crawling about in the gloom. Flies buzzed noisily. The stench made him hold his breath and move away.
The third house was in a more dilapidated state. Its wooden walls were pitted, its thatch all but done and its shutters hanging off like torn limbs. Brother Daniel went up to the entrance, then stepped back in surprise as a cat suddenly darted out between his bare legs. He gave an indulgent smile. The front door was simply propped against the opening. When he took hold of it, he was able to lift it aside. The room into which he now gazed was long, low and covered in the charred remains of furniture. The stink was even more powerful but it did not dispatch him on his way. Something had captured his attention. Revealed by the light that came in through the open door and the broken shutters was a piece of sacking in the far corner. It was heavily stained and seemed to be covering a large uneven object. Picking his way through the ashes, the monk took hold of the corner of the rough material and drew it slowly away.
Daniel was shocked. His stomach heaved and his temples pulsed. His legs went limp. Sweat broke out all over his body. He wanted to replace the sacking and hurry away to raise the alarm but he had no strength even to move. He was forced to stand there and gaze down in silent horror at the mutilated corpse.
Staring back at him were the sightless eyes of Hermer the Steward.
Chapter Three
The discovery of the dead body threw the castle into a turmoil. When the trembling Brother Daniel broke the news, the sheriff immediately surrounded the derelict house with an armed guard. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret went into the building with him to investigate. The murder victim was in a sorry condition. The blood that stained the sacking came from a series of stab wounds in the chest. Hermer’s throat had also been cut and both hands had been hacked off. Congealed blood from a head wound formed a gruesome mask across the upper half of his face. All the ritual humiliations of death had set in. The foul smell made Ralph turn away in disgust.
‘What a way to end a life!’ he said. ‘Who is the poor devil?’
‘Hermer the Steward,’ said Bigot.
‘You recognise him?’
‘More by his apparel than his face, my lord. But that’s the lord Richard’s man, I’m sure. I’ve met the fellow often enough to pick him out even in that hideous state.’
‘When did he go missing, my lord sheriff?’ asked Gervase.
‘A couple of days ago.’
‘That accounts for the stink.’
‘It’s not the only cause,’ said Ralph, looking around at the accumulated excrement on the floor. ‘This place is a latrine. No wonder there are so many flies in here.’
‘One thing is certain,’ observed Bigot.
‘What’s that?’
‘Whoever stole those elephants, it wasn’t Hermer. The lord Richard was wrong about that. His steward is a victim, not a villain.’
Gervase knelt down to peer more closely at the corpse. Evidence of a violent death was horribly clear but the killer had left no clues as to his identity. Gervase peeled the sacking away to reveal the lower half of the body. The feet were tied together with a stout rope. To the surprise of his companions, Gervase then rolled the man briefly on his side so that he could look at his back before lowering him gently into his former position. Shaking his head in bafflement, he stood up again.
‘Where are his hands?’ he said.
‘Heaven knows,’ said Ralph.
‘That’s not the question that his master will ask,’ said Bigot, leading the two of them out of the room. ‘He’ll want to know where his priceless gold elephants are. The lord Richard will insist that the killer be brought to justice, but not out of consideration for Hermer. A steward can be replaced; those two gold elephants cannot.’
All three men took a deep breath when they came out into the fresh air again. The sheriff was decisive. He ordered his men to disperse the small crowd that had gathered, then sent two of them to fetch a litter so that the body could be carried to a more dignified resting place in the morgue at the rear of the chapel. Reflecting on what they had seen, Roger Bigot and the two commissioners walked back towards the castle.
‘I feel that I owe you both an apology,’ said the sheriff.
‘Why?’ asked Ralph.
‘This is a poor welcome for such important guests. Examining a corpse like that is hardly the best way to whet your appetite for a banquet.’
‘True, my lord sheriff, but no blame attaches to you. Any apology is unnecessary. It’s not as if you deliberately arranged to have a murder victim laid at your very door.’
‘Someone did,’ remarked Gervase.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The steward was meant to be found, Ralph. Why leave him so close to the castle when he could have been buried where nobody would ever have found him? There’s calculation here. That house was empty but I dare say that children play in it occasionally and,’ he added, wrinkling his nose, ‘it’s certainly used by people for another purpose. It was only a matter of time before the body was discovered.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Bigot, ‘it just happened to be on the day of your arrival.’
Gervase was unconvinced. ‘I wonder.’