Free The Elephants of Norwich by Edward Marston Page A

shiver as he followed the sheriff and his turbulent guest into the chamber. Richard de Fontenel was more restrained, cowed by a rebuke from Bigot and showing a respect for the dead now that he was on hallowed ground. Darkness was closing in on the castle and what little natural light penetrated the morgue was now spent. The dancing flame of a single large candle illumined the scene. Hermer somehow looked much smaller than when alive, a shapeless lump beneath the shroud. Herbs had been used to sweeten the smell of decay but it still invaded their nostrils. At the sheriff’s invitation, de Fontenel stepped forward to tug back the shroud. A gasp escaped his lips. The body had been washed and most of the wounds had been bound up, but the corpse was still repulsive to behold. After taking a quick inventory, de Fontenel covered his steward up again.
    ‘What happened to his hands?’ he asked.
    ‘They were not found with the body,’ said Bigot.
    ‘Hacked off?’
    ‘Presumably, my lord.’
    ‘But why?’
    ‘I was hoping that you might suggest an answer.’
    ‘It’s needless butchery.’
    ‘Can you think why someone would wish to commit it?’
    ‘You know what I think, my lord sheriff,’ growled the other.
    He lifted the shroud again to take another look at Hermer’s face. Ralph studied his reaction. He and Gervase had visited the morgue earlier to scrutinise the body in the hope of finding that telltale evidence had been revealed by its tending. Neither of them had ever met the steward yet they treated his corpse with a reverence they felt appropriate. There was nothing reverent about de Fontenel’s perusal. As he gazed down at the bruised face for the second time, he might have been appraising some rotten food served up to him by mistake. Ralph saw no hint of grief, still less of affection. He was grateful that the sheriff had asked him to accompany them. It meant that he was able to lend support to his host and take the measure of a man whose extraordinary behaviour had interrupted the banquet in the hall. Richard de Fontenel did not endear himself to the commissioner.
    ‘Let’s get out of here,’ the visitor said, flicking the shroud back into place. ‘I’ve seen all that I need to of Hermer.’
    ‘What will you do with the body?’ said Bigot.
    ‘Take it back with us. My men have brought a cart for the purpose. Hermer will be buried in the local church. And soon,’ he added. ‘Before that stink grows worse.’
    ‘Death is never fragrant, my lord,’ observed Ralph.
    Ignoring the remark, de Fontenel led the way out. When all three of them stepped back into the fresh air, they saw torches burning in the bailey. The last of the guests were leaving the castle. Roger Bigot now gave vent to his own anger.
    ‘I’ve indulged you far enough,’ he said, sharply. ‘It’s time for recompense.’
    ‘I owe you nothing, my lord sheriff.’
    ‘An apology is the least that you could offer,’ prompted Ralph.
    The visitor rounded on him. ‘Who asked you for your opinion?’
    ‘Nobody. I offer it of my own free will.’
    ‘Then I treat your advice with the contempt it merits.’
    ‘Don’t insult my guest,’ warned Bigot. ‘I’ll have no more of that.’
    ‘Then tell the lord Ralph to hold his tongue.’
    ‘Tell me yourself,’ said Ralph, squaring up to him. ‘If you dare.’
    ‘I’d dare more than that,’ asserted de Fontenel, truculently.
    ‘Would you?’
    Their eyes locked in a silent tussle. Richard de Fontenel was smouldering but caution slowly got the better of anger. Ralph’s stare was calm but steadfast, conveying a challenge that was too daunting for his adversary to take up. The fact that he was a royal commissioner also had to be weighed in the balance. If rough hands were laid upon his agent, the King