The Elephants of Norwich

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.’

‘Why?’ demanded Ralph.

‘Because it might not be such a coincidence.’

‘What else can it be?’

‘A warning.’

‘To whom?’

‘To the lord Roger and to us.’

Ralph frowned. ‘How do you reach that conclusion, Gervase?’

‘It’s not a conclusion,’ replied the other. ‘It’s just a possibility that we have to consider. On the very day that we ride into Norwich, a dead body is found in the shadow of the castle. It’s no anonymous corpse left there at random. The murder victim is Hermer the Steward.’

‘So?’

‘You’ve not read the returns for the Taverham hundred as closely as I have, Ralph. Hermer was not only going to support Richard de Fontenel when he appeared before us in the shire hall. He was actually claiming land in his own right, one of the outliers at the heart of the dispute. It was a gift from his master for services rendered.’

‘And the lord Mauger contests that?’

‘Not against the steward any longer,’ said Gervase, sadly. ‘The only place where Hermer will be able to state his claim is before his Maker. I trust that God will be more merciful than the murderer.’

‘And more merciful than I’ll be when I run that killer to ground,’ vowed Bigot. ‘This was a brutal murder and it must be answered. But go on with what you’re saying, Master Bret,’ he continued as they strolled in through the castle gate. ‘You spy a link between this crime and your presence in the city?’

‘A potential link, my lord sheriff.’

‘I have my doubts,’ said Ralph.

‘Suspend them until we learn the truth,’ advised Gervase. ‘It may be that my guess is wide of the mark. What does seem clear is that the murder of the steward and the theft of the gold elephants are somehow connected.’

‘I’d already decided that,’ said Bigot.

Ralph nodded solemnly. ‘So had I. Hermer was probably killed by someone who wanted the keys to the room where the gold elephants were kept. What puzzles me is this. The lord Richard’s manor is several miles away. Why bring his steward all the way here in order to stab him to death?’

‘That’s not what happened, Ralph,’ said Gervase.

‘No?’

‘Hermer was killed elsewhere then brought here. Under cover of darkness, most likely. You didn’t see the man’s back. His tunic was badly torn as if he’d been dragged along the ground and there were wounds in his scalp and neck. I think that his feet were tied together so that he could be pulled along behind a horse.’

‘Who could do such a thing to another human being?’

‘We’ve both seen worse on a battlefield, my lord,’ said Bigot.

‘That’s different,’ said Ralph. ‘We’re not on a battlefield now.’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Gervase as they came to a halt in the bailey. ‘We’re royal commissioners who’re caught in the middle of a battle over land. Instead of fighting with deeds and other legal documents, someone is resorting to more effective methods.’

‘That can only mean the lord Mauger,’ reasoned Bigot.

‘Is he capable of such an act?’ said Ralph.

‘Capable of ordering it, if not committing it.’

‘Then he’s the villain you must arrest.’

‘Not so fast, my lord,’ said the sheriff. ‘I prefer to gather evidence before I make an arrest. Mauger is the first person I’ll question but I’ll do so cautiously. He’s as slippery as an eel. Be warned. You’ll have to deal with him yourself.’ He ran a meditative hand across his jaw. ‘The crimes may seem to have Mauger’s signature on them but that could be an illusion. He and the Lord Richard are at each other’s throats. Mauger will rejoice in anything that upsets his rival but that isn’t evidence enough to convict him.’

‘You think that he may be innocent?’

‘It’s not inconceivable.’

‘But he’s the person who stands most to gain.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Gervase, thoughtfully, ‘but the lord Mauger is also the person who stands least to gain. Here we are, only a short time after we’ve examined a murder victim and we’re already naming him as the chief suspect. He’s too obvious. What if someone is setting out to incriminate the lord Mauger?’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who wants to stir up bad blood between him and the lord Richard.’

‘That’s easily done,’ said Bigot.

‘What advantage would they gain, Gervase?’ asked Ralph.

‘I don’t know,’ confessed the other.

‘Then they’d have no motive. The lord Mauger does.’

‘Motive and means,’ agreed the sheriff, ‘but I was struck by the words that Master Bret just used. He said it was “too obvious”. That’s my feeling. Mauger is cunning and devious. He works in the shadows. Why should he leave a dead body on my doorstep when he knows that it’ll bring me down on his neck?’

They continued to review the situation and speculate on the possible identity of the murderer. Roger Bigot did not try to exclude them from the investigation in any way. Sensing their ability to give practical help, he took pains to invite their comments. Ralph and Gervase were duly touched. It was not the first time that their arrival in a town had been greeted by a violent death, but they usually had to track down the killer against the express wishes of the sheriff. Bigot was less possessive. He would cooperate with anyone who could lend valuable assistance to him in a murder inquiry.

It was only when the body was carried past them that they broke off. Placed on a litter and covered with some rough cloth, Hermer the Steward was taken off towards the chapel. The sheriff was reminded of a priority.

‘The lord Richard must be informed at once,’ he said.

‘Will you go in person?’ asked Ralph.

‘No, this is a task for Olivier.’

‘Olivier?’

‘Yes, my lord. Olivier Romain is my deputy. He won’t relish this particular duty but it has to be discharged. The lord Richard has the right to know of his steward’s fate.’

‘How will he react?’

‘Violently.’

Richard de Fontenel was at first stupefied by the news. He took an involuntary step backwards as he absorbed the shock and took in the implications. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with anger.

‘Dead?’ he cried. ‘You’re telling me that Hermer is dead?’

‘I fear so, my lord.’

‘Where was he found?’

‘In a deserted house close to the castle.’

‘What on earth was he doing there?’

‘We’ve no idea.’

‘Who found the body?’

‘Brother Daniel, a scribe who travels with the commissioners.’

‘Why should a monk go poking around in an empty house?’

‘I don’t know, my lord,’ said Olivier Romain, ‘but we should be grateful that he did. The corpse might have lain there unseen for even longer. We believe that your steward’s been dead for a couple of days.’

‘What state was he in?’

‘That’s immaterial.’

‘Tell me, Olivier!’ demanded the other, lurching towards him. ‘God’s tits, man! My steward has been murdered. I want to know what condition he was in when he was found. Tell me the truth.’

‘I wasn’t there when the lord sheriff went to investigate.’

‘But he must have told you what he saw.’

Romain nodded sadly. ‘The killer left nothing to chance.’

‘In other words, Hermer was butchered.’

‘That’s what I heard.’

They were standing in the hall of the manor house, a long room with an oaken floor. A table stood at the far end. Swinging on his heel, de Fontenel marched the full length of the room as he tried to subdue the rage that was building inside him. His efforts were in vain. With a loud bellow, he used an arm to dislodge everything that stood on the table, sending goblets and platters clattering to the floor. He turned to face his visitor.

‘Were my gold elephants found on him?’ he asked.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘There was nothing of value on his person. Or so I’m told.’

‘Then where are those miniatures?’

‘The lord sheriff is more interested in finding the murderer first,’ said Romain. ‘In solving that crime, he believes, we will also solve the other.’

‘Then you must seize Mauger Livarot at once,’ insisted de Fontenel, striding back down the hall. ‘He’s behind all this. He bribed Hermer to steal the two elephants from me then had him hacked to death by way of reward. Mauger is the culprit. I’ve said that all along. If you’d had the sense to listen to me at the start, my steward might still be alive and those elephants would be back under lock and key.’

‘That’s pure supposition, my lord.’

‘Don’t argue with me, man!’ yelled the other. He raised an arm as if about to strike, but Olivier Romain held his ground. The sheriff’s deputy was a stocky man of medium height, a conscientious officer who took his work with intense seriousness. Still only thirty, he had a composure and fearlessness that made de Fontenel hesitate. The older man lowered his arm and glowered at him. Romain did not flinch. His voice was calm.

‘You’re blaming the messenger for bringing bad tidings, my lord.’

‘I blame the lord sheriff,’ snarled the other.

‘He’s not culpable here.’

‘Yes; he is. A robbery takes place yet he refuses to take charge of the case and fobs me off instead with his deputy. A murder occurs and he sends you to report the matter to me. Why isn’t Roger Bigot here himself? What does it take to get him off his backside at the castle?’

‘The lord sheriff is already making inquiries,’ said Romain, defensively.

‘His place is here, breaking the news to me. I want to know exactly when and how my steward was discovered. I also expect to be told that Mauger has been arrested and thrown into a dungeon for his heinous crimes.’

‘If the lord Mauger is guilty, he’ll be taken in due course.’

‘Why the delay?’

‘Evidence has to be gathered, my lord.’

‘The man hates me,’ said de Fontenel, jabbing a finger at him. ‘He’s stolen my land, he’s trespassed on my estate, he’s done everything he can to annoy or obstruct me. Now he’s trying to wreck a marriage that is very dear to my heart. How much more evidence do you need, Olivier?’ He gesticulated wildly. ‘Mauger is a thief and murderer. Take him.’

‘The lord sheriff means to interview him first thing tomorrow.’

‘Why wait until then?’

‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

‘Save valuable time and put him in chains this very evening.’

‘I don’t make the decisions,’ said the other, reasonably. ‘I simply carry out orders. You needed to be told about the fate of your steward and that’s why I rode out here post haste. It’s bleak news, my lord, and I offer you my sincere condolences.’

‘What use are they!’ Richard de Fontenel stormed around the hall, feet clacking noisily on the oaken floor. One hand was on the dagger at his belt, the other clutched at his hair. It was as if he were feeling the full impact of the news for the first time. He came to an abrupt halt.

‘The commissioners have arrived, you say?’ he snapped.

‘This afternoon, my lord.’

‘How many in number?’

‘Three with one scribe.’

‘Take a message to the leader of the embassy.’

‘If you wish.’

‘I do wish, Olivier,’ said the other, approaching him again. ‘My message is this. Until these crimes are solved, I refuse to be called to the shire hall to be examined by them. Theft and murder take precedence over their deliberations. Besides,’ he went on with a harsh laugh, ‘I’ll spare them time and trouble. When Mauger is arrested, he’ll have to forfeit his claim to my property. The commissioners will not have to adjudicate between us. I’ll only have to dispute lesser matters before them.’

‘Your message will be delivered.’

‘Take a second with you.’

‘For the commissioners?’

‘No, Olivier. For your revered Roger Bigot, sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk.’

‘What am I to say to him?’ asked Romain, warily.

‘That he must do his duty and call Mauger to account.’

‘Or?’

The other man drew his dagger and brandished it menacingly. ‘I’ll take the law into my own hands.’

Impervious to the discomfort Brother Daniel knelt at the altar rail in the chapel for a long time and offered up prayers for the soul of the dead man. Since he had discovered the corpse he felt a personal responsibility towards Hermer the Steward even though he had never met him. When he finally got up, genuflected and turned, he was astonished to see Eustace Coureton waiting patiently for him at the rear of the nave. ‘How long have you been there, my lord?’ he asked.

‘Long enough to appreciate how devout you are, Brother Daniel.’

‘I wasn’t only prompted by devotion. To be honest, I went down on my knees in abject fear. I asked God to send me the courage to face this horror. For that is what it was, my lord,’ he admitted. ‘When I looked into the eyes of the dead man, I felt the cold hand of mortality gripping me by the throat.’

‘A natural reaction,’ said Coureton easily. ‘We all feel like that when we look upon violent death for the first time. As a soldier, I, alas, grew hardened to such sights. There’s nothing as sickening as a walk across a battlefield that’s strewn with corpses. Man’s inhumanity to man is writ largest there. Yet I did it without a tremor eventually. I knew that life must go on.’

‘That’s why I feel so guilty.’

‘Guilty?’

‘He lay dead at my feet, I was still alive.’

‘Thank the Almighty for your good fortune.’

‘I did, my lord. Several times.’

‘Then you’ve no cause to be troubled by guilt.’

‘So why does my conscience plague me?’

‘I don’t know, Brother Daniel.’

‘My head is still pounding.’

‘Rest awhile,’ said the other, lowering him on to a bench and sitting beside him. ‘You need time to come to terms with what you saw.’

In the short time they had known each other, Eustace Coureton had grown fond of the monk. Brother Daniel was a congenial member of the party, intelligent, willing and quick to learn, but on the long road from Winchester, when the two men had enjoyed several conversations together, Coureton had detected a more sensitive side to his friend. Behind the amiability and the spiritual exuberance was a decided vulnerability. Hearing of Daniel’s unwitting discovery of the murder victim, Coureton had guessed that the monk would be duly appalled by the experience and might welcome a friendly face, and it was for this reason that he sought him out in the chapel.

Daniel spoke in a whisper. ‘When one of the holy brothers passed away at the abbey it was always a peaceful event. Sadness was tinged with relief that the departed would be going to a far happier station than they had enjoyed on earth. But not in this case, my lord.’

‘I know. Gervase Bret gave me the details.’

‘It was a ghastly sight. I’ll never forget it.’

‘Yes, you will,’ said Coureton soothingly. ‘Time is considerate towards us. It suppresses darker memories. I knew that you’d be shaken by the ordeal and repair to the chapel. That’s why I came to find you.’

‘I’m grateful for your kindness, my lord.’

‘You shouldn’t be left alone. Come and join us, Brother Daniel.’

‘Where?’

‘In the hall.’

The monk was amazed. ‘The banquet is still being held?’

‘It begins very soon.’

‘How can anyone enjoy a feast when a foul murder hangs over us?’

‘In the circumstances, I don’t think there’ll be much enjoyment, but the banquet had to go forth. It was too late to abandon it. Besides,’ he said, philosophically, ‘we have to keep body and soul together. Even a monk must eat and drink.’

‘I lack any appetite.’

‘Then at least sit with us in the hall. Company will distract you.’

‘It’s more likely to sadden me, my lord,’ said Daniel. ‘Don’t worry about me. You go to the banquet with the other guests. I’m only a humble scribe. I don’t really belong there. The chaplain has invited me to share more homely fare with him, so I’ll have someone to comfort me.’

‘What will you do after that?’

‘Come back here to pray once more.’

Coureton gave a tired smile. ‘Who knows? I may even join you.’

‘You’ll be too busy sleeping off the effects of too much wine,’ said Daniel with a flash of his old spirit. ‘I don’t begrudge you that. Drink a cup for me — but raise another for Hermer the Steward.’

‘We’ll all do that, Brother Daniel.’

‘Do the ladies know of the murder?’

‘It would be impossible to keep it from them.’

‘I hope that they’re not too distressed. The lady Golde is robust enough to cope with such grim tidings but Master Bret’s wife is a more delicate creature.’

‘I fancy that she may be tougher than she appears.’

‘You probably thought the same about me, my lord,’ said the monk with a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Yet look at me now. Cowering in the chapel because I stumbled upon a corpse.’

‘There’s rather more to it than that.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes, Brother Daniel,’ explained the other. ‘To begin with, what you found was a mutilated body that turned your stomach. You were bound to turn to God for support. Then again, you may have made a critical discovery that will simplify our work here.’

‘In what way, my lord?’

‘Hermer the Steward was set to be a crucial witness in the major dispute we’ve come to witness. Alive, he would have been vital to his master’s chances of success.’

‘And dead?’

‘He becomes a key that may unlock the door to the truth. A grotesque truth at that. It’s small consolation to you, I know,’ Coureton said with a hand on the monk’s shoulder, ‘but your walk outside the castle may have been providential. In finding that dead body, you did us a kind of favour.’

The banquet was a muted affair. Fine wine and delicious food were served but they were consumed without any relish. News of the murder hung over the occasion like a pall and, though few people discussed the details, all of them had the crime very firmly in their minds. The long table in the hall was presided over by Roger Bigot and his wife, Matilda, a handsome woman in rich apparel who did everything with a natural grace, but not even her smiling affability could put the guests at their ease. Apart from the three commissioners and the two attendant wives, over a dozen others had been invited to dine at the sheriff’s table and they had been chosen with care. Both Richard de Fontenel and Mauger Livarot had been passed over because they were implicated in one of the disputes that Ralph Delchard and his colleagues had come to settle and they would, in any case, be fractious guests if forced to take part in a feast together. Others who might try to curry favour with the commissioners because they, too, would appear before them at the shire hall in due course were also excluded from the guest list.

Those who remained were Norman barons of some standing in the county, outwardly eager to hear of affairs in Winchester, the nation’s capital, yet inwardly suspicious of royal agents whose remit included the imposition of taxes. The men were cautious, their wives largely subdued. Nobody dared to offend the commissioners. Sporadic laughter echoed along the hall but it often had a hollow ring to it. Eustace Coureton took more pleasure from the evening than most, talking volubly to those around him and seizing the opportunity to learn as much as he could about the county to which they had been sent. The discovery of a murder victim did not diminish his appetite in the least. He set about his food with a gusto worthy of Canon Hubert and visibly lifted the jaded spirits of his neighbours with his military anecdotes.

Gervase Bret looked at his colleague with envy, wishing that he had Coureton’s ability to put an horrific event aside in the interests of social decorum. Memories of his visit to the empty house inhibited Gervase. He ate little, drank sparingly and spent most of the time keeping a worried eye on his wife who, dismayed at the tidings, had lost what appetite she possessed and merely picked at her food out of politeness. Gervase regretted having told her about the crime but it was not something he could easily keep from her and he preferred to give his own carefully doctored version of events before she heard the details from anyone else. Though unable to savour the banquet, Alys nevertheless slowly came to take some enjoyment from it, feeling increasingly relaxed in the company of strangers and shooting her husband affectionate glances whenever she felt a surge of pride. The banquet was, after all, being held partly in his honour and that gave her an associated status. Alys warmed to the new sensation of importance.

She was not able to match Golde’s aplomb. Seated beside the sheriff, Golde held her own as if born to the situation, speaking to him in his native tongue with a fluency schooled by her husband. She was lively, attentive and well informed. Roger Bigot and his wife were entertained by her comments and struck by her strong opinions on all manner of subjects. Ralph Delchard did not need to support her in any way. Golde’s ability to sustain an intelligent conversation liberated him to pay attention to the guest on his immediate right. Apart from being one of the most attractive women in the room, the lady Adelaide was a central figure in the feud between the two most prominent Norman lords in the vicinity. Ralph attempted some gentle probing.

‘You were married to Geoffrey Molyneux, I believe,’ he said.

‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied softly. ‘Happily married for several years.’

‘His family lived not far from Lisieux.’

‘You knew them?’

‘Only as distant neighbours. I grew up on the other side of Lisieux and inherited my father’s estates when he died. Had I gone back to Normandy, I might well have met your husband, but there was a huge obstacle to overcome.’

‘Obstacle?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Ralph, grimacing. ‘The English Channel.’

She gave a brittle laugh. ‘You’re no sailor, I take it.’

‘The sea terrifies me. I’m a soldier. I like dry land beneath my feet. That’s why I rarely return to Normandy. I’ve promised to take my wife, Golde, there one day but I’m not sure if that promise will ever be honoured.’

‘Shame on you, my lord!’ she teased.

‘Why?’

‘A husband should never let his wife down.’

‘Even when it would spare him great distress?’

‘Especially then,’ she argued, good-naturedly. ‘It’s a sign of true love to endure distress for someone else’s sake. Your wife would be duly grateful.’

‘I doubt that she could summon up much gratitude if she saw her loving husband leaning over the side of the boat throughout the voyage. But you raise an interesting point about marital promises, my lady,’ he said, artlessly. ‘Should they be fulfilled only if they’re freely given by the husband, or if they’re extracted deliberately by the wife?’

‘In both cases.’

‘Did you keep your own husband to that rule?’

‘There was no need, my lord. He spoiled me wonderfully.’

‘Is that what you look for in a husband? Someone who’ll spoil you?’

‘I’d need to be loved and cherished first.’

‘Few men could resist doing either for you,’ he said, gallantly. ‘The wonder is that you’ve remained a widow for so long. You must fight off suitors in droves.’

‘One or two, perhaps.’

‘You’re being too modest, my lady.’

‘Am I?’

‘Every man in the room has been staring at you.’

‘But they’re all married. They stare without consequence.’

‘Only because it gives them so much harmless pleasure. But there must be enough single men in Norfolk to make up a posse. If I were not wed, I’d be among them.’

‘No woman wishes to be hunted by a pack.’

‘Then you must pick out a favourite. Who will it be?’

‘Why not ask the lord sheriff?’ she said meaningfully. ‘I can see that you’ve already discussed my marital prospects with him. It’s one of the penalties of becoming a widow. No sooner is one husband consigned to his grave than everyone wonders who will follow him. I’m surprised that a royal commissioner should take an interest in such pointless tittle-tattle.’

Ralph backed off. ‘Accept my apologies,’ he said, penitently.

‘I’m not offended, my lord.’

‘You’ve every right to be. I should mind my own business.’

‘I’d agree with that,’ she said with a cold smile.’

‘You see? I did upset you.’

‘It will take a lot more than that to upset me.’

A servant came between them to refill her cup with wine. When the man stood back, Ralph saw that the lady Adelaide was talking deliberately to the man on her other side and he chided himself for being too inquisitive. He had learned something about her character but nothing at all about the competing claims of her two suitors. Ralph was still wondering which of the men would finally lure her into marriage when one of the contenders made a dramatic appearance.

Throwing open the door, a furious Richard de Fontenel came marching down the hall to stand accusingly in front of the sheriff. Servants froze in their positions and the buzz of conversation died instantly. Everyone turned to look at the enraged intruder. He gazed at the banquet with utter disgust before pointing directly at the host.

‘So this is where you are, my lord sheriff!’ he shouted. ‘My steward is savagely murdered and all you can do is fill your belly. Perform the office that’s required of you,’ he said, banging the table with a fist for emphasis. ‘Arrest the lord Mauger — now!’

The festivities were at an end.