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.
