Just under two metres long and tapering to roughly half a metre at its widest point, it lies flat and largely unannounced, decorated but undated, identified but not fully explained. There is no inscription to name the person it once marked, and the stone itself has come down to us incomplete.

The slab is carved with a seven-armed cross whose terminals are finished in fleur-de-lys, the stylised lily motif associated with medieval ecclesiastical and heraldic decoration across Europe. A plain horizontal bar crosses the shaft below the cross head, and the whole design sits above a curving pillar cross base, with a raised border running around the perimeter of the stone. The chamfering of the edges, where the stone is cut at an angle rather than left square, is a common refinement on medieval funerary slabs and suggests a degree of craft and commission rather than a simple field marker. What complicates the picture is the sinister edge, the left-hand side as you look at it, which shows no chamfer and is missing two of its arm terminals. Whether this damage is old or more recent, accidental or deliberate, is not recorded. The cathedral itself stands on the site of a medieval church, and the graveyard surrounding it has accumulated centuries of burials and monuments, making it difficult to say with certainty where this particular slab originated or how long it has occupied its current position at the kerb.