The Rose Demon

excitement and preparations for war. At last the fleet came from Flanders bringing the English lords John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, Francis Lovell, coffers full of gold from Margaret of Burgundy and, more importantly, over a thousand mercenaries led by their commander, Martin Schwartz. The latter poured into Dublin, a fearsome sight. They wore heavy sallets with eye-slits which protected most of their faces; breastplates, and hard-boiled leather leggings. Each man carried a sword, dagger and a heavy steel-stained crossbow with bolts which could crack hardened armour plate. They were also experts in the pike and the lance, redoubtable on foot as well as horse. These and the retinues of de la Pole and Lovell now filled the grounds of the Archbishop’s palace.

    De la Pole was a square, thickset man, grim-faced, hard-eyed, his chin and forelips cleanly shaved. He soon took over command of the Yorkist forces mustered there. Lovell was lean and sallow-faced, long black hair falling down to his shoulders; he reminded Matthias of Rahere the clerk. Lovell had been a confidant of Richard III, a member of his secret council. Both he and de la Pole had little time for Symonds and his protégé.

    ‘It’s obvious,’ Fitzgerald commented as he, Mairead and Matthias sat under an oak tree. They were sharing a jug of ale, watching the soldiers set up camp, treating the Archbishop’s orchards as if they were their own personal property. ‘It’s obvious,’ Fitzgerald repeated, for he loved to pontificate on military matters, ‘that our young prince is only a figurehead. Once these matters are brought to a successful conclusion, Symonds and Edward of Warwick will soon disappear.’ He lowered his voice as he refilled their cups. ‘I have taken close counsel with my Lord of Lincoln: Tudor still parades Edward of Warwick in London.’

    ‘It’s a wild scheme,’ Mairead declared. ‘Thomas, my boy, and you, Matthias, we should leave, slip away. Let the witless lead the madcaps. All this will end in blood and tears.’

    Fitzgerald just laughed and returned to his drinking, but Mairead’s words set Matthias thinking. There was now tension in the Yorkist camp. The retainers of Lovell, wearing the livery of a white greyhound on a square padlock, and those displaying the golden lions of Lincoln, now swaggered through the galleries and corridors of the Archbishop’s palace. Fitzgerald breathlessly reported how de la Pole had now made himself master of the young Edward, and Symonds was nothing more than a confidant. The ex-priest could not object. De la Pole, because he was of Yorkist descent, soon won over the allegiance of the Irish chieftains. The Earl also controlled the gold given to him by Margaret of Burgundy, not to mention Schwartz, his principal military adviser. A more rigorous discipline was imposed. Weapons were collected and piled in warehouses down near the harbour. Ships, cogs and herring-boats were impounded. The invasion fleet began to muster.

    Matthias kept to himself or talked to Fitzgerald and Mairead. Since his dream he had experienced no other phenomena, though he had heard from whispers in the sculleries and kitchens, as well as a few guarded comments from Mairead, that the strange murders were still occurring in Dublin. Corpses had been found, their throats punctured, drained of blood. Matthias, however, felt helpless: the Rose Demon could inhabit any one of the people he knew and, apart from Mairead and Fitzgerald, there was no one he could confide in.

    At the beginning of May 1487, Warwick was crowned King Edward VI in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin. It was a splendid ceremony, the nave and sanctuary filled with banners, the Mass celebrated by two archbishops and twelve bishops. The crown was placed on the young man’s head. He received the holy chrism and was loudly proclaimed as Edward VI, King of Ireland, England, Scotland and France. The crowded nave, packed with mercenaries, the followers of Lincoln, Lovell and the Irish chieftains, roared its approval. Afterwards banquets were held, toasts given, alliances and friendships proclaimed to be eternal. A few days later the ships, cogs, herring-boats and fishing smacks were loaded up with provisions and arms.

    At the beginning of June the Yorkist army embarked on the ships which had collected in the city harbour. Matthias secured a place in the flagship, the Sainte Marie , a massive cog which bore most of the commanders. He felt as if he were in