The Rose Demon

eyes of one who had difficulty seeing. He was dressed in a grey, dusty gown, the sleeves folded back; his long fingers were covered in ink. His companion was a typical soldier, burly, thickset, his fair hair cropped so close Matthias at first thought he was bald. He was dressed in a boiled leather jacket, stained and blackened with sweat; dark blue, woollen hose and tight leather boots on which spurs jangled and clattered as he walked. He looked at Matthias and winked. His leathery, weather-beaten face broke into a grin.

    ‘John Vane,’ he introduced himself. ‘Master-at-arms. This is Master Winstanley, royal clerk.’

    ‘Where am I?’ Matthias felt unsteady on his feet. He went back and sat on the bed.

    ‘You are in Newark Castle, brought here late last night.’

    Matthias recalled Fitzgerald’s blow to his face. He felt the side of his head.

    ‘You are a mystery, Master Fitzosbert.’ Winstanley came over and peered down at him. ‘Some say you are a rebel. Others that you are loyal and true. Anyway, his Grace the Earl of Oxford has decided that you won’t hang. Clerks are too valuable to be strung up like rats!’

    ‘Where’s Fitzgerald?’ Matthias asked. ‘What’s happened?’

    ‘Fitzgerald! Fitzgerald!’ Winstanley shrugged. ‘I don’t know where Fitzgerald is or who he is! The royal army is moving south. People like me and Master Vane are left to clean up the mess.’

    ‘You have received a pardon.’ Vane thrust a small parchment scroll into Matthias’ hands. ‘But on one condition.’

    Matthias undid the parchment. He read the copperplate lettering. The small blob of wax at the end bore the personal insignia of the Earl of Oxford. Matthias sighed and closed his eyes. The letter proclaimed that he, Matthias Fitzosbert, be pardoned for all crimes on one condition, that he serve no less than three years as castle clerk at Barnwick on the Scottish march.

    ‘It’s better than hanging, lad,’ Vane said quietly. The master-of-arms chewed the corner of his mouth. ‘God knows I’ve seen enough hangings to last me ten lifetimes. I have to take you to Barnwick. I’m also taking provisions and money for the garrison.’ He crouched before Matthias. ‘Now look, lad, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done. Really, I don’t give a damn.’ He tapped the piece of parchment. ‘This is a second chance. I advise you to take it. Now, we are leaving in two hours, just after noon. I can truss you like a pig and if you try to escape,’ he touched the side of Matthias’ neck, ‘I’ll cut your throat. That will be the end of the matter. But you look a bonny lad, you’ve got honest eyes - give me your word you won’t cause me trouble and I’ll give you a sword belt, your own horse and treat you as one of the lads.’

    Matthias gave his word.

    ‘Good!’ Vane got to his feet. He extended his hand.

    Matthias clasped it: he held on, squeezing the fingers tightly.

    ‘Who are you?’ Matthias whispered. ‘Are you really John Vane?’

    ‘Of course I am.’ The soldier pulled his hand away. ‘I think you’ve had one too many knocks on the head, lad. I was born John Vane and I will die John Vane but, if you want, you can think of me as the great Cham.’ The man-at-arms wrinkled his nose. ‘But if you are going to travel with me I want you to bathe. You stink like a pig pen!’

    He and Winstanley left. A short while later a servant brought in a leather bucket full of warm water. Matthias stripped and washed, cleaning himself with a rag and rubbing some oil the servants also brought into his skin.

    Vane came into the room and tossed a pile of clothes and a good set of riding boots upon the bed. A bleary-eyed, bald-pated man accompanied him: he cut Matthias’ hair and expertly shaved the stubble from his face. Matthias found the clothes fitted him. They were musty but clean. Vane gave him a war belt with a sheath for the small broadsword and dagger also provided.

    ‘You don’t look like a rebel now,’ Vane smiled. ‘Come on.’

    They went down to the castle refectory. Vane introduced Matthias to the rest of the soldiers, nine men in all: grizzled veterans, men-at-arms looking forward to the journey north as a break from the boring routine of garrison duty. They left Newark a little later than planned, Vane’s nine companions, with Matthias in the centre, riding ahead of the three great lumbering carts which accompanied them. On the outskirts of Newark, six archers,