The Rose Demon

the binding of the Bible, perhaps persuade Sir Humphrey to have it re-covered. Matthias, however, was really studying the verses from Genesis which his father had written on that scrap of paper so many years ago.

    ‘A swordsman, a scholar and now a man of prayer.’

    Rosamund had softly entered. She was staring down at him.

    ‘You mock too much, my lady.’ Matthias turned the pages. ‘And a jest, like a jug of wine, eventually runs out.’

    ‘Matthias the miserable.’

    He glanced up. Red spots of anger were high in her cheeks.

    ‘Fitzosbert the Grim. Why are you so grim, Fitzosbert? Why do you walk around like a man burdened with all the cares of the world?’ Rosamund walked up and down in front of him.

    Matthias laughed as he recognised a perfect parody of himself. She stopped her pacing.

    ‘So, there’s wine left in the jug yet, Matthias?’

    Rosamund sat down opposite. She opened a small linen napkin and nibbled at some marzipan. Again she imitated him, popping the pieces into her mouth as Matthias did at table. She did it so solemnly, so accurately, that he bellowed with laughter. She glowered back.

    ‘Why do you bother me, my lady?’

    ‘I like you, Fitzosbert, I really do! I have never met a man I like so much as you, Matthias!’

    His jaw dropped in amazement. He was used to tavern wenches, the directness of slatterns like Amasia. Rosamund gazed back.

    ‘I like you very, very much, Matthias,’ she repeated. ‘And all you can do is crouch like a dog with its tongue lolling.’ She popped more marzipan into her mouth. ‘And, before you think it, never mind say it, I’m not a wanton. I’m a maid, a virgo intacta. I am seventeen years of age. My hand has been asked in marriage five times. The last one was a knight who owned lands in Scarsdale. He was youngish, elegant and he walked like this.’

    She got up and did a mincing walk up and down the chapel. Matthias smiled. She imitated the man in such detail: the slight swagger, the hand half-raised, fingers splayed. Matthias had seen fops and court gallants do the same and the look on her face, slightly deprecating, eyes half-closed, was accurate too. She stopped, bunched her skirts up and held herself slightly backwards.

    ‘He had the most incredible codpiece. I told Father he should marry one of our mares!’

    Matthias couldn’t hold his laughter back. Rosamund crouched beside him, her face now serious. He went to grasp her hand, she knocked it aside, popped a piece of marzipan into his mouth, then punched him gently on the jaw.

    ‘Don’t say it, Matthias. Don’t say anything to me you don’t mean. Don’t go away thinking I’m some lady in a tower who dies to be free. I love my father. I love this castle. I love the wild countryside around. I have heard the songs of troubadours and I have listened to courtly praises. I’ve met men who want to play cat’s-cradle with me in some window seat or bower. It just makes me giggle. It’s good to see you smile. Now, open your mouth.’

    Matthias obeyed, another piece of marzipan was put in.

    ‘So, don’t say anything,’ she whispered, ‘unless you mean it. I have liked you, Matthias, from the very moment I met you. I could say more but I won’t.’

    And then she was gone. Matthias just sat dumbstruck. He wished she’d come back, he really did. For those few minutes, everything in the past seemed to have gone. He was just a young man, most fortunate in being teased by a lovely woman. She had said she liked him but Matthias had glimpsed the passion in her eyes. He realised how little he did know about women. He got to his feet, absent-mindedly put the Bible back on the altar and wandered out. Father Hubert passed him on the stairs.

    ‘Do you think it can be bound?’

    ‘Yes, it’s very nice, Father, isn’t it?’

    The chaplain looked at him strangely. Matthias realised he hadn’t been listening to the question. He went on down, then wandered around the castle. He wanted to see Rosamund but there was no sign of her so he went and lay down on his bed, staring up at the roof beams as if he had never seen them before.

    That night at supper Rosamund came down dressed in a dark green samite gown with lace fringes round the neck and cuffs. Her wimple was of pure white gauze. Matthias had never seen anyone so lovely. She sat eating moodily but, when she caught his eye, she winked slowly, followed by such a mischievous grin, Matthias wondered if she were just teasing him.