The Rose Demon

His heart lurched. He couldn’t take that. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to crouch before him. She could poke fun as long as she stayed. After supper, however, she rose quickly, the back of her hand against her forehead.

    ‘I feel a little hot and feverish,’ she whispered.

    Sir Humphrey glanced at her.

    ‘But tomorrow,’ she cooed, ‘I’ll be better.’

    Another slow wink for Matthias, the Devil’s own grin, and Lady Rosamund Bearsden swept from the hall.

    Matthias did not sleep much that night. He could think of nothing but Rosamund, her beauty, her directness. On one occasion he felt a chill. Her name, Rosamundi: could the Rose Demon be here?

    The next morning at Mass he felt guilty. Rosamund took the host as usual. Afterwards Matthias engaged in such a furious bout of sword fighting that Vattier threw his hands up in dismay and conceded defeat.

    Matthias, covered in sweat, went back into the keep, up to his own chamber. The door was slightly ajar. His heart leapt in his throat. He pushed the door aside carefully.

    ‘No, it’s not her.’ Father Hubert was sitting on his bed. ‘Come on, Matthias.’ He gestured at the stool opposite. ‘Close the door and sit down.’

    Matthias did so. ‘What do you want, Father?’

    ‘You’ve already told me. I said, “It’s not her” and you didn’t even bother to ask me who. I’m talking about our Rosamund.’

    ‘What about her?’

    ‘She loves you deeply, Matthias. I could tell that the first day we met. Didn’t you see her? She went pale.’ The priest leant closer, his face full of concern. ‘I’ve known her since she was . . . well, since I baptised her. She can be a wilful minx, a tease, but she’s as honest as the day is long. She is a woman of absolute determination. If she sets her mind on something then it will happen. She has told me she loves you. She loves you deeply, Matthias Fitzosbert.’ He shook his head. ‘And she doesn’t know I am here. I always knew this would happen. Rosamund is not some summer butterfly. When she hates, she hates. When she fights, she fights. I have always said that if she loves, God help the man she chooses. Now, Matthias, you must not play with her affections. This is no “kiss me in the stable”, or some tumble in the straw. Do you understand me?’

    Matthias, fighting hard to control the elation within him, nodded. Father Hubert looked down at the floor, stubbing it with the toe of his sandal.

    ‘You are a good man, Matthias, honourable and truthful.’ He glanced nervously towards the door. ‘But there are two other matters I have to tell you.’ He paused to choose his words. ‘You have heard about the legends of the north tower?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Well, they are not legends. That tower is haunted! Sir Humphrey keeps the door locked. On one occasion I did bless it but, I think, it will need more than a blessing to make reparation for the terrible evil committed there.’

    ‘Father, what has that got to do with me?’

    ‘Well, the tower has been quiet for a number of years, but recently there have been stirrings, faint noises; lights glimpsed through the windows.’

    ‘And?’

    ‘They occurred the first night you arrived here and have done so ever since.’

    ‘Why do you blame me, Father?’

    ‘Ah well, that brings me to the second matter!’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do you remember, Matthias, a few days ago you were sitting in the small garden on the far side of the hall? A beautiful, sunny day. You had a piece of parchment over your lap, smoothing it down with a pumice stone. Well, I went into the hall. I was thirsty. I took a cup of buttermilk and went and stood by the window to ask if you wanted to share it.’

    ‘Of course, I remember!’

    ‘You were not alone,’ the priest said. ‘Matthias, believe me, I am not a fool. Since I was a child I have had second sight.’ He scratched his balding pate. ‘Sometimes I see things which ... well, I’d prefer if I didn’t. A hooded person was sitting next to you. His cloak was black as night, the cowl pulled up. At first I thought it was someone from the garrison but, strange, I hadn’t seen him when I first came in, and why sit like that on a hot summer’s day? I stared at that figure. I couldn’t see any hands or face. I went cold with fear yet, at the same time, through the window, came this rich thick smell of roses. I have never smelt the like before. I put the buttermilk on the table. I was going to