The Rose Demon

helped Matthias set up an altar in one of the chambers in the north tower: a wooden table, two oil lamps at each end, a crucifix, cruets, a missal, chalice and paten. Matthias also arranged for sconce torches to be lit and placed in the wall. The sergeant-at-arms moved nervously. Matthias could understand why. Now and again they’d hear the quick intake of breath as if some being stood in the shadows watching them intently.

    Rosamund had wished to be present but Matthias refused.

    ‘It’s best not,’ he explained. ‘The little I know, and from what I have read, such occasions can go wrong.’

    Father Hubert readily agreed to help.

    ‘It’s only just and right,’ he declared. ‘I am a priest: these manifestations and phenomena come from a soul in distress. How can I refuse?’

    Sir Humphrey arranged for guards to be placed in the gallery outside the north tower, hand-picked men under the command of Vattier. Matthias gave them strict instructions not to open the door unless they heard his voice or that of Father Hubert. He and the chaplain arrived just before sunset. They watched the sky and, once the weak sun had dipped behind a thick ridge of clouds, Father Hubert began to vest. The oil lamps were lit. Father Hubert, and Matthias acting as his altar boy, approached the altar, bowed to the crucifix:

    ‘ In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Brothers and sisters in Christ. I, Father Hubert Deverell, priest of the chapel at Barnwick, do, by the powers given to me through ordination, offer this Mass for the repose of the soul of Maude Beauchamp and ask Christ, in His infinite goodness, to lead her to a place of repose and light!’

    ‘Oh, piss off, you vile, scurrilous priest!’

    Father Hubert stepped back.

    ‘Just ignore it,’ Matthias whispered.

    ‘I therefore call upon St Michael, St Gabriel, St Raphael,’ the chaplain continued, ‘leaders of the heavenly host, to come out and meet this soul and take it to such a place. Let her not fall into the hands of the enemy, the evil one, the son of perdition!’

    ‘Shut up! Piss off! Leave her alone. Why are you here, Hubert? Who are you to be praying for anybody?’ The voice dropped to a wheedle. ‘Don’t you remember Ursula? Don’t you remember how much you used to lust after her?’

    Father Hubert bowed his head, shoulders shaking, tears running down his face.

    ‘She was a girl,’ he whispered, ‘so many years ago.’

    ‘So what, Father?’ Matthias retorted. Matthias raised his head and sniffed: the vile stench was back, as if someone had suddenly opened a great sewer. The flames of the torches began to dip. ‘Continue!’ Matthias hissed. ‘For the love of God, Father, you must continue!’

    ‘I will go unto the altar of God, to the God who gives joy to my youth,’ the priest intoned. He pressed on and as his voice became stronger, the stench disappeared and the torches revived. Throughout the Mass, even though Father Hubert was now shaking, the sweat pouring down his face, the interruptions continued. Shouted obscenities and clattering on the stairs outside, giggling and, at one time, the walls broke out in a dark, oozing mud. None of these phenomena lasted long. The consecration was reached, host and chalice elevated and the manifestations subsided. Matthias, now and again, heard a woman sobbing but not in distress, rather like someone crying tears of joy or thanksgiving. At that part of the canon of the Mass where the priest had to name the dead soul, the clatter on the stairs outside grew intolerable: running up and down, clashing chains, hammering on the walls. Father Hubert had to pause and sit down.

    ‘I feel sick,’ he whispered.

    Matthias told him to rest, and went outside. He stared up into the darkness and, abruptly, as if the thought had been whispered to him, he felt an urge to call on the Rose Demon: to bid for his power, his help. He closed his eyes and leant against the wall. So intense was this desire that he had to bite his lip.

    ‘Go away!’ he whispered.

    ‘Why?’ the man’s voice shouted, as if from the top of the tower. ‘Where has she gone? I am all alone!’

    ‘Can’t you go with her?’

    Matthias opened his eyes. Father Hubert was now standing beside him.

    ‘I can’t go,’ the voice rasped. ‘Lost in darkness. I will not go! I will not forgive! I will not ask for mercy!’

    ‘Then,’ Father Hubert asked, ‘are we never to be rid of you?’

    ‘Not until they come