The Rose Demon

Percy, Earl of Northumberland, giving safe conduct to his faithful squire Deveraux. Matthias studied the red seal bearing the imprint of the Percy lion. He tossed the letter on to a table and walked across to stand behind Sir Humphrey.

    ‘We’ve travelled far and fast,’ Bogodis declared, rubbing his feet. ‘The truce with Scotland is over.’

    Sir Humphrey groaned.

    ‘As you know,’ Bogodis continued, ‘King James III is having trouble with his barons. They have hanged his favourites in Edinburgh and brought the King to book. King James hopes to unite the country in a war against the “auld enemy”. He’s sent out writs ordering levies. The great nobles are bringing their men in. They could be over the border within days.’

    ‘At the dead of winter?’ Sir Humphrey exclaimed.

    ‘They are on the move already,’ Deveraux spoke up. ‘We have seen the banners of James’s principal commander, the Black Douglas.’

    ‘And what advice does the Lord Percy give?’ Sir Humphrey asked.

    Deveraux shrugged. ‘Be on your guard. Keep the drawbridge up, the battlements manned. Don’t send parties out into the countryside, they could be ambushed.’

    ‘And you?’ Matthias asked.

    He had taken an immediate dislike to both men but couldn’t understand why, which made him feel guilty. Perhaps he just resented them as outsiders. They were intruders, bringing harsh news into the castle, reminding Matthias that there was a world beyond the walls: cold, bloody and threatening. Bogodis looked up at him.

    ‘We have ridden hard and long,’ he retorted. ‘We are tired, our horses spent. Sir Humphrey, if you will, a few days to rest and then we’ll continue.’

    ‘There are other riders out,’ Deveraux added. ‘We are to do what we can, then return.’

    Sir Humphrey thanked them and beckoned Matthias into the Chancery. The Constable sat on a stool and rubbed his face.

    ‘I don’t like this,’ he whispered. ‘It’s the dead of winter. The roads are clogged with mud. Snow covers the moors.’

    ‘Could a Scottish raiding party move south so quickly?’ Matthias asked anxiously.

    ‘Oh yes,’ Sir Humphrey replied. ‘The snow melts and there are trackways and byways. They have done it before. Have you ever seen Scottish horses, Matthias? Stout little garrons, they are half-wild and roam the glens. Our snow-covered moors will be little problem for them. All we can do is pray that the snow returns. What we need is it laying thick and fast. For the rest?’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll tell Vattier no patrols are to be sent out. We’ll keep a watch.’

    In the end the sky fully cleared. The sun, weak though it was, melted the snow even further round the castle. Matthias’ anxiety deepened as the tenor of the castle changed. Stores had to be carefully counted, armaments readied, a constant watch by day and night. On the Feast of St Hilary, as Matthias was breaking his fast with Rosamund and Vattier, he heard the distant braying of the war horn and the alarm being raised. He told Rosamund to go back to their chamber, and followed Vattier out up into the high tower of the gatehouse. He didn’t need the guards’ explanation, a dark plume of smoke stained the horizon.

    ‘God help us!’ Vattier breathed. ‘There’s a farm burning out there. The bastards are coming!’

    Vattier again sounded the war horn. The children stopped playing in the outer and inner baileys and were led away by their white-faced mothers. Soldiers tumbled out of their lodgings, fully armed. Vattier and Matthias went down to check the drawbridge was up and the portcullis down and locked. They continued their long vigil.

    On the following day, just before noon, Matthias glimpsed small, dark figures on the horizon. At first they reminded him of ants creeping down a white-washed wall, just a few at first. Leaning over the battlements he strained his eyes against the whiteness of the landscape and made out horse and riders. He tried to calm the churning in his stomach. Within the hour there were more. Soon, a dark mass of horse and foot were moving slowly but inexorably towards the castle. They fanned out, reminding Matthias of the horns of a bull: on each wing, horsemen; men-at-arms in the centre; carts behind a dark, seething mass.

    Every man stood to arms and, by late in the afternoon, the enemy had gathered across the frozen moat. They included mounted men-at-arms and a whole mass of lightly armed foot soldiers dressed in