The Rose Demon

his injuries.

    The mood in the castle grew sombre. The hard-packed earth in the cemetery was again dug up and sheeted corpses interred, a cross above them. Women and children wailed for the dead men. Sir Humphrey called constant meetings to discuss the situation: the Scots sat outside, waiting and watching.

    ‘Father is at a loss,’ Rosamund declared, as she and Matthias lay in bed one night. ‘He cannot understand what the Scots want: he wonders whether he should sally out and drive them off.’

    Matthias could not agree. He spent hours in the gatehouse staring down at the Scottish camp. He reckoned their force outnumbered the garrison’s by at least three to one and, as Vattier said, what happened if there were others in the vicinity?

    After the first week, days of frayed temper and sleepless nights, Sir Humphrey relaxed, poking fun at what the Scots intended.

    ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he declared. ‘Just wait and see. Perhaps they’ll become tired and wander off elsewhere.’

    Matthias wasn’t so sure. He felt a presentiment of danger, a silent threat or menace. He was uneasy whenever the two messengers, Deveraux and Bogodis, were in the vicinity. Work in the Chancery came to a standstill. Instead Matthias became more involved in the defence of the castle, going out at night to the sentries, taking great care when he peered over the battlements to ensure the Scots were not attempting some new strategy. On Candlemas Eve he had done such a duty. Then he returned to his own chamber, lit a candle and stared down where Rosamund was sleeping peacefully like a babe, her hands cupped under one cheek. He heard a knock on the door. Sir Humphrey came in. He glanced towards the bed and beckoned at Matthias, who grabbed his boots and followed him out into the gallery.

    ‘What is it?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘I don’t know.’ Sir Humphrey was clearly agitated.

    Matthias put his boots on, wrapped his cloak round him and followed Sir Humphrey down the steps and across the inner bailey towards the keep.

    ‘Sir Humphrey, what is it?’ Matthias insisted, grabbing him by the arm.

    The Constable turned. His lower lip quivered: in the light from the torch he had taken from an iron bracket, his face looked aged and lined.

    ‘It’s Anna,’ he murmured, naming a kitchen slattern with a reputation for teasing the soldiers.

    ‘For God’s sake, man, what about her?’

    ‘She went missing early this afternoon.’

    ‘And?’

    Sir Humphrey just pulled his arm away. He walked on so fast Matthias had to run to catch up with him. The Constable entered the keep. He went down some narrow steps leading into a maze of dungeons and storerooms. Two guards, each carrying a torch, stood within the doorway at the bottom of the steps. One of them had been sick: he was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Sir Humphrey led Matthias along the icy-cold, musty passageway and into a room where barrels and casks were stored. Even before he pulled a barrel aside, Matthias glimpsed the pair of bare feet sticking out from behind it. Sir Humphrey gestured with his hand and turned away.

    Matthias knelt down. He recognised Anna. The young woman lay, her smock pulled above her knees, her legs twisted strangely. Her head was turned sideways, long, lustrous hair covered her face and neck. Matthias moved the hair and turned the head towards him. Anna stared sightlessly up. Matthias looked at her throat. He closed his eyes and groaned. The girl’s bare shoulders were bruised, and on either side of her windpipe were two great jagged holes.

21

    Matthias was too frightened, too tongue-tied to offer any explanation. He just advised Sir Humphrey that the corpse be removed and stumbled back to his own chamber. He did not sleep that night but slouched in a chair. The Rose Demon was back, incarnated in some person in the garrison: the macabre killings had begun again. The night seemed to stretch like an eternity. He just sat and waited for Rosamund to wake and, when she did just after daybreak, he told her in clipped sentences what he had seen the previous evening. Rosamund sat up, her back against the bolsters, her long hair flowing down over her shoulders. She was so calm, so unperturbed, Matthias was surprised.

    ‘Of course I expected it,’ she snapped crossly. ‘Matthias, do you think I am a numbskull? When you told me, that day we went to the wall, I knew then this being would not leave us alone. The question is who? And