The Rose Demon

sergeant-at-arms looked no different though the light was poor. Matthias stepped back. Vattier followed him into the pool of light shed by the thick tallow candle.

    ‘Always the same,’ Matthias murmured. ‘Except for the eyes!’

    ‘The poet said the eyes are windows of the soul.’

    ‘You pursued me here,’ Matthias retorted. ‘Why?’

    ‘I haven’t pursued you.’

    Matthias held himself steady. It was Vattier talking, his lips moving, his hands spread in a gesture of peace, but Matthias watched the eyes, bright and searching: that same soft look he had glimpsed in the hermit or when Rahere had bent over him to explain some point.

    ‘I am here, Matthias, to protect you. I can’t leave you alone. Can a mother forget her babe? Can a lover the beloved?’

    ‘You brought me misery,’ Matthias accused.

    ‘Did I now, Matthias? Or did you call on me? I have been here before, long before you were ever born. That old, babbling hermit Pender told you, did he not?’

    ‘What do you want?’

    ‘I love you, Matthias.’

    ‘If you love me, why did Rosamund die?’

    ‘Matthias. I am not the Lord God. I did not want her death. I have no power over the will, over the individual actions of every man and woman. You were warned, all of you.’ Vattier closed his eyes. ‘I did what I could, Matthias. Believe me, I did what I could.’

    Matthias moved sideways and glanced round him. The body of the maid was slumped on the floor.

    ‘And Caterina is dead. She died giving life: to drink blood is the price I must pay.’ Vattier breathed in deeply.

    ‘Sir Humphrey is a fool,’ he went on. ‘He should never have allowed Deveraux and Bogodis in, but his mind is fuddled, always fuddled.’

    ‘What do you mean?’

    ‘It’s too late, Creatura. Every man makes choices. Every man has an intellect and a will. Sir Humphrey has made his.’

    ‘You were jealous of Rosamund?’

    Vattier stepped closer. ‘Creatura--’

    ‘Don’t call me that!’

    ‘You must leave here. You must keep yourself safe.’

    ‘Leave me alone!’ Matthias hissed, stepping back. ‘Tell me now you’ll leave me alone!’

    ‘Creatura, I cannot. I cannot stop, nor can you. The will is immutable, determined. Its choices are made.’

    ‘I have made my choice.’

    Vattier shook his head. ‘Not now, Creatura, now is not the time.’

    Matthias heard an uproar outside, the sound of shouting and screaming. Vattier stretched out a hand.

    ‘Come, Creatura, come with me. They are all dead.’

    ‘Why, what’s happening?’

    Matthias moved to the doorway, the sound of shouting had grown. He could hear the clatter of swords.

    ‘The Scots are in the castle,’ Vattier said softly. ‘I told you, Sir Humphrey was a fool. Time and again I’d prick your suspicions. I can make you think, Creatura, but I can’t make you decide. Bogodis and Deveraux are spies,’ he continued. ‘They are not messengers from the Percys. They are traitors. Sir Humphrey should have sent them away immediately.’

    Mathias stared at him aghast.

    ‘They are spies,’ Vattier repeated. ‘And, while the garrison supped, they took care of the guards in the gatehouse. The drawbridge has been lowered, the portcullis raised. The Scots are in.’

    Matthias, despite his own fears, closed his eyes and groaned. Of course, Bogodis and Deveraux had been their outriders. The Scots had come, sat down and waited until their men were accepted. Vattier was right. Sir Humphrey had been foolish and so he would pay the price.

    ‘Now you have called on me, I can help. I shall, in the future, send you warnings.’

    ‘There is no future!’ Matthias whispered.

    ‘Come with me,’ Vattier urged.

    Matthias felt a sudden spurt of blind rage. He brought his sword back and gave a cutting bow. Vattier swerved aside.

    ‘I’ll kill you!’ Matthias whispered hoarsely. ‘You could have helped us.’

    ‘I could not, until you called!’ There were tears in Vattier’s eyes.

    ‘Then draw your sword,’ Matthias hissed. ‘If you love me, draw your sword.’

    Vattier did so. Matthias closed: a hacking blow with the sword, a thrust of the dagger, but Vattier blocked this and stepped back. Outside the screams and clamour were growing. Matthias didn’t care. Rosamund was dead. His world was shattered and Vattier, whoever he was, would pay the price. Again he closed, hacking blows, thrusting with his dagger. Vattier used all his skills to dance aside. Matthias heard