The Rose Demon

footfalls outside but still he pressed on. Vattier was looking over his shoulder. Matthias refused to turn. A voice shouted: ‘Not that one!’ There was a click, Vattier was running towards him. The crossbow bolt took the sergeant-at-arms full in the throat. He collapsed to his knees, gave a loud sigh and fell gently sideways.

    Matthias whirled round. Armed men stood at the doorway, crossbows at the ready. Deveraux stood in front. They thronged in. One of them knocked the sword from Matthias’ hand. Deveraux kicked Vattier’s corpse.

    ‘So, you are fighting amongst yourselves now?’

    ‘Sir Humphrey, where is he?’ demanded Matthias.

    ‘He’s dead.’ A knight in chain mail came into the room, the sword he held bloody to the hilt. He took off the heavy sallet which covered most of his face. ‘Lord George Douglas,’ he introduced himself.

    Matthias stared at the man’s ruddy, stubbly features under the glistening mop of red hair. His face was as pale as the underbelly of a landed fish, a cruel, warlike face; crooked nose above thin lips, eyes which hardly blinked. Douglas scratched an unshaven cheek and gestured with his head.

    ‘The garrison have surrendered.’

    ‘Bogodis?’ Deveraux asked.

    ‘He’s dead. Sir Humphrey killed him.’ He glanced at Matthias. ‘You must be his son-in-law?’ Douglas sat down on a cask. ‘I tried to save Sir Humphrey, God knows I did, but he refused my terms and fought like a madman!’ Douglas looked round. ‘So, what’s been happening here?’

    ‘We’ve been entertaining traitors,’ Matthias snapped.

    A soldier went to seize Matthias’ arm but Douglas shook his head.

    ‘Get out, all of you. Deveraux, you stay. Tell the garrison they can take what they carry and piss off! If they are not gone by dawn, I’ll hang every one of them.’

    Douglas waited until the soldiers had left the cellar, then got to his feet.

    ‘I’m not a freebooter,’ he continued. ‘I am here in the service of his Most Esteemed Grace James III of Scotland.’ Douglas’ voice was scornful.

    Matthias recalled Sir Humphrey’s remarks about the ineptitude of the present Scottish king. But Sir Humphrey was dead! The heat of the battle drained from him, Matthias felt cold, tired and sick at heart. He sat down, back to the wall, staring through the doorway.

    ‘We came south.’ Douglas too sat down. He picked up a piece of rag to clean his sword. ‘The weather suited us and Barnwick was chosen. I might as well tell you, because you are going nowhere; well, at least not for the moment. We couldn’t take Barnwick by storm, but by stealth was another matter. Are you interested in what I’m saying, Englishman?’

    Matthias kept staring at the doorway. ‘I couldn’t care,’ he replied, ‘whether I live or die. You, my Lord Douglas, and your strategies do not concern me.’

    ‘Oh, but they do, my bonny lad. You see I’m going to continue south, go on a pilgrimage to Castleden Priory.’

    ‘And add blasphemy and sacrilege to your crimes?’

    Douglas grinned wolfishly. ‘We will not harm a hair on the brothers’ heads. We are simply going to collect what they have.’

    Again Matthias recalled Sir Humphrey’s words: how the Warden of the northern march kept armaments, particularly gunpowder, stored in certain houses across the border.

    ‘We are going to borrow it,’ Douglas continued, ‘use it for our own purposes.’ He glanced at Deveraux. ‘You did good work.’

    The traitor smirked. Douglas got to his feet.

    ‘I told a lie, mind you, Sir Humphrey didn’t kill Bogodis.’

    ‘Then who?’

    ‘I did.’

    Douglas thrust his sword straight into Deveraux’s stomach, turned and pulled it out. The man stumbled towards him at a half-crouch, the blood spouting out between his fingers. Douglas struck again, a killing blow to the neck. Deveraux crashed to the ground.

    ‘Two things I never trust,’ Douglas leant down and cleaned his sword on the man’s corpse, ‘are mercenaries and traitors.’ He grinned at Matthias. ‘And they both know a little too much about you. Ah well, let’s see what is happening.’

    He called his soldiers back. Matthias’ hands were tied, though loosely. He was bundled out into the inner bailey, now a scene of carnage with bodies lying everywhere. Already the Scots were preparing a funeral pyre. Matthias asked to search out Sir Humphrey. He begged Douglas for the pitiful, scarred corpse to be buried next to that of his