The Rose Demon

caught a flurry of colour, bottle-green, as if Rosamund were running ahead of him. He charged down the steps and out into the bailey but there was nothing, only a group of Scottish soldiers lounging against the wall. These stared curiously. Matthias walked into the outer bailey and up the steps to the battlements. He had no real desire or firm conviction to throw himself over but he was curious. He wanted to see what would happen.

    He reached the top, the biting wind caught at his face and hair. Matthias leant over the battlements and stared down. Far below him, the moat was still frozen hard. Matthias raised his foot; there was a ledge there. It would be so easy to climb on, to stand for a few seconds before falling like a stone.

    ‘Matthias! Matthias!’

    He whirled round, mouth gaping. Rosamund was calling him as she often did but, in the yard below, only Scots moved about.

    ‘Matthias, come down! You are to come down now!’

    Matthias rubbed his eyes. He could see no one even looking at him. The figures below were intent on carting out any valuables, curtains, drapes, chests and coffers. Matthias looked over the battlements. The drop was dizzying. He felt sick. He gingerly went down the steps and back across into the cemetery. Despite the weak sunlight he was freezing cold. He knelt beside Rosamund’s grave, digging his fingers in the dirt as hot, scalding tears ran down his cheeks.

    ‘Are you with me, Rosamund? Are you truly with me?’

    He heard a sound behind him and looked round. Nothing. Only a piece of parchment, blown away from some plundered coffer, skittered across the earth. Matthias caught it: the writing was cramped, small and faded. He recognised Rosamund’s hand. It must have been written months ago, before she declared her love for him.

    ‘Matthias,’ he read, ‘amo te, amo te, Matthias. Matthias, I love you. Matthias, I love you.’ The same words were written time and again.

    On the bottom of the page Rosamund had drawn a face with a miserable expression. Matthias smiled. He kissed the scrap of parchment, folded it carefully and put it inside his jerkin. He then got to his feet and left the graveyard.

    Early next day Lord George Douglas and his party were seen approaching. His commander in the castle breathed a sigh of relief and danced a jig.

    ‘Thank God! Thank the Guid Lord!’ he shouted. ‘If the English had known what happened,’ he clapped Matthias on the shoulder, ‘the hunter would have become the hunted and I couldn’t face being besieged in Barnwick until Easter. It was all a gamble before the refugees from here could raise a warning. My Lord of Douglas is a bonny lad!’

    The portcullis was raised and the drawbridge lowered. Douglas and his party entered. They had now brought with them a string of carts. Some were empty, others full of armaments, crossbows, arbalests, lances, buckets full of arrows, swords, halberds, even a pile of chain-mail jerkins and leather sallets. One cart was full of gunpowder: barrels and tuns stacked on top of each other and covered with a canvas cloth.

    Lord George Douglas came to a stop. He threw Matthias his reins. Matthias let them drop. The Scotsman made a face and dismounted.

    ‘I am your prisoner, not your servant,’ Matthias declared.

    ‘That’s obvious,’ Douglas replied.

    ‘Then why am I here? Why wasn’t I released with the rest?’

    Douglas narrowed his eyes and, grasping Matthias by the shoulders, walked him away from the others.

    ‘I have a task for you, Fitzosbert,’ he murmured. ‘Deveraux told me what had happened here: the young girl who was mysteriously killed and, above all, the hauntings in the north tower. Are you fey? Do you have the second sight?’

    ‘I am a clerk, I am cold, I am hungry and I want to leave!’

    Douglas’ hand fell to his dagger hilt. ‘I asked you a question, Englishman. I did give your father-in-law honourable burial.’

    ‘I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what I have,’ Matthias replied. ‘But the north tower is haunted.’ He pointed to a cart full of gunpowder. ‘You are going to use some of that here, aren’t you?’

    ‘Of course! We are leaving this afternoon. We dare not stay here any longer. I would like to destroy Barnwick completely, leave not one stone upon another. However, that would take too long and I haven’t got the powder, so I am choosing what I should destroy. The gatehouse will go. Some of the outer and inner walls and, as a favour