The Rose Demon

and one of me.’

    He smiled wolfishly at the outlaw leader, who was growing wary of this tall, silent hermit, the crossbow he carried and the great war belt strapped round his waist.

    ‘She asks for pity,’ Matthias mocked. ‘What is that? I’ll go and get my cup and join you.’

    He turned his back. As he did so, he brought back the cord of the crossbow, looping it over the catch. The outlaws guffawed at the woman’s screams. They were still laughing when Matthias spun round: the crossbow bolt took the outlaw leader in the side of the head, digging deep into his skull, and then, sword and dagger drawn, Matthias was amongst them. They were so drunk, so taken by surprise that Matthias easily despatched two of them: the last was more agile, his cold, hard eyes and long nasty face more wary. Matthias and he circled each other. The male prisoner screamed in agony at the flames, which now licked the soles of his feet. Matthias shouted at the woman to kick the fire away: as he did so, the outlaw closed. Matthias swerved, the dagger skimmed his ear. Again they parted, continuing to circle in a half-crouch.

    ‘Why?’ the outlaw hissed.

    ‘I changed my mind,’ Matthias taunted.

    The outlaw came in a rush. Matthias stepped aside: he caught the man deep, just beneath the rib cage, withdrew his sword and watched as the outlaw slumped to his knees, screaming at the terrible rent in his side. Matthias came behind. Dropping his dagger, he grasped the hilt of his sword and, with two hands, took the outlaw’s head in one cutting slice. Around him the young woman was screaming; the two children sobbed uncontrollably, their faces buried deep in the dirt as they tried to hide from any sight or sound of what was happening.

    Matthias cut the captured man down: he was bruised, still terrified, the soles of his feet were slightly scorched but otherwise he’d suffered no serious injuries. Matthias then moved to the children, a young boy and girl. He cut their bonds and gently stroked their hair. He calmed them, assuring them that all was well and that he intended no injury. He went round the outlaws. Three were dead, one was grievously wounded. Matthias cut his throat and dragged all four corpses out of sight. The women had seized their clothing and gone elsewhere. The man, still acting like a dream-walker, had to be dressed by Matthias: he then sat on the ground, one arm round each of his children. The women returned. Matthias used some of the wine to bathe their bruises and cuts. As darkness fell, he cooked food and made them all drink deeply of the wine.

    A full day passed before they began to recover from their shock, the mother first. She gathered her family together, talking to them softly, reaffirming Matthias’ assurances. Every so often she would grasp Matthias’ fingers and squeeze them.

    ‘My husband is a merchant,’ she whispered. ‘We were on a pilgrimage to York.’ Her face now looked comely, her hair tied decorously back. ‘We slept in one morning. We became separated from our party and then stopped to eat. The outlaws struck.’

    Matthias gently stroked her cheek. ‘Did the outlaws harm you or your daughter?’

    ‘No, they found the wine. They were evil!’ She spat the words out. ‘Demons from hell!’

    Matthias nodded and walked away. He knew about demons.

    Two days passed. The man introduced himself as Gilbert Sempringham, a prosperous clothier.

    ‘I did a stupid thing,’ he confessed. ‘I thought it was safe.’

    ‘It is,’ Matthias reassured him. ‘You were just unlucky. Never ever do it again. Never leave the roads, never go on to the moors.’

    At last the Sempringhams recovered from their shock. The children first, so absorbed in the present, they viewed the outlaws’ attack as a horrid nightmare to be quickly forgotten. Sempringham’s wife, Margaret, was a calm, common sense woman. Elizabeth, the daughter, comely, rather shy, spent most of the time gazing adoringly at Matthias as if he were some gallant knight errant clothed in silver armour rather than a wild-haired hermit. Matthias enjoyed their company. Then Master Gilbert said it was time they should leave, and would Matthias accompany them back to the nearest village? He quickly agreed. The fear and terror in young Elizabeth’s eyes at the prospect of the family being alone again and the beseeching look Mistress Margaret gave him could not be resisted.

    ‘What do we do with the outlaws’ corpses?’ the merchant