The Rose Demon

belly. He pulled it out. Roberto staggered, bending over double, coughing on his own blood and fell with a groan to the ground. Matthias collected his cloak and saddlebag, then saddled his horse. As he left the stable, the landlord came running out, all a-fluster.

    ‘Lackaday! Lackaday!’ he cried. ‘What’s happening here?’

    ‘You are a liar,’ Matthias declared, swinging himself into the saddle. He gathered the reins. ‘You can send for the sheriff but then he might want to know why two assassins were waiting in your stables. Or you can send a courier to Master Emloe but he will ask why I expected to find his two men waiting for me. All in all,’ Matthias turned his horse’s head, ‘you are in for a very interesting day.’

    Matthias left the city, riding up Aldersgate. After Charterhouse the houses became sparser, the crowds less dense. By noon he was out in the open countryside, taking the road west. He rode hard and fast, stopping occasionally to rest, feed and water his horse. At night he sheltered in a wayside tavern, the occasional friary and, on one occasion, slept in a small copse.

    Five days after leaving London, he glimpsed the spire of Tewkesbury Abbey and, a short while later, urged his horse up trackways and passageways he remembered from boyhood days. Matthias felt the bitter sweetness of nostalgia as certain landmarks brought back memories of Parson Osbert or Christina. He avoided Sutton Courteny and Tenebral but took a more circuituous route to Baron Sanguis’ manor house. This was much decayed. The curtain wall had gaps in it. The gates hung askew. No soldiers stood on guard. Matthias glimpsed only a few servants, whilst the outlying barns and granges looked dilapidated. The manor house was no better: the paths leading to it were choked with weeds. The gardens had not been tilled, the windows were all shuttered and the paint on the front door was cracked and peeling. A servant answered his knock. Matthias asked for Taldo the seneschal.

    ‘He’s dead,’ the old man replied mournfully. ‘All are dead.’

    ‘And Baron Sanguis?’

    ‘Who are you?’

    ‘A friend from London.’

    ‘Then you’d best come in. Baron Sanguis has few friends now.’

    The old manor lord was crouched on a chair before a fire in his shabby solar. Matthias was shocked by his appearance. Sanguis’ face was lined and seamed. He was rheumy-eyed, his hair fell in greasy locks and for a while he just peered at Matthias, who wondered if the old man’s wits were wandering.

    ‘I am Matthias Fitzosbert,’ he repeated. ‘You remember, my lord, Parson Osbert’s son? I came here often as a boy. You gave me sweetmeats.’

    The old man’s fingers flew to his lips.

    ‘Has the devil come again?’ he asked, staring blankly at Matthias. ‘They say the devil flew down to Sutton Courteny. He killed the entire village. My lands are cursed, my family’s cursed. My boy was killed at Bosworth and the new King in London has never forgiven me.’ He gripped the arm of his chair with his rheumatic fingers. ‘I was the King’s good servant,’ he pleaded as with himself. ‘I fought under York’s banner.’ He scratched his unshaven chin. ‘But Satan crept in to Sutton Courteny and my fortunes changed. You say you are Matthias Fitzosbert. No, he died with the rest. You can’t be. They are all dead!’

    Matthias bowed and made his way back to the door.

    ‘Wait!’

    He turned. The old manor lord was now standing up, hands outstretched.

    ‘You are not to go there,’ he warned. ‘Stay well away from Sutton Courteny. The place is thronged with ghosts.’

    The old servant was waiting outside in the hallway.

    ‘His wits have wandered?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘Sometimes,’ the fellow replied dourly. ‘Yet he speaks the truth. It’s common legend how Satan swept into Sutton Courteny and everything changed. The old lord’s right. I heard him shouting. You should not go there.’

    Matthias collected his horse and left the manor. For a while he became lost but he remembered the forest trackways and found the path leading to the woods. He reached Tenebral late in the afternoon. Sharp memories flooded back. Nature was busy reclaiming its own. The houses were more ruined, some had disappeared altogether. Bushes and brambles now choked doorways and windows, and crept over walls to cover gardens.

    Matthias dismounted and hobbled his horse. He searched out the place where the hermit had taken him to see the