The Rose Demon

father’s breviary over. She read the entry, carefully holding the page close up to her eyes. She closed the book, shrugged and handed it back.

    ‘I am not going to ask you to confess to me, Matthias. God knows you must have told your tale a number of times and, though the telling helps,’ she pulled a face, ‘it does not explain what is happening. So, for once, let me tell you a story. When I have finished, you’ll know why I am an anchorite here at the Priory and why there is a bond between us.’ She leant back in her chair, staring at a point above Matthias’ head. ‘I have a woman’s vanity,’ she began. ‘I always have had. Despite my years I like to be complimented.’ She closed her eyes and smiled. ‘I am ninety years of age, Matthias.’ She opened her eyes. ‘I was fifteen when the great Henry defeated the French at Agincourt. Well past my thirtieth year when they burnt the Maid at Rouen. However, the only part of my life which interests you is the summer and winter of 1426.’

    She breathed in deeply. ‘My birth name is Emma de St Clair. My father owned lands along the Welsh march. I had two brothers, William and Martin. They were twins. They became Hospitallers with a vision of fighting God’s enemy here on earth. My mother died when I was young. I was spoilt, adored, loved; my every whim satisfied. I would only marry for love and my father hastened to agree. When my brothers, who had not yet entered the Hospitaller Order, decided to make a great pilgrimage through Russia to the city of Constantinople, I begged, I screamed, I wheedled and I flattered until my poor, exhausted father agreed that he and I should accompany them.’ She paused, fingering her rosary beads. ‘A glorious time, Matthias,’ she murmured. ‘France had been turned into a battlefield so we journeyed through the Low Countries and across the Rhine. We forded rivers deep and turbulent as the sea, through forests dark as night and across wheatlands which stretched like a golden carpet as far as the eye could see. We visited Cologne, Trier, the great cities along the Danube. We joined other pilgrims; knights, adventurers, scholars, all making their way to the Golden Horn, to the great city of Constantinople.

    ‘One day we were joined by a German knight, Ernst von Herschel. He was as handsome as an angel: tall, face like a hawk, golden-haired, a superb horseman. He flattered me and I flirted with him. I was in seventh heaven. We made our way slowly, stopping at taverns, hostelries, priories and monasteries - a golden summer until we heard about the deaths. In every town and village we stayed someone always died. A young man, or a woman, their corpses found out in the fields or some other lonely place. Always the same marks, their throats bitten deeply, their bodies drained of blood as if it had been sucked out of them like one would claret from a wineskin.’ She paused at Matthias’ sharp intake of breath. ‘We didn’t know this until our party began to be stopped and questioned by officials. It was clearly established that the assassin must be one of us, but who?’ She closed her eyes, rocking herself gently backwards and forwards.

    ‘We reached Constantinople,’ she continued. ‘The Emperor received us well. We were given a villa with beautiful gardens in the suburb of the city. The other pilgrims likewise. To cut a long story short, the imperial spies arrested Ernst von Herschel as the assassin responsible for those horrific murders.’ She shook her head. ‘I know very few details. He was defiant to the end, loudly proclaiming that he could not die. Nevertheless, they struck off his head and placed it on a pole on one of the approaches to the city.

    ‘For the rest of that year all was quiet. My father and brothers became very friendly with a noble family, the Alexiads, cousins to the Emperor. They had a daughter, Anastasia: one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. Yet, despite her looks, her exquisite manners, Anastasia was a merry soul, full of mischief and laughter, ever ready to mock herself. We became firm friends, close sisters. She had a vibrancy I’ve never met in another human being.’ Dame Emma wiped the tears away from her eyes. ‘The killings began again: horrid murders, this time young men. The spies came back: the city was watched.’

    ‘Anastasia now housed the Rose Demon?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘Oh yes. I couldn’t believe it. Even when she was arrested and brought into the