The Rose Demon

talks of some connection between you and Brother Roger. You know, our madcap brother.’

    Matthias walked away, more to hide his shock and unease. From the gossip in the monastery he’d learnt that Brother Roger had been declared insane and was kept a virtual prisoner, being a danger to himself as well as to others. Brother Paul had darkly hinted that Brother Roger was not so much mad as possessed of an evil spirit. Matthias had kept well away. During his stay at St Wilfrid’s, he had experienced no mysterious phenomena, visions or apparitions but he was wary of this possessed monk and kept his distance from that grey forbidding prison just within the monastery walls.

    One day, just after dark, he slipped into the Abbot’s chambers and told Abbot Benedict about his anxieties.

    ‘I have heard nothing.’ The Abbot shook his head. ‘But, there again, knowing Prior Jerome, he would want that. You should not be a-feared, Matthias. This is hallowed ground. If poor Brother Roger poses a problem or, more importantly,’ he wagged a finger, ‘Prior Jerome tries to turn it into a problem, you have my authority to confront them.’ He ushered Matthias to a seat. ‘But I have good news for you, Matthias. I have begun to translate the messages copied from that wall in Tenebral.’ He held a hand up. ‘No, still not all of it. It’s written in a logical sequence. Different symbols were used and you must decipher each one before you can move on to the next. The writer was very subtle. They are not just Anglo-Saxon runes but a mixture of ancient signs used by civilisations long vanished. The writer was playing a game with any scholar who attempted to decipher them. He deliberately turned some symbols on their head or, to confuse, has used symbols which can stand for one, two or even three letters of our own alphabet. In other well as Latin and Hebrew. I haven’t done much but I think you’ll understand this.’ He picked up a piece of parchment and handed it over.

    Matthias studied it carefully and his blood ran cold.

    1471: Tewkesbury Battle, the Hospitaller dies. Matthias the Beloved watches this. 1471: Christina the Beloved is ill. Matthias, my son; the Preacher has come. The fires burn but I shall return. 1471: the clerk brings vengeance but the Beloved remains.

    There were other entries for each succeeding year, 1472, 1473 and 1474 all describing Matthias’ whereabouts, predicting exactly what Matthias would be doing. Matthias looked up.

    ‘He knew the future. He could see what was happening.’

    Abbot Benedict gazed soulfully across the table at him.

    ‘I don’t believe he could see the future, Matthias. I certainly don’t think he controlled it - no being under God can do that - but he could predict. Like the pilot of a ship who calls out the depths as he leads his craft through rocky shoals.’

    ‘Why did he write it?’ Matthias asked.

    Abbot Benedict shrugged. ‘As an act of defiance. A last will and testament, only this was about the future rather than the past. Or, there again, he knew that one day you would return. You would try and decipher them and learn that the Rose Demon will never leave you.’

    ‘Can’t you hurry on?’ Matthias replied.

    Abbot Benedict shook his head. ‘I’ve told you, Matthias. It’s like peeling an onion, you must take the top layers off first. Any other method and I’ll just become lost in a maze of puzzles. Matthias, I appreciate you have been here months, but soon I will reach the end.’

    The following morning Prior Jerome, a spiteful look on his face, was waiting for Matthias outside the abbey church.

    ‘You must come with me, Master Matthias.’

    ‘Prior Jerome, I am under no obligation to go anywhere, least with you.’

    The Prior stepped closer. In the early morning light, his face looked livid, his breath stank stale.

    ‘Brother Roger has been asking for you,’ he whispered, his eyes glittering with malice. ‘He says he has messages from your friends, Amasia and Santerre. Who are these, Brother Matthias?’ He cocked his head sideways. ‘They mean something to you, don’t they? Now why should a worthy man like you have anything in common with a mad, possessed monk? More importantly, how does such a person know so much about you?’ He stepped back, slipping his hands up the voluminous sleeves of his gown. ‘Either you come with me or I will repeat Brother Roger’s request to the full chapter.’

    ‘Then you’d best show me,’