The Rose Demon

messages for you from deceased friends? Do you commune with the spirits, Master Fitzosbert?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Do you deal with the Powers of Darkness?’

    ‘Nonsense!’ Matthias yelled back. He struggled at the bonds which held his hands. ‘I am innocent of any crime, either of Brother Roger’s death or Abbot Benedict’s!’

    ‘I don’t think so.’ Prior Jerome forced a smile and walked slowly back towards his chair. ‘I think, Master Fitzosbert, you are a warlock.’

    ‘Nonsense!’ Matthias replied. ‘The good brothers here know me. I attend Mass every day. I take the sacrament.’

    ‘Then, if you are such a good Christian,’ Prior Jerome turned, ‘why not take the oath and give honest answers to honest questions?’

    ‘It does not concern you,’ Matthias declared.

    ‘Oh yes it does. Oh yes it does.’ Prior Jerome walked back briskly. ‘I accuse you, Matthias Fitzosbert, of using your devilish powers to silence Brother Roger.’ His eyes smiled maliciously. ‘And, because you knew the Abbot was growing concerned at this, you invoked curses and brought about his death.’

    Matthias stared back. Prior Jerome had neatly trapped him. His allegations were nonsensical but, because he would not answer them, he was trapped.

    ‘It stands to reason.’ Prior Jerome stretched out his arms and turned slowly to address the assembled community. ‘Here we have a man who will not tell us why he is here. Who is known quite intimately to Brother Roger but cannot explain the reason why. Then, in one night, Brother Roger and Abbot Benedict die.’

    ‘You have no jurisdiction over me!’ Matthias shouted.

    Prior Jerome lowered his arms and smiled. ‘Ah, but I do. It says in the rule, and this is accepted by the Crown, that any man who stays in a monastery more than six months and dons the habit of that community, falls within its jurisdiction.’

    Some of the older monks nodded in agreement.

    ‘Do you find him guilty?’

    Matthias stood, horror-struck, as some of the monks raised their hands and mumbled, ‘Aye!’ Others, however, kept their hands pushed up the sleeves of their gowns yet Jerome had the majority. He smiled in satisfaction and sat down.

    ‘Sentence will be passed,’ he said clearly. ‘I have the power of the gallows!’

    ‘Wait!’ Brother Paul sprang to his feet. ‘Father Prior, with all due respect, there is no evidence connecting this man with either the tragic deaths of Brother Roger or our Father Abbot. Coincidence,’ Brother Paul shouted, coming down the steps to stand directly in front of the Prior, ‘coincidence is not evidence. Brother Matthias did have secret talks with Abbot Benedict but how do we know they were not confessional matters? Never once did I, or any of our brothers, ever hear our Father Abbot speak disparagingly of our guest here.’

    A murmur of agreement ran round the Chapter House. ‘Moreover,’ Brother Paul added defiantly, ‘in this matter you do not have power of life and death, the rule is quite explicit: in between the death of one Father Abbot and the appointment of another, any monk, facing a capital charge, must be reserved for final judgment by the new Abbot.’

    This time the chorus of agreement was louder. Matthias closed his eyes and muttered a prayer of thanks. Because this community was drawn up of men who found it difficult to accept the rules, they were also men only too willing to question authority, particularly someone they hated like Prior Jerome. Now they had a spokesman in Brother Paul.

    ‘There is one other matter,’ Brother Paul continued. ‘When I visited the prisoner in his chamber, I noticed his war belt had gone.’ He winked at Matthias.

    ‘What has that got to do with it?’ Prior Jerome, who could scarcely control his anger, sat forward, fists clenched on his knee.

    ‘Matthias,’ Brother Paul asked, ‘where is your war belt?’

    ‘It was taken the morning Abbot Benedict was found dead. My door was locked, my war belt was removed.’

    ‘I did that,’ Prior Jerome replied hastily. ‘I thought it was best.’

    ‘In which case,’ Brother Paul replied tartly, ‘you’d already judged our good brother guilty.’ Brother Paul took a step forward and spread his feet. His whole body breathed defiance. ‘Abbot Benedict is dead,’ he declared flatly. ‘According to our rule, Prior Jerome, you have authority in this monastery, but your malice towards this man is well known. You have