The Rose Demon

already made up your mind that he is guilty. I know the constitution as well. I appeal to the authority of our Mother House and to the new Abbot. How say ye?’

    A chorus of delighted ‘Aye!’ greeted his declaration.

    Prior Jerome sprang to his feet and came down the steps.

    ‘That is true.’ He found it difficult to control his breathing. ‘But I still have the authority of sentencing. Matthias Fitzosbert will be kept in the same house as Brother Roger. No visitors will be allowed, no food and drink given except bread and water.’

    The smiles on the assembled brothers’ faces faded. Prior Jerome clapped his hands.

    ‘That is my sentence and it will stand!’

    Matthias was hustled out of the Chapter House. The lay brothers, holding him fast by the arms, bundled him through the corridors out across the grounds. Brother Paul caught up with him.

    ‘You heard what Father Prior said,’ one of them declared abruptly. ‘No one is to speak to him!’

    Brother Paul seized Matthias’ face between his hands.

    ‘Be careful what you eat and drink!’ he whispered. ‘Take courage and wait!’

    He stepped aside and the brothers hurried Matthias on. The door of the small prison house was flung open and he was thrust inside the square, stone box. The dirt and filth left by Brother Roger had been cleaned but the foul odour still remained. There was a cot bed, a small table and a rickety stool, and in the other corner a small recess for the latrine. The arrow slit windows provided little light and, when the door was slammed shut and bolted behind him, the chamber became even more dark and sombre.

    For a while Matthias just crouched within the doorway. He found he couldn’t stop his trembling. He thanked God for Brother Paul: if Prior Jerome had had his way those same brothers would have hustled him on a cart and taken him out to the gallows which overlooked the marshes. Nevertheless, he accepted that he was still in great danger. It might take months before the new Abbot arrived and anything could happen. He wondered if Abbot Benedict had been poisoned. When the door was flung open and a pewter jug of water and a wooden bowl containing scraps of bread were thrust in, Matthias decided to ignore them. Instead he got up and walked slowly round the prison house. The floor was of paved stone. The white, plastered walls were streaked with dirt. Near the bed Mathias found Brother Roger’s drawing.

    The rose was crudely drawn. Beneath it, the green stem trailed down to the ground. Each of the bell-shaped leaves had a name scrawled above it: Santerre, Amasia, the Preacher and even some Matthias couldn’t recognise. All other traces of the dead monk had been removed: the mattress and the blankets had been replaced, the latrine cleaned. There were no books, nothing to distract him except peering through the narrow arrow slit windows. Bread and water were pushed in. Matthias, fearful of Jerome’s malice, crumbled the bread and threw it out of the window then poured the water down the latrine. By the morning of the third day, he was feeling weak and spent most of his time fitfully dreaming on the bed, lost in ghoulish nightmares from his past.

    Later that day Matthias was woken by a rap on the door. Brother Paul pushed through the usual tray of bread and water followed by a second one, a bowl of diced meat, hot and covered with a rich, thick sauce, bread, a small jug of wine and marzipan chopped up and wrapped in a linen cloth. Matthias ate ravenously. He felt better, though the panic returned. How long would this go on? If Jerome was so powerful, so malicious, Brother Paul might soon be taken care of. Matthias did not want to die a lingering death or writhe in agony from some deadly poison.

    On the following morning, therefore, he was surprised when the door was flung open. Brother Paul and two others came into the prison house. One of them carried Matthias’ belongings in a heap: clothes, saddlebag and war belt. These were piled just within the doorway. Brother Paul pushed a small purse of coins into his hands. Looking through the doorway, Matthias glimpsed his horse all saddled and harnessed.

    ‘You are to go now, Matthias,’ the guestmaster declared. ‘God’s judgment has been made known.’

    Matthias stared back in puzzlement.

    ‘Prior Jerome had an accident this morning.’ One of the other monks spoke up. ‘He climbed the tower of the abbey church and, coming down, slipped and broke his