The Rose Demon

that to tell his parents what they wanted to hear was the best way to calm their anxieties. ‘He showed me flowers.’

    ‘Did he talk about the rose?’ Christina grew rigid. She stopped stirring the cauldron.

    ‘What’s this about a rose?’ His father came into the kitchen. He took off his boots and tossed them into a corner. Neither Christina nor Matthias answered. ‘The church is all locked up.’ Parson Osbert smiled and clapped his hands. ‘And no lovers lie in the cemetery’s long grass. God’s acre, as I keep telling my parishioners, is for those buried in the peace of Christ, not for wanton lust.’

    On any other occasion this would have been the signal for Christina to quip back but tonight she remained silent. The parson’s smile faded.

    ‘Let’s eat. Matthias, tell me what you did today.’

    Once the benediction was said, Matthias was only too happy to fill the silence with his chatter, especially about the foxes. He mentioned nothing about the rose or the hermit’s sayings and, bearing in mind what was going to happen tomorrow, certainly nothing about the two soldiers who had accosted him in the wood.

    ‘Can I go back tomorrow?’

    His mother dropped her spoon. She smiled apologetically and picked it up.

    ‘Please, can I go back tomorrow?’ Matthias persisted.

    ‘Why?’ His father asked.

    ‘The hermit is going to show me a kingfisher.’

    Matthias blinked to keep back the tears. He was lying to this gentle man who was his father, and to his mother who looked so careworn. He fought the guilt, the lies slipped so smoothly from his tongue. He had to go. But how could he tell them the truth? It would only hurt them.

    ‘No, you can’t.’ His father wiped his bowl with a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. ‘It’s dangerous.’ He grasped his son’s hand, continuing in a rush, ‘A journeyman has told us the news. Queen Margaret and her army are in full retreat along the Severn. The King and his forces are hurrying behind, breathing threats and slaughter. God knows what will happen when the armies meet!’

    Matthias was about to protest, lie again that he would go nowhere near the battle, but found he could not do that.

    ‘Let the boy go.’ Christina raised her head and stared across the table. ‘Let the boy go,’ she repeated.

    Matthias noticed how her face was even paler than before, those generous lips now one thin line. Her eyes looked dull.

    ‘He’ll be safe,’ she said. She got up from the table and began to collect their pewter bowls. ‘The hermit’s a soldier, isn’t he? Or was one. Now he’s a man of God. He’ll keep the boy safe.’ Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

    Matthias noticed how she kept her back to him whilst she spoke. His father released his hand and leant across.

    ‘So, you can go,’ he whispered. ‘But you are to be back before dark.’

    Matthias, pleased that he had obtained his father’s permission, fairly skipped down from the table. Determined to put things right by being as helpful as he could, he took the rest of the pots into the buttery, swept the floor round the table, arranging everything as it should be. His mother came over and, crouching down, caught him in her arms. She held him close, speaking over his shoulder to his father who sat at the table, his Book of Hours in his hands.

    ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said softly. ‘I feel tired.’ She kissed Matthias again, then her husband on the brow, and left the room.

    Once she had gone, Matthias sat on a stool, all his gaiety seeming to have drained away. The fire looked weak, the light of the candles and oils mere splutterings whilst his father, eyes closed, lost in his own devotions, was distant, rather cold.

    ‘What is wrong with Mother?’ Matthias asked.

    Parson Osbert opened his eyes. He sighed and put the Book of Hours down.

    ‘I don’t know.’ He paused, half-cocking his head for sounds from their chamber above. ‘I don’t know, Matthias. When I came here I was a young priest.’ He ran his hand across the smoothness of the table. ‘The day I climbed the pulpit to give my first sermon I saw her sitting beneath me. She is beautiful, Matthias, but, on that morning, with the sunlight streaming through the window and catching her face, I thought she was an angel.’ He beckoned his son across and grasped him by the wrists. ‘As you grow older, Matthias, you will hear whispers in the village. I am a priest. I was not to become handfast