The Rose Demon

was dressed in a leather tunic open at the collar. Beneath this were military black hose pushed into leather riding boots on which spurs clinked merrily.

    ‘There are many such companies,’ Matthias declared.

    ‘Aye.’ Ratcliffe scratched his close-cropped head. ‘It’s a miracle how a good idea seems to appeal to so many people.’ Ratcliffe played with his leather wrist brace and laughed to himself. ‘I am the second son of a second son.’ He gazed up at the banner now fluttering bravely in the evening breeze. ‘There are no more wars. What’s your name?’

    ‘Matthias Fitzosbert.’

    ‘There are no more wars,’ Ratcliffe repeated. ‘King Henry is desirous of keeping the peace with everyone. The Turks now control Constantinople and Jerusalem, so it’s Spain for the likes of us.’

    ‘Spain?’ Matthias asked.

    At St Wilfrid’s he’d heard the gossip of how the Tudor King was growing closer to this powerful kingdom and their warlike king and queen; Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile dreamt of uniting their kingdom which, if realised, would turn Spain into the greatest power in Europe.

    ‘Haven’t you heard?’ Ratcliffe asked. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’

    ‘In a monastery,’ Matthias replied. ‘And I’m not joking.’

    Ratcliffe looked up at the banner, an adoring look on his face.

    ‘It’s the last crusade, Matthias! Ferdinand and Isabella have collected a huge army and moved south to besiege Granada. If that falls, the Moors will be driven from Spain for ever. I have raised the company of St Raphael.’ He turned back and pointed to the campfire. ‘Twenty mounted men, ten hobelors and the same number of archers, though God knows where those idle buggers have gone. Probably drinking their wages in the nearest tavern.’ Ratcliffe poked Matthias in the chest. ‘You look like a fighting man. I can tell that from your chest and arms. The pay is not good, a shilling a quarter but there’ll be food, comradeship and fair shares of any plunder taken.’ He held out his hand again. ‘Well?’

    Matthias shook it and laughed. ‘Sir Edgar, if I decided to go to Spain then it would be with you under the banner of St Raphael. Yes.’ He looked up at the standard. ‘That would be rather fitting: protection from one of God’s great archangels!’

    He walked away even as Sir Edgar shouted that they would tarry here a while until all were assembled and then leave for Rye. Matthias raised his hand in acknowledgment and walked slowly back to the tavern. The prospect of fighting with a company of St Raphael, of going to Spain, appealed to him. Such a venture would be godly and take him away from a country where he was no longer welcome. Tewkesbury, Gloucester, Sutton Courteny, Oxford were all closed to him. He doubted if Dame Emma was still alive and he was not too sure of what reception the Hospitallers would give him. He stopped beneath the creaking tavern sign. Emloe and his gang would be waiting for him in London, even elsewhere. Yes, he’d be party to a crusade, to fight for Church and the Cross, whilst Ratcliffe looked a worthy man. Matthias was tired of his own loneliness.

    He walked through the inn yard and up the stairs to his chamber. He opened the door and unseen hands pushed him deeper into the room. The door was slammed and bolted behind him. A tinder scraped, candles were lit. Matthias’ hand went to his dagger.

    ‘Don’t! Just stand there!’

    The room was full of shadowy figures. Emloe stepped forward, pulling back his cowl, his arms pushed up the sleeves of his gown, his cadaverous face smiling and welcoming.

    ‘Matthias! We have waited many a week!’

    Matthias stared round: there were at least six of them, two were carrying crossbows. He caught the glint of naked steel and heard the clink of chain mail.

    ‘How did you know I was here?’

    ‘Matthias, we have had people waiting at the ports for many a month. You know I have a finger in many pies, take a deep interest in what comes in and out of our kingdom. You weren’t at Winchelsea an hour before a messenger was speeding to London.’

    ‘What do you want?’

    ‘Matthias, must I spell it out as if you are a child? That night in my secret chamber.’ Emloe stepped closer. ‘Never have I seen such power, such a manifestation.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘True, the house was burnt but nothing that cannot be replaced. You, however, Matthias, cannot be replaced. You are more