The Rose Demon

precious to me than the costliest silk or rarest diamonds.’ Emloe’s voice took on a more mocking tone. ‘And we looked for you, here and there. What happened to my riders? Sent into deepest Gloucestershire, they were! It was months before I discovered their rotting corpses round that church!’ Emloe’s eyes glittered in the gloom. ‘What happened, Matthias? Did you release the power?’ He wagged a finger. ‘Then back and forth to the Hospitallers at Clerkenwell. Tush! Tush! We dare not seize you there.’ He spread his hands. ‘The good knights cannot be bribed and bought. They have a tendency to smite first and ask afterwards.’

    Matthias pulled his cloak around him and glared at Emloe. He was not afraid, just angry, seething with fury. Emloe and the rest - James of Scotland, Fitzgerald, Prior Jerome, men who would not leave him alone - and now what? Trussed and bound, taken back like a puppet to London? Matthias’ hand went to the second dagger he wore strapped close to his belt. He slipped this easily from its pouch. Emloe was revelling in his good fortune.

    ‘So, what is it to be, Matthias? A knock on the head and bundled into some cart? Come back to London! Live like a lord! Wine, gold, any wench you want! A house? Favour at court?’ He waggled a finger. ‘I’ve been a good detective, Matthias. There are still warrants out for your arrest! That business at Oxford, and your name was among the list of rebels captured at East Stoke. And what happened at Barnwick? Who did let the Scots into that castle?’

    Matthias idly wondered if this was the confrontation Dame Emma had spoken of. Was the Rose Demon here? Emloe smirked, lording it over him.

    ‘I’ll come with you,’ Matthias declared. ‘You want to see the power, Master Emloe?’

    The warlock nodded.

    ‘You wish to see the demons rise? So you shall, and here’s my hand on it.’

    Matthias stepped forward. As he did so, his hand came up, and before Emloe could even move Matthias struck the dagger deep, turning it into the man’s stomach. He pulled Emloe close, pushing in the dagger with all his strength.

    ‘Go down,’ he whispered. ‘And meet the demons!’

    Matthias threw Emloe, gagging and choking on his own blood, to the floor.

    Figures came out of the darkness but Matthias knocked them aside. He reached the door, fingers pulling at the bolts. Then he was out, racing down the stairs.

    ‘Murder!’

    A scullion coming up the stairs was knocked sideways.

    ‘Stop him!’ a voice shouted. ‘Murder!’

    By the time Matthias reached the cobbled yard, he could hear the shouts of ‘Harrow! Harrow!’, the usual call when the hue and cry were being raised. Matthias raced along the alleyway. At the bottom he stopped and turned. His heart sank. He could see pinpricks of torchlight, people shouting, hurrying towards him. He thought of Sir Edgar Ratcliffe but realised the camp was too far away. He ran on into the marketplace and through the open door of a darkened church.

30

    Matthias slammed the church door behind him and stared around. Torches glowed in their iron clasps on the pillars: candles and oil lamps dotted the darkness before statues in the side chapels. Matthias heard the cries of ‘Harrow! Harrow!’ draw nearer. He pushed close the bolts of the door and walked swiftly up the nave into the sanctuary. He had hardly reached it when a small, balding man, dressed in a priest’s gown, came running through a side door. He lifted his spluttering torch and stared at Matthias.

    ‘What is it you want, young man?’

    Matthias grasped the side of the altar.

    ‘My name is Matthias Fitzosbert, clerk. I demand sanctuary of Holy Mother Church!’

    The priest sighed and lowered the torch.

    ‘Oh, not here!’

    Matthias took a silver coin out of his purse.

    ‘Father, you know the law as do I. I demand sanctuary.’

    The priest’s demeanour changed at the sight of the silver. He pocketed it quickly.

    ‘You can sleep over there,’ he declared, pointing to a shadowy alcove. ‘I’ll bring you some food, wine and blankets.’ He scratched his pock-marked nose. ‘You say you know the law but so do I. The mayor and bailiffs will come here. You can either surrender to them and stand trial,’ he paused, ‘or stay here forty days and ask to be exiled. Now, what is your crime, murder?’

    Matthias nodded.

    ‘Yes, it always is,’ the priest sighed. ‘And you are going to tell me it was in self-defence.’

    ‘I did