The Rose Demon

sherbet: taking quick sips from his cup, Torquemada walked round the room shaking his head.

    ‘Juan was an obdurate soul.’ He stopped his pacing.

    ‘What are you doing, Father?’ Matthias got to his feet. ‘Do you think you can frighten me? Do you think the torturers will get the truth? What do you accuse me of?’

    ‘I don’t know,’ Torquemada replied. His face was a mask of genuine concern. ‘I really don’t know, Matthias. I’ve made a careful study: you are a mystery. Sir Edgar Ratcliffe knew little about you though he told me how you saved his life. There is the question of Yarfel. And, even when you were arrested, so I understand, you were searching for a woman?’ He put his cup down on the table. ‘But what woman, Matthias? Eh? You are a solitary man. How could you know some woman living in Granada? To put it bluntly, Englishman, are you a witch? Are you a warlock?’ His face grew serious. ‘Are you a member of a coven?’

    ‘I am an Englishman. I am innocent. I also enjoy the Queen’s special protection,’ Matthias replied.

    ‘Oh yes, so you do.’ Torquemada walked to the door. He turned, gave Matthias his blessing and quietly left.

    Matthias sat down, trying to control his trembling. Try as he might, he couldn’t remove from his mind the picture of that tortured man in the dungeons below. He could imagine the whispered confession, the cords being placed round his neck and tightened with a piece of stick until he strangled to death. Matthias picked at some fruit but found he had no appetite. He could only sit and wait.

    Just after sunset, the door was flung open and the black-masked guards seized and bundled him out. Matthias tried to control his fear as the soldiers led him along the galleries, illuminated only by flashes of light from glowing candles or lanterns slung on hooks. However, he was not taken outside but into a small hall. A few torches provided light. The walls were covered in heavy drapes whilst underfoot thick carpet deadened any sound. The windows were shuttered, the air was stuffy and hot but smelt fragrantly of incense. At the far end on a dais seven men sat behind a long, oaken table. Torquemada in the middle, hands joined, smiling benevolently down at him, but the men on either side were hooded and masked. Behind Torquemada, the walls were covered in dark-red drapes with the arms of Castile boldly etched in the centre. From a beam above the table hung a stark, black crucifix. A scribe, who sat on a small bench just beneath the dais, rose and tinkled a small handbell.

    The soldiers pushed Matthias forward. He was made to sit on a stool just before the table so he had to stare up at Torquemada. Matthias didn’t know whether this was a dream or reality. The Inquisitor General smiled like a benevolent uncle but the sombre-masked judges seemed like figures from the Apocalypse: their very silence and lack of movement a terrifying reminder of the power of the Inquisition. Matthias tried to object, claiming he was an Englishman and innocent of any charges, that he also had the special protection of the Queen. Torquemada swept this aside.

    ‘There are no charges.’ He leant forward. ‘You may well be innocent. And you still enjoy the protection of our Queen. So?’ He sat back in the purple-draped throne-like chair. ‘If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.’

    The questioning then began. It was done in Latin. All of the judges spoke softly, eager to clarify their points by lapsing into lingua franca. The questions were always the same. Who was he? Why was he in Spain? Why did the Moorish champion, Yarfel, speak as he did? Did Matthias know any of the women killed so barbarously in the camp? Was he a true son of Holy Mother Church?

    Matthias kept his answers short and terse. He did not know Yarfel. He was a Christian fighting for the Church. He had been born a Catholic: he wanted to die a Catholic. He had no woman’s blood on his hands. And the woman he had been seeking in Granada?

    ‘She reminded me of someone,’ Matthias explained. ‘A girl I loved in England,’ he lied. ‘I was tired, my mind was dazed. The memory plays tricks.’

    Matthias kept staring at Torquemada. He couldn’t see what impact his answers had on the other judges but Torquemada looked genuinely puzzled. Matthias grew stiff: the ache in his back from his fall grew more intense. He explained this. Torquemada spread his hands and apologised. Matthias was allowed to stand and