The Rose Demon

she smiled, ‘I come and go as I wish.’

    ‘And your companion? The man who always escorts you?’

    ‘Oh, he’s with you, Matthias. He’s on board the Santa Maria to protect you. Sailors are superstitious. They do not like strangers or people who act as if their lives are cursed.’ Her smile widened. ‘Have you not read the Scriptures: the fate of Jonah? We cannot have that happening to you.’

    ‘Who are you?’ Matthias asked. ‘You say your name is Morgana.’

    ‘I am a servant of the Master,’ she replied, her smile fading as she sipped the white wine Matthias had poured. ‘I go where he tells me. I do what he orders. I have a special charge for you.’

    ‘I can see that,’ Matthias replied tartly. ‘I am hounded like a dog from one place to another. Snatched up, imprisoned, bullied and threatened. If you are the breeze, Morgana, I am a dry leaf with no life of my own.’

    ‘Are you?’ she teased back. ‘Are you really, Matthias? Tell me how different you are from any of the men who serve on the Santa Maria . Or those who died at Tewkesbury, at East Stoke, at Barnwick, at Sauchieburn?’ Her eyes became hard, like beautiful emeralds, but not vibrant with life or warmth. ‘Are you going to sit and wallow in self-pity, Matthias? How do you know your life would have been any different? Or shorter? Or more tragic?’

    ‘Other people know why they live. They have a purpose.’

    ‘Some do,’ she replied. ‘But so have you, Matthias.’ She leant across the table and squeezed his hand.

    ‘Am I his son?’ Matthias asked abruptly.

    Her face softened. ‘You are the Beloved, Matthias. You are his Beloved. He wants you. He wants your love. He wants you to accept him for what he is.’

    ‘And how long must I wait?’

    ‘Love is about waiting, Matthias. Haven’t you realised that? There is a time and a place for love to be consummated, to be returned, to be agreed upon. It will come!’

    ‘And what happens if I go?’ Matthias asked. ‘What happens if I flee?’

    ‘What will be, shall be and a man’s fate is written upon his forehead.’ Morgana glanced round the room. ‘Here we are on the island of Gomera. If you wish, Matthias, you could travel back to Sutton Courteny, and sit in the fields and listen to the nightingales sing. There are many ways of travelling back home. Various paths, strange routes but, in the end, the journey will be about your heart’s desire. Matthias, you carry your world within you. You can fly to the dark side of the moon, free from Torquemada, of all those who pursue you - but never free of yourself.’

    Matthias heard a commotion on the far side of the room. A group of young men who had been playing noisily were now looking across at him, arguing loudly amongst themselves. They dismissed him with disdain, their narrow-eyed looks and leering glances were all for Morgana. One of them, a young, arrogant buck, his olive skin scarred by knife wounds to his cheek and neck, unloosed his long, black, oily hair and strutted across the floor like a barnyard cock. He put one hand on Morgana’s shoulder, the other on the rough-handled knife pushed into the ragged sash round his waist. He said something to Matthias then spat into the rush-covered floor. Matthias went to rise but Morgana squeezed his hand.

    ‘Look at him, Matthias,’ she whispered. ‘Speak to him in Spanish. Tell him to return quietly to his seat. Tell him that he is lucky to be alive. This morning he fell from the stern of his fishing boat. If he does not sit down, tomorrow he will drown. Tell him that. Hold his gaze.’

    Matthias did so, quietly repeating Morgana’s message.

    The young man blinked, his jaw sagged. He backed away, his face a mask of fear, and ran from the taverna. His companions watched in astonishment, then followed.

    ‘We’d best go,’ Morgana said. ‘The day draws on. Soon it will be cool.’ She picked up the small wineskin she carried and wrapped the cord round her hand. ‘Let’s go, Matthias, out into the hills. Go back to that dragon tree under which you sat.’

    Matthias followed her out. She took his hand as if they were lovers, strolling along the cobbled street and into the countryside.

    ‘I did see you in Granada, didn’t I?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘Yes, you did,’ she replied. ‘I was told to be there.’

    ‘And your companion?’ Matthias asked. ‘Which member of the crew is he?’

    ‘Oh come, Matthias,’ she joked. ‘You worry so much.