The Rose Demon

white as snow, eyes rimmed with black. She walked, eyes sightless, behind her a face Matthias didn’t recognise. He also glimpsed the features of the man the hermit had been talking to in the abbey at Tewkesbury. Again the face was as white as a coffin cloth, dark staring eyes. And weren’t those the two soldiers? The ones who had attacked him the previous night? But they looked more dreadful, they had their chins up and he could see the cuts in their throats. The horse began to shy, then reared up as Matthias covered his face and began to scream.

    For a while all was confusion: the horse whirling round, the terrible faces staring at him. The hermit remained calm, talking fast. This time Matthias recognised he was speaking in Latin.

    Abruptly all went quiet. The horse stopped, its head drooping with exhaustion. Matthias couldn’t stop shaking but he felt the hermit’s hand on the back of his neck, stroking him gently. Birdsong broke out high in the trees. Matthias took his hands away from his face. The trackway was deserted. He could see nothing. A rabbit loped across the path and, above him, a nightingale began to serenade the setting sun. The hermit was talking softly, gently stroking him. Matthias calmed down, the sick feeling in his stomach disappeared. He twisted, the saddle horn catching his thigh, and stared up at the hermit.

    ‘What was that?’ he asked. ‘I saw Edith, but she’s dead. That man, that man in Tewkesbury, he too is dead. Edith’s body lies before the altar. It is to be buried tomorrow!’

    ‘Open your mouth, Matthias.’

    The boy obeyed and the hermit popped a sugared almond into his mouth. Matthias chewed it, his throat became wet whilst the sweetness seemed to fill his mouth.

    ‘Do you like it?’ the hermit asked.

    The boy smiled and nodded.

    ‘It was nothing,’ the hermit continued in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Nothing at all, Matthias. The day has been long. Perhaps I should not have shown you the things I did. And, when you are half-awake at this time of shadows, the mind plays strange games.’

    ‘But the horse was frightened . . .’

    The hermit gathered his reins and urged the horse on.

    ‘That’s because you were frightened, Matthias,’ he replied soothingly. ‘Creatura, you screamed loud enough to wake the dead.’ The hermit laughed quietly to himself.

    ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘Perhaps. But tonight, Matthias, sit by your fire, chatter, fill your stomach with bread and soup. Enjoy the warmth.’

    They rode on. At the edge of the village, the hermit reined in and lowered Matthias to the ground.

    ‘Run home, Creatura!’

    The boy stared up. He knew the hermit had tears in his eyes. He could see them glistening and was ashamed at what he had felt when he had first woken up in the wood.

    ‘I love being with you,’ he stammered. ‘I really do. It’s exciting.’

    The hermit leant down and gently stroked the top of Matthias’ head.

    ‘And I love you, Creatura. Now run like the wind. Your mother is waiting.’

5

    As soon as he entered the village Matthias sensed something was wrong. It was quiet, the doors and shutters of the Hungry Man were firmly closed, though chinks of light peeped through the slats. Matthias heard a creak and, peering into the gloom, saw a corpse hung from the scaffold, twirling and turning in the evening breeze. He closed his eyes and ran past this. Further up the street, near the small cesspit covered by wooden boards, his foot caught on a piece of armour lying near the raised rim of the pit. He ran on but stopped as he approached the cemetery wall. He could hear voices and glimpsed torchlight amongst the trees. He took the long way round. The front door to his house was off the latch. He pushed this open and ran down the passageway.

    ‘Mother! Mother!’

    Christina was sitting by the fireside. She looked better, more colour in her cheeks. She scooped him into her arms, her lips brushing his cheeks. Matthias felt the wine on her breath and noticed how bright her eyes were.

    ‘You should have stayed here!’ she exclaimed, pushing him gently away towards his own stool. ‘There has been a great battle.’

    Matthias bit his tongue before he gave away how close he had been to it.

    ‘A great battle,’ Christina continued excitedly. ‘Horsemen, soldiers coming out of the woods, some wounded, others without a scratch on them.’ She put down the piece of embroidery, an altar cloth for the Lady