The Rose Demon

The tendrils of the morning mist still seeped through its broken-down houses, hanging like a cloud around the old church.

    Matthias waited at the lych-gate. His father came up and dismounted. He gripped the boy’s shoulder.

    ‘I told you to stay with me!’ he snapped. ‘Now, mind the horse!’

    The parson strode up the pathway to the church. Matthias didn’t follow. He was frightened. He’d caught a look in his father’s eye of something he had never seen before. He must have stayed an hour until his father came out of the ruins.

    ‘Matthias, come here to me, boy!’

    Matthias stood stock-still. Parson Osbert stepped forward. Matthias cringed at the look on his father’s face.

    ‘I am not what I appear, boy.’ The parson was trying to keep his voice sweet and low yet Matthias sensed a terrible danger. He was sure that if he went into the church, he would never leave alive. He noticed his father had taken off his belt, this was tightly wrapped round his right hand.

    ‘It’s the runes,’ Parson Osbert explained, as he began to edge forward. ‘I am not as simple as people think, Matthias. I am a scholar. I can read French and Latin. But that rose and the runes, you must know what they mean?’ He held his left hand up, fingers splayed. ‘Do you know what they mean, Matthias? Do you know what they say? Come and tell your father.’

    Matthias couldn’t move. His mouth was dry. He edged backwards. The docile palfrey caught his fear and began to tug at the reins.

    ‘We’ll look at the pictures.’ Parson’s Osbert’s head came forward. Matthias could see how tight his throat was, the Adam’s apple bobbing there. ‘We’ll look at the pictures and then I’ll go to Tewkesbury.’

    He hurried forward, head rigid, eyes intent on Matthias. The boy found it impossible to move.

    ‘Good morrow, Parson Osbert.’

    At the side of the church, behind his father, stood Rahere the clerk. The priest paused. Rahere walked slowly towards him. He was dressed for hunting in a dark-green jerkin and hose of the same colour. As he moved, his hand went to the dagger in his belt.

    ‘Good morrow, Parson Osbert. Good morrow, Matthias.’

    He moved between them, his back to Matthias. Parson Osbert’s fingers went to his lips, eyes flitting left and right, as if he suddenly realised where he was and what he was doing.

    ‘I heard the news in the village,’ Rahere said. ‘My condolences on the death of Christina. She was a good woman.’ He smiled over his shoulder at Matthias. ‘She must have been, to have a son like you. So, Parson Osbert, if your wife lies dead at home, why are you both here in this ruin?’

    Matthias couldn’t exactly see what was happening but his father seemed frightened, moving his head backwards and forwards, blinking as he tried to break free of the clerk’s gaze.

    ‘We are on our way to Tewkesbury,’ he gabbled. ‘I called off to see, well, to see Matthias’ secret place.’

    ‘Why Tewkesbury?’ the clerk asked softly. ‘Your wife’s corpse is not yet cold.’

    ‘I have business there.’ The parson was now agitated, licking his lips, moving from foot to foot. ‘Yes, I must go there.’

    He moved sideways but the clerk moved with him.

    ‘And Matthias?’ Rahere asked. ‘He doesn’t have to go to Tewkesbury, does he?’

    ‘No, no, he doesn’t have to go to Tewkesbury,’ the parson echoed.

    ‘So you had better leave now.’

    The parson nodded his head and, brushing by the clerk, snatched the reins and clambered on to his palfrey. He kicked his heels in, hurrying off along the trackway which would take him down the road to Tewkesbury. Rahere watched him go before turning to Matthias. The boy noticed how the clerk’s face was pale, a coating of sweat on his brow.

    ‘I’m frightened,’ Matthias said. ‘I’m cold and I’m very frightened.’

    Rahere took his cloak off, wrapped it round the boy, picked him up and carried him round the old cemetery walls to where his horse had been hobbled in a cluster of trees.

    ‘You are coming back with me to Sutton Courteny,’ the clerk said. ‘I have the best room at the Hungry Man.’

    The journey back was silent. When they arrived at the tavern, the scullions and tapsters were still heavy-eyed, the fires had not yet been lit. Joscelyn the tavern master came hurrying up, curious about the bundle Rahere carried in his arms. The clerk whispered an explanation. Matthias didn’t hear and he really didn’t care.