The Rose Demon

none of the welcoming charm of Joscelyn. Indeed, the tavern was a stark reminder of the tragedies which had befallen the villagers over the last few days.

    Rahere abruptly stood up. ‘The rain is going to get worse,’ he decided. ‘Fulcher, the covered wagon?’

    The blacksmith came out of the scullery, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth.

    ‘It’s out in the yard,’ he retorted.

    ‘There’ll be no festivities tonight,’ Rahere declared. ‘But I have arranged with Baron Sanguis that the children will not be disappointed.’ He plucked a gold coin out of his purse. Fulcher’s surly face became more lively. ‘I want you to go round the village,’ Rahere told him, ‘before the trackway to the manor becomes too clogged. Collect all the children, take them to Baron Sanguis. He will give them a treat; mummers’ games, entertainment, apple juice and sweetmeats.’

    He tossed the coin at Fulcher. The blacksmith caught it deftly.

    ‘Will the boy be going?’ Fulcher pointed across to where Matthias sat, wide-eyed in expectation.

    Rahere smiled. ‘No, no, he won’t!’

    Fulcher lumbered out of the room. Matthias heard voices out in the yard grumbling and complaining as grooms hitched the horses to the traces.

    ‘Do come back, Fulcher!’ Rahere called. ‘I have another surprise for you!’

    ‘Why can’t I go?’ Matthias walked across the taproom.

    Rahere grasped his shoulders. The clerk’s eyes glittered.

    ‘Sleep, Matthias,’ he urged. ‘It’s best if you slept for a while.’

    Rahere went to the buttery and came back with a goblet.

    ‘It’s watered wine,’ he explained and, before Matthias could object, the clerk held it to his lips.

    Matthias sipped. He wanted to sit before the fire and ask Rahere what was happening but his eyes grew very heavy. He clambered up the stairs, curled up like a puppy in the clerk’s chamber and fell fast asleep.

    Whilst Matthias slept, Fulcher returned. The blacksmith was in a hurry. He had delivered the children to Baron Sanguis and had just about been able to urge the horses to pull the covered cart back into Sutton Courteny. The blacksmith was frightened. It was only mid-afternoon yet the clouds hung black and low. Daylight was fading and, as he unhitched the horses in the yard, he realised the wind was rising. Doors to the outhouses creaked; bits and pieces left in the yard tumbled about as if driven by some unseen hand. Within the hour the wind storm was driving full force. The villagers were terrified. The rain continued to fall in sheets whilst the wind, which had sprung from nowhere, rattled their houses, howling like a lost soul as it beat against the shutters.

    Accidents began to happen. John the bailiff, going out to ensure the tiles of his roof were secure, was hit by a piece of flying masonry, the stone smashing like a crossbow bolt into the back of his head. In the ploughman’s house the wind fanned sparks from the fire, which caught the rushes. The crackling flames quickly spread, trapping Piers and his wife where they were hiding in their bedchamber. Fulcher saw an ostler, trying to run for shelter into one of the outhouses, sent flying by a piece of lead piping the wind had dragged loose. Similar scenes occurred throughout the village and, despite the rain and driving winds, the people braved the elements; some, the fortunate ones, made their way out to the manor. Others began to throng into the Hungry Man. They were soaked to the skin; clutching a few paltry possessions, they huddled like sheep in the taproom.

    ‘You can’t stay here,’ Fulcher declared. ‘I have an ostler seriously injured upstairs.’

    The villagers gathered there trembled as they heard the wind. It howled round the tavern like some terrible beast which had hunted them and was now determined to break in. The clamour of the wind and the noise downstairs awoke Matthias from his deep slumber. He gazed heavy-eyed: the clerk sat at the foot of the bed watching him intently.

    ‘What’s the matter?’ the boy muttered, drawing his knees up.

    ‘It’s a storm,’ Rahere replied softly. ‘A wind storm. The villagers are fleeing. A few have stayed in their homes.’ He played with the ring on his finger, his eyes never leaving those of Matthias. ‘Some have gone to the manor house but the rest are downstairs.’

    ‘And what will happen?’ Matthias asked. He chewed at his lip. He felt as if he should be frightened but he was half-asleep and drowsy.

    ‘We