The Rose Demon

now returned to haunt you, if I accept your theory he now possesses someone else, what happens if this person is Rokesby?’

    ‘Impossible!’ Matthias retorted.

    ‘Is it?’ Santerre asked. ‘He seems to know a great deal about you. What you read. Where you go. He takes a deep interest in your affairs.’

    ‘That’s because he lusts after Amasia and I made fun of him in the schools.’ Matthias rubbed his mouth and stared out of the window. He’d rejected Santerre’s proposition out of hand, but might there be some truth in it?

    ‘It could even be me,’ Santerre joked.

    ‘I don’t think so.’ Matthias walked to the door. He opened it and stared down the gallery. ‘I have known you, what, three years? I’ve seen you take the Sacrament at Mass. That’s one thing I do remember. The hermit never took the Sacrament and, on reflection, neither did Rahere.’

    ‘When the clerk died,’ Santerre asked, ‘what would have happened to this being?’

    ‘I don’t know. The philosopher Albertus Magnus said an incubus must, within a certain period of time, find lodgings elsewhere, rather a homespun way of putting it. Yet, even of that I am not too sure.’ Matthias leant against the door. ‘According to Aquinas, literally thousands upon thousands of angels fell with Lucifer. We know from the gospels that one possessed man had so many demons in him, he took the name of Legion. This does not fit what I know: one being moving from the hermit and, in time, to Rahere, then to someone else.’ Matthias breathed in. ‘What I intend to do is continue to live each day as it comes. Agatha was murdered but I am totally innocent of her death. Rokesby is different. I cannot allow him to stir up trouble against me. What hour is it, Santerre?’

    ‘By now, no later than ten.’

    Matthias stroked his bruised face. ‘I’ve drunk a little too much and I’m sore from last night’s manhandling. I’m going to return to my chamber and sleep. Rokesby will be in the schools now but, this afternoon, he will be back in his lodgings. Where are they?’

    ‘I don’t know,’ Santerre replied. ‘But I’ll find out.’ He looked anxious. ‘What are you going to do?’

    ‘I am going to confront Rokesby. I am going to challenge him and, if possible, make my peace with him.’

    ‘And the murder of the girl?’

    ‘What can I do,’ Matthias shrugged, ‘except see what happens?’

    It was late afternoon when the Frenchman shook Matthias awake.

    ‘You’d best come,’ he smiled. ‘I have found out where Rokesby lives. He has a chamber not very far from here. It’s on the corner of Vinehall Street, near Peckwater’s Inn. I saw him stagger in there less than an hour ago, carrying more ale in his belly than a brewer’s barrel. Are you sure you wish to meet him?’

    Matthias got off the bed and followed Santerre down the ladder. He sat on the stool, pulled on his boots and splashed water over his face.

    ‘ Carpe diem! ’ he quipped. ‘Seize the day! It will only fester. Rokesby is arrogant. He can be mollified.’

    They left the hall and made their way along the High Street, pushing through the throngs of students who, the morning schools now finished, clustered round the open doors of taverns or strolled past the stalls, much to the anxiety of their owners. These watched the ragged-arsed students, notorious for their light fingers and skill at stealing. On the corner of Vinehall Street Lane, one such student had been caught. A furious quarrel was brewing between proctors and beadles of the University and a group of traders, who clamoured for the students to be taken immediately to the Bocardo, the city gaol. The fray stirred up the usual deep-seated animosity between town and gown. Other students began to gather, rusty swords and daggers pushed in their belts, whilst the traders were shouting at their apprentices to arm themselves with quarterstaffs and clubs. Pickpockets and foists looked for easy takings. A group of whores, their saucy faces garishly painted, their gaudy dresses causing a swirl of colour, also drew near for, when tempers rose, passion provided easy custom.

    Santerre pushed his way through, turning to grasp Matthias’ belt as the two became separated.

    ‘Whatever you decide, Englishman,’ he joked. ‘I think it’s time I left this city. I really wish you’d come with me.’

    They reached the bottom of the lane. Santerre led Matthias down a small alleyway and across a weed-strewn