The Rose Demon

while.’ She clinked her own goblet against his. ‘To better days, Matthias.’

    He drank. The wine was cool, fresh in his mouth and tongue. A memory stirred.

    ‘I saw you,’ he gasped. ‘I saw you years ago in a small alehouse.’

    She laughed deep in her throat and came to sit beside him. Matthias grew embarrassed. He regretted so impulsively obeying Santerre’s request.

    ‘You have not aged.’ He found it difficult to speak; he drank deeply from the goblet.

    ‘What is age? What is time, Matthias?’ Morgana replied.

    Matthias felt his eyes grow heavy.

    ‘I have waited so long for this,’ she continued. ‘To meet you.’

    Matthias looked at the cup.

    ‘Aye, the wine is drugged,’ she replied coolly. ‘You are to sleep, Matthias. You have to: that’s why Santerre did what he did today. Rokesby was to have you murdered. He knew you better than you thought. Whilst the other students were at Abingdon, Santerre included, secret Matthias, quiet Matthias, would stay and study. The assassins will come but it’s not you they’ll find. It will be Santerre.’ She touched his brow. Again coolness, as if his hot skin were being dabbed with ice-cold water. ‘ Monseigneur wants to show you how much he loves you.’

    Matthias tried to rise but she pushed him back as if he were a child. The cup rolled out of his hands, his head went forward and he fell into a deep sleep.

    When he awoke he was lying fully clothed on the bed. He felt refreshed, relaxed. For a few moments he stared up at the tester until he realised where he was and what had happened. He struggled to rise, the curtains of the bed were pulled back and Morgana was beside him.

    ‘Sleep on,’ she urged. ‘Tomorrow morning, at first light, we are to go.’

    ‘Go where?’

    ‘For a while, Sutton Courteny.’

    Matthias lay back on the bed. He glanced down at his feet, his boots were still on. He got off the bed.

    ‘Matthias, what are you doing?’

    ‘Relieving myself. I also need something to eat and drink.’

    He was through the door before she could stop him. He heard her calling his name but Matthias continued down the stairs. He guessed it must be just before midnight. He hurried through the streets, brushing aside the beggars and drunks. He felt refreshed and alert after his deep sleep but resentful of the opiate; it awoke memories of the church at Sutton Courteny, sleeping whilst terrible events occurred. Matthias paused at the corner of the Turl from where he could watch the main doorway of Exeter Hall. Something had happened: a proctor stepped through the gateway and had a few words with the two men-at-arms posted outside. Matthias drew back into the shadows. As he had come from the Golden Lyre, he’d passed soldiers wearing the livery of the city. They’d been busy putting chains up across the streets leading to the gates and postern doors of Oxford. They had not bothered him. Matthias now realised that they were more intent on stopping and examining people leaving the city rather than those coming in.

    Matthias slipped along an alleyway, keeping to the shadows, until he reached the Blue Boar tavern. He waited at the back near the piggery. Sure enough, after a while, Amasia came out carrying a bucket of slops. He called her name and she came over, reluctantly at first but, when Matthias identified himself, she put the bucket down and, running across, pushed him back into the shadows.

    ‘Matthias Fitzosbert.’ Her face was pale, eyes staring. Matthias could see she had been weeping. ‘Santerre is dead!’

    Matthias closed his eyes. Was that planned? he thought. Would it have been Santerre who turned up at the Golden Lyre or someone else?

    ‘He was found murdered in your room,’ Amasia hurried on. ‘Two other corpses as well. I learnt of this from gossip: the news is spreading through the city.’

    ‘Who are the others?’ Matthias asked.

    ‘Hired killers, or so they think, former soldiers. God knows, there’s enough hiding out in the woods between here and Woodstock.’ She grasped his hand. ‘Matthias, they are saying you are responsible.’

    ‘Me, hire killers?’

    ‘No. They say it’s connected with the death of Rokesby. He, too, has been found stabbed in his lodgings. An old woman saw you and Santerre go up there earlier today. The Chancellor’s men have seized Rokesby’s papers. They found information about you. Dantel,’ Amasia referred to a student they both knew, ‘he says warrants have