The Rose Demon

of their souls, can resist me, like a powerful householder can bar the windows and doors against an intruder. Others? I can slip in like a thief in the night. They have weakened their spirit. Remember the words of the gospel, Matthias: “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Have you ever wondered, Matthias, how you can lose something which is eternal?’ Amasia glanced quickly down the gallery and leant across. ‘It’s so easy, Matthias. Amasia lost her soul when she betrayed you.’ She smiled. ‘Remember the gospels, Matthias? When Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus, Satan entered.’

    ‘Why not possess me?’ Matthias taunted.

    Amasia’s head went back.

    ‘Why not me?’ Matthias repeated, shuffling his chains. He sat back when he glimpsed the turnkey stand and stare down. ‘You can’t, can you?’ Matthias whispered. ‘Someone, something is blocking you.’

    Amasia lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

    ‘There are those around you,’ she whispered. ‘You see battles on earth, the same is true of the spirit world, an eternal war between the lords of the air, yet it’s not just that, Matthias. I do not want to enter you. Control is not love: power and love are as far apart as east and west.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I want you to know that.’

    ‘If I had stayed with Morgana, where would we have fled?’

    ‘Only heaven knows,’ Amasia laughed softly as if savouring the joke. ‘But now, rather than control events, like a swimmer in a river, I must flow with them. I knew Rokesby was going to hurt you, that’s why he had to die first. I knew the city authorities would try to arrest you, so Morgana was waiting for you. Now the silly priest, Richard Symonds, he is the key to the door.’

    ‘Don’t you have that power?’ Matthias mocked.

    ‘I have answered that, Matthias. You cannot control the will,’ she continued, ‘unless the will is handed over to you: that is another matter.’

    ‘You quote Scripture!’ Matthias retorted.

    ‘Why not?’ Again the smile. ‘Evil men can quote it and use it to justify their actions.’

    ‘What’s going on there?’ The gaoler was glaring down the passageway.

    ‘I must be going,’ Amasia said. ‘We shall meet again, Creatura.’

    For the rest of the day Matthias remained tense and watchful, at the same time trying to hide his emotions from the gaoler.

    ‘They are getting the stake ready at Carfax,’ the fellow declared. ‘Cleaning the cobbles, the faggots and brushwood have been dried.’ He closed one eye and stared at Matthias. ‘You should thank God,’ he added, ‘and pray it doesn’t rain. It can take hours to get the fire burning.’

    On these words of comfort, he spun on his heel and went back to his table.

    It was well after curfew and the gaoler was settling down for another night’s drinking when Matthias heard voices at the end of the passageway, followed by the clink of coins and the sound of footsteps. The door was swung open and Symonds came in. He was dressed in a cassock, with a stole over his shoulders, a small, lighted candle in his hand.

    ‘Close the door!’ Symonds shouted. ‘And pray look after my good sister!’

    The gaoler obeyed with alacrity.

    ‘He’s well paid,’ Symonds declared.

    The priest blew the candle out. He undid the silver pyx he carried but, instead of a host, it contained a strange-looking key.

    ‘The work of a master locksmith,’ he explained, slipping the key into the gyves and manacles. In a trice they were loose. Symonds then sat back against the wall. He took a small wineskin from beneath his cloak, took a swig and offered it to Matthias. The claret was full and strong and warmed his belly. For a while he just sat and stretched, flexing his muscles, letting the blood run free. Symonds also gave him some bread, cheese and smoke dried ham. Matthias ate these ravenously. He heard a sound, a small scream, from the end of the passageway.

    ‘What is that?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

    ‘I would think it’s Mistress Morgana doing her duty,’ Symonds sneered.

    The sounds at the end of the gallery ceased. There was a low groan and the cell door swung open. Morgana, her hair slightly dishevelled, her dark smock and cloak covered with pieces of straw, was smiling down at Matthias. In one hand a dagger, bloody to the hilt, in the other a set of keys.

    ‘I think it’s time we left.’

    Symonds grasped Matthias by the