Paul Doherty - The Rose Demon

‘It’s just the change in the weather,’ he murmured.

‘Unless, dear Matthias,’ she replied, ‘you’re already sickening of the marriage state!’

He tried to joke back yet, for the rest of that day, he could not shake off a sense of foreboding, of quiet menace. He did not join the rest for supper in the hall but retired to his own chamber. He lit a candle beneath the crucifix which hung on the wall and, kneeling on the small prie-dieu beneath it, prayed for God’s protection, and that He’d bring those who had died at Sutton Courteny so many years ago to a place of peace and light. He lay down on the bed, pretending to leaf through a Book of Hours, studying the fine cursive script and jewel-like pictures. He was not surprised when, after a while, he heard a distant clamour, shouts of alarm, followed by pounding footsteps on the stairs outside. Vattier, still wearing his conical helmet and dressed in leather brigandine as captain of the night watch, burst into the room.

‘Master Matthias, you’d best come! Sir Humphrey and Father Hubert are outside the north tower!’

Matthias put his boots on and followed the sergeant-at-arms. The bailey was pitch-dark, lit only by cresset torches, which flickered and danced where they had been placed away from the biting night breeze. Soldiers had gathered at the foot of the steps. Vattier pushed through these, ignoring their murmuring, and led Matthias up into the gallery. At first the silence was so intense Matthias thought there had been some misunderstanding. Sir Humphrey and Father Hubert were sitting in a window embrasure. The lighted candle Sir Humphrey held in his hand made their faces look drawn and grey. Matthias looked towards the door leading to the north tower. He felt the cold but could see no light or detect any vile odour, nor any of the usual manifestations associated with this haunting. He was about to ask why they had brought him, when the most heart-rending screams came from the tower. These were followed by a man singing. At first Matthias thought it was the chanting of a monk until it turned into a loud, foulsome ranting, a macabre mimicking of the Divine Office: curses, foul epithets, obscene remarks.

‘It started within the hour,’ Father Hubert whispered. ‘I really do think I should go in.’

Matthias shook his head. ‘No, Father, I will.’ He smiled down at both of them. ‘Vattier can guard the door. Now is not my wedding night.’

‘In which case. .’ Father Hubert got to his feet. He brought from beneath his cloak a small, silver pyx which contained the consecrated host. It shimmered and glittered in the candlelight. Without asking, he thrust this into a small pocket inside the lining of Matthias’ jerkin. He also took the small, wooden cross he wore round his neck and looped the rough cord over Matthias’ head. ‘These will protect you,’ he whispered.

Matthias blessed himself and walked down the gallery. Vattier came with him. The sergeant-at-arms carried a torch. When they reached the door he thrust this into Matthias’ hand. Vattier’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, like a man sick with the fever.

‘Against sword and buckler,’ he whispered, ‘I have no fear. But, in God’s name, Master Matthias, what is this?’

‘I don’t know.’ Matthias’ reply was clipped. ‘But lock the door behind me. Only open it at my command.’

Vattier turned the key in the lock, the door swung open. Matthias stepped into the small alcove. He lifted the torch and saw the stairs twisting away up into the darkness. It was bitterly cold but he could detect nothing else. He walked up the stairs, carefully reciting a prayer. He reached the first gallery and stepped into the deserted room as he had done before. This time the door slammed quickly behind him. Matthias spun round.

‘In God’s name, who are you?’ he called.

‘In God’s name, who are you?’ The reply was low and mocking. ‘How dare you interfere in my pleasures?’

‘No pleasure!’

This time it was a woman’s voice, low and tired. Matthias lifted the torch. He could see nothing though he felt a presence, a feeling of sadness, of quiet despair.

‘I speak to the woman,’ he called out. ‘Who are you?’

‘Maude. My name is Maude.’

‘And why are you here?’

‘Tied here. Tied by sin. Unforgiven. No atonement. No reparation.’

‘Maude who?’ Matthias decided it was best if he talked as he would to strangers, not dwell upon the evil, sinister atmosphere.

‘Maude Beauchamp.’

‘Why are you held here?’

‘I committed a terrible sin. Unfaithful, led to murder. Imprisoned in darkness.’

‘And can you leave?’

‘In time, yes, when reparation is done. I’d love to continue my journey.’

‘Where to?’ Matthias asked.

‘Out of the darkness. Sometimes I can see the light, just a pinprick, like a star in the sky-’

‘She’s frightened of you, you whoreson bastard!’ the man’s voice interrupted, harsh, malicious. Matthias caught a hint of fear.

‘Aren’t you frightened?’ Matthias retorted quickly.

He felt something rush at him out of the darkness. He was pushed, staggering back against the wall, almost dropping the torch. Matthias gasped for breath even as the man’s voice screamed.

‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I am sorry.’ The voice was now wheedling, importunate.

‘Then why are you frightened?’ Matthias gasped.

‘Oh, Matthias. Creatura.’ The man’s voice was still wheedling.

‘Why do you call me that?’

Matthias stood staring into the darkness. He heard a gasp, like a dog which had run far and fast and was now lolling, mouth open, jaws slavering. The sound made his flesh creep.

‘You know why.’ The man’s voice was soft. ‘You carry something sacred but I cannot name that-’

‘Oh, please help me!’ the woman’s voice cut across.

‘She’s frightened of you.’ The man’s voice rose as if to drown the woman’s. ‘She knows about the Dark Lord. She’s frightened that she will be hurt even more.’

‘What must I do?’ Matthias asked.

‘Piss off, just piss off!’

‘Masses, prayers.’ The woman’s voice came as a whisper.

Matthias stood for a while but no other voices came. The room grew warm as if braziers had been wheeled in, full of burning charcoal.

‘Matthias! Matthias!’ Vattier’s voice echoed up the steps. ‘Matthias, are you all right?’

Matthias went out of the chamber and down the steps. Vattier stood in the doorway, sword drawn. Matthias pushed him outside and slammed the door shut. He walked back to the priest and handed over the crucifix and pyx. Even as he did so, the murmuring and the clattering from the north tower began again.

‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Matthias declared, ‘at least for the moment. But in two days’ time it will be the Feast of All Souls. Yes?’

Father Hubert nodded.

‘The day the Church specially sets aside to pray for the dead. We’ll come back then, Father. You and I in the evening, after sunset. We’ll offer a Mass for the repose of the soul of Maude Beauchamp.’

Two days later, on the Feast of All Souls, Vattier helped Matthias set up an altar in one of the chambers in the north tower: a wooden table, two oil lamps at each end, a crucifix, cruets, a missal, chalice and paten. Matthias also arranged for sconce torches to be lit and placed in the wall. The sergeant-at-arms moved nervously. Matthias could understand why. Now and again they’d hear the quick intake of breath as if some being stood in the shadows watching them intently.

Rosamund had wished to be present but Matthias refused.

‘It’s best not,’ he explained. ‘The little I know, and from what I have read, such occasions can go wrong.’