Paul Doherty - The Rose Demon

‘Sire, I don’t know. It must be late in the afternoon.’

‘Is it now, is it now?’ the King murmured, his fingers to his lips. ‘I must go to the abbey and say my prayers.’ He glanced slyly at Matthias. ‘I’ve still got Cochrane’s body here, you know,’ James declared, referring to his dead favourite. ‘I had him embalmed and laid out in a splendid coffer. I hear Mass, then I talk to Cochrane about all of my troubles. I’ll ask him about you. I know he’ll agree I shouldn’t hang you. You don’t like the Douglas, do you?’ James grasped Matthias’ wrist. ‘So you can stay with me.’

The King got to his feet, tossing the rest of his wine on to the fire. He walked to the door and threw it open.

‘Ah, Douglas, I didn’t think you’d wait, man.’

Lord George came into the room, biting his lip in anger. He was followed by the captain of the guard.

‘Take this Englishman.’ The King pointed to Matthias. ‘No, I don’t want him hanged. Give him a chamber here in the household. He’ll have three marks a month and fresh robes at Easter. He can eat at the royal board. I’ve got to go to church now.’

The King went to leave but paused in the doorway.

‘Oh, Douglas, the plunder from Barnwick: I’m your king so, by law and ancient custom, I’ll have half of it.’

Douglas bowed stiffly from the waist but the King had already left, shouting at his guards to follow.

The royal officer led Matthias and Douglas out of the King’s chambers and up some stairways. Matthias was shown into a small, white-washed room. The captain of the guard gestured round.

‘This is yours, Englishman.’ He grasped Matthias by the shoulder. ‘I’ll get servants to bring sheets and blankets for the bed. I’ll also give you some advice, lad. Never anger the King. Never contradict him. If you do,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘as sure as my name’s Archibald Kennedy, he’ll have you hanged!’

The captain left. Douglas closed the door and leant on it.

‘So, what do you think of our king?’

Matthias sat down on a stool and stretched his legs. He felt weak after such a fraught meeting.

‘A most gracious prince, my lord.’

‘Spare me your sarcasm, Englishman. The man’s as mad as a moonstruck hare. You know he’ll kill you?’

‘My life is in God’s hands, my lord.’

‘He’ll kill you.’ Douglas played with the hilt of his dagger. ‘One day he’ll remember how you were brought into the royal presence by one of the hated Douglases and you’ll die.’

‘So, why did you bring me here?’

‘Well, Englishman, if the King doesn’t kill you, I will.’

Matthias stared at this wolf amongst men.

‘Or else what, my lord?’

‘Well. .’ Douglas opened the door and glanced down the gallery.

‘Well, my lord? I am sure there must be something else.’

‘You can kill the King!’

The words were softly spoken but Douglas’ face was hard.

‘He might not be my king,’ Matthias replied, ‘but remember, my lord, he is the Lord’s anointed.’

Douglas ignored Matthias’ mimicry of his own words.

‘But the Lord has taken His hand away from him, as He did from Saul and bestowed His favour on David.’

‘And, of course, you have this new David?’ Matthias taunted. ‘The King’s young son?’

‘The boy is a bonny lad. He has great favour, is well liked and respected by the lords spiritual and temporal, not to mention our many bonnet lairds. James III is mad. The Exchequer’s empty, the kingdom’s weak. He pours good gold and silver into one madcap scheme after another. We have tried to teach him the true paths. We hanged six of his favourites but still he hasn’t learnt.’

‘So, you organised a foray into England?’ Matthias replied. ‘To collect arms and munitions as well as an Englishman whom the King might be interested in?’

‘You’ll be given many an opportunity.’

Matthias rubbed his face. Was there no end to this? To be the tool and instrument of power-hungry men?

‘Do it as you wish,’ Douglas continued. ‘The knife, a cup of poison.’

‘And if I do?’ Matthias spat the words out. ‘If I do this for you, Lord George Douglas, who destroyed my life and brought me here, an exile amongst strangers?’

‘You’ll be loaded with honours and returned to the border,’ Douglas replied.

Aye, Matthias thought, pigs will fly and fish will walk on dry land.

‘Think about it.’ Douglas forced a smile. He stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Matthias sat staring at the wall. He didn’t really care about what Douglas had said. He searched his mind. What did he feel? A deep anger at Rosamund’s death? Yes, and a growing hatred for the men who had caused it. He stayed in the chamber until Archibald Kennedy came back.

‘The King’s waiting for ye. He wishes you to sup with him.’

Matthias followed the soldier back to the chamber where he had first met the King. James was more relaxed: one of the shutters had been opened. The King waved him to a stool on the other side of a small table which was covered with trenchers and bowls full of meat, bread and fruit. The King blessed himself and, chattering about how he would like to develop the Abbey of Holyrood, invited Matthias to eat. The King watched Matthias put food on his trencher and begin to eat. He had hardly done so when the King stretched across, knocked his hand away and took the trencher for himself whilst Matthias was given his plate. The same occurred when the wine was poured. Matthias realised that, whether he liked it or not, he was the King’s food-taster. James watched him, narrow-eyed.

‘Why did Douglas bring you here, Englishman?’

‘Oh, it’s quite simple, Your Grace. He wishes me to kill you.’

James threw his head back in a loud neighing laugh, spitting food from his mouth.

‘Englishman, you jest!’

‘Your Grace, I do not.’

‘Och aye!’ The King sighed, wiping his fingers on his gown. ‘I could have you hanged for that.’ He sighed again. ‘But you are telling the truth, aren’t you?’

Matthias stared into those hard, cunning eyes full of madness. He stretched across to take a small manchet loaf but the King knocked his hand away.

‘Don’t eat that!’ he whispered. ‘It’s poisoned!’

Matthias swallowed hard. His appetite abruptly died.

‘I poisoned that myself,’ the King continued. ‘I heard your conversation with the Douglas. The chamber you were given has a false wall. In one of the beams there are two holes. You can look through or put your ear to them.’

‘Archibald Kennedy was there all the time, wasn’t he?’ Matthias asked.

‘Och aye.’ James smiled. ‘Douglas wants me dead.’

‘Why don’t you kill him? It is treason to plot against you, the King.’

The King rubbed his hand together. ‘I’d love to,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I’d love to see that arrogant red head on the end of a pike but not here, not now. If I kill the Douglas his clan would be swarming through Edinburgh. They’d burn the abbey and the palace to the ground and I would disappear into some dark pit.’ He smiled again. ‘If ye hadn’t told me the truth, I would have let you eat that poison. But come on, have some more wine. Tell me about Oxford!’

So began Matthias’ bizarre life at the Scottish court. Sometimes the King would forget him and Matthias would wander the dusty galleries or go into the great abbey. He’d sit at the base of a pillar and listen to the rhythmic chant of the monks in their stalls or stare up at the stained-glass windows, where angels blew golden trumpets to raise the dead and demons danced on an ocean of fire. The abbey walls, too, were decorated with gorgeous multi-coloured scenes from the Bible. Matthias got to know each and every one of them, and the memories of those paintings at Tewkesbury flooded back: the golden summer day, the hermit staring at a painting, tears streaming down his face.