speak to you. I mean you well. I swear that on the wounds of Christ. Afterwards, it is up to you whether you heed my advice or not.’
‘Do you know who murdered me?’
Antony shook his head. ‘Only God knows that.’
‘Then why doesn’t God intervene?’
‘But God does, Beatrice. That’s why I’m here.’
‘How do I know that?’ she snapped, and as she spoke the castle yard changed again. Great gibbet posts rose up from the cobbles. They were about five yards high with three branches and from each bodies jerked and spluttered in their death spasms. The cruel knight was there again, seated on his black war horse, watching. Women carrying children screamed and begged for mercy but the knight and his henchmen mocked them. The victims were hustled up the ladders, nooses placed round their necks, the ladders turned and more bodies danced in the air.
‘Come away! Come away!’ Antony was beside her. He smelt of sweet grass and herbs.
‘What is all this?’ Beatrice whispered.
But Antony was leading her away, talking soothingly to her. Soon they were out of the castle, walking towards Devil’s Spinney. Halfway there he stopped and sat down on the grass, gesturing at Beatrice to join him. He grasped her hands as Ralph would, rubbing them between his, watching her intently.
‘I do not know who killed you, Beatrice. The assassin really intended to slay Ralph your beloved. I know that. You are truly dead, Beatrice Arrowner. There is no going back. No return to the life you have left.’
‘And is this Heaven or Hell?’ Beatrice asked bravely.
‘This is no place, Beatrice.’ He paused. ‘It’s like dusk, caught between night and day. Death is a journey, one that takes all eternity. If you die with your face towards God, you journey towards God and He is eternal.’
‘A journey?’ Beatrice queried.
Antony nodded. ‘An eternal journey, but you have not yet begun on it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you don’t want to leave.’
‘What do you mean?’ Beatrice asked.
He held out his hands, fingers splayed. ‘You have intellect, love and will. The first can propose, the second can be your aim – or not, depending on yourself. The third, however, is most important. It is what determines your actions. Your will is what keeps you here. You have decided not to travel on. You have unfinished business.’
‘But what about Goodman Winthrop? He was collected by those terrors.’
‘He made his choice.’
‘Will he travel towards God?’
‘God will always call him, but if Goodman Winthrop lives his death like he lived his life, he will for all eternity refuse to hear the call and travel away from God, into his own self, his own love of wickedness. That’s why he was taken by the demons. They did not come from Hell, Beatrice, they came from within himself.’
‘And the poor beggar man?’
‘Ah.’ Antony smiled. ‘The Church teaches of Heaven and Hell and I have described both to you. The Church also teaches Purgatory where the soul is undecided. No, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I put that wrongly, the soul is not yet prepared for the journey.’
‘But that’s like me.’
‘No, your soul is ready but your will wants to delay because you have unfinished business which, I suspect, is connected with Master Ralph. That poor beggar man was collected by the wraiths of his mind and will, the sins and impurities he accummulated during life, for he was a beggar man by choice rather than by misfortune.’
‘And Elizabeth Lockyer?’
‘Ah. She was visited by the seraphims, beings of light. Elizabeth lived a good life, she died with her face towards God and God smiled on her. She wished to travel on and all the good she did in life has taken her forward.’
‘Seraphims? Wraiths? Demons? What about those others? Malkyn the torturer, Lady Johanna de Mandeville, the poor unfortunate who haunts the crossroads?’
‘They do not wish to travel on,’ Antony explained. ‘They are still locked in the pain and misery of their lives. Lady Johanna died a miserable death. God wishes to comfort her but she will not respond. Etheldreda, the young woman at the crossroads, is the same. She’s no sinner, just an unfortunate young woman who died when her wits were turned.’
‘And Malkyn the torturer?’
‘A cruel man in life, Beatrice. He did repent before he died, he was shriven by a priest here in the castle, but he does not wish to purge himself. He will stay here until he does.’
‘And those shapes and shades, spectres and ghouls?’ Beatrice asked. ‘That terrible knight, those men being hanged in the courtyard? And the battle?’
‘They are different. They are nothing but shadows of former beings. They are like tapestries which show a scene from the past.’ He sensed Beatrice’s puzzlement. ‘Have you ever been into a room, Beatrice, after there has been feasting and revelry? It’s very quiet but if you stand and listen you can almost hear the laughter, the music, the dancing which occurred there.’
Beatrice nodded. ‘But what am I to do?’
‘Do you want to leave?’ Antony asked quietly.
‘I want to marry Ralph. I want justice for my death.’
‘But that’s impossible,’ Antony murmured.
Beatrice sprang to her feet. ‘The others didn’t say that!’
‘What others, Beatrice? Clothilde and Crispin?’
‘Yes.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘I am flouncing away in a temper but what good will that do? They did offer to help.’
‘And that’s why I’m here.’ Antony spoke sharply. ‘Of all the beings you’ve met, Beatrice, those two are the most dangerous!’
He spoke so vehemently, Beatrice sat down again. ‘Who are they?’
‘They are one and the same person,’ Antony replied. ‘Succubus and Incubus.’
‘What?’
‘They are the true devils,’ Antony warned.
‘But they were so beautiful, so helpful.’
‘Haven’t you heard the old phrase, Beatrice, “The Devil can appear as an angel of light”?’ He grasped her hands. ‘When Goodman Winthrop died, you saw demons, but they came from within. They were of his own making, his lusts, his avarice and desire for power.’
‘Did he kill that young girl?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Phoebe? Where is she and why can’t I see her spirit?’
Antony smiled. ‘Phoebe has gone on; her death cannot be laid at Goodman Winthrop’s door. In life, as in death, nothing is what it seems. Oh, listen to me, Beatrice! There is a difference between the demons we create and those devils, those fallen angels who constantly rage against the light, who would, if they could, scale the walls of Heaven and burn them to the ground.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Beatrice withdrew her hands, yet she could tell from Antony’s eyes that he was deeply worried.
‘What do you expect devils to be like, Beatrice? Little men with forked tails and horns? Creatures from some mummers’ play?’ he scoffed. ‘They are nothing but lurid paintings. Devils are like angels, Beatrice, a mixture of pure light, energy, intelligence and will. They can take on many forms and guises.’
‘But I am dead. Holy Mother Church teaches that after death comes judgement.’ She shook her head. ‘Why should they be interested in my soul now?’
‘Oh, they are, Beatrice. Very, very interested, especially in one like you. You have not yet travelled on. You are capable of free choice. You are here because you want to be. You have not journeyed on because you have refused to. In a way, you are no different from Malkyn or Lady Johanna de Mandeville, so the angels of Hell are interested in you, deeply interested. If they can, they will turn your will so your face no longer looks towards God.’
‘Is that what is happening to Malkyn and the rest?’ she asked.
