gave love and love was returned. How could God do that? Why should an assassin get away with it? Hurry now. Ralph is waiting.’
‘What do I do? What do I do?’
‘Take the knife.’ He pushed Beatrice gently across the grass.
‘I can’t touch it.’
‘Think, Beatrice,’ He said ‘Think of vengeance. Think of justice. Think of Ralph. Take the knife, pick it up, show these fools that they are in the presence of someone great.’
Beatrice went forward. She grasped the knife but she could feel nothing.
‘Think of the assassin,’ the Minstrel Man urged. ‘Think of the murderer laughing and joking, of the long years ahead, of Ralph lying in the arms of another. Of that child you’ll never see.’
Beatrice felt a spurt of anger go through her like dye colouring water. She lunged and plucked the knife up. She looked round; the Minstrel Man was smiling.
‘There you go, Beatrice. There’s my bonny lass.’
The Moon people were staring transfixed. The young woman began to shriek, clutching the boy close to her.
‘Silence her!’ The voice seemed to come from within her. ‘Silence her, Beatrice! Let loose the power you have within you. You have so much power, Beatrice, that’s why I have travelled to meet you.’
She took a step forward. The man was crouched on the ground, arms wrapped round himself, whimpering like a dog. The old crone squatted as if she had been turned to stone. The young woman rent the air with her terrible screams.
‘Shut her up!’ The words came in a snarl.
Abruptly one of those silver discs of light came between Beatrice and the woman and then moved away. The young boy broke free. He approached the knife, his eyes large and dark above tear-soaked cheeks.
‘Please!’ He mouthed the words. ‘Please don’t hurt us! We didn’t mean to steal the rabbit!’
Beatrice’s resolve crumbled. She put the knife gently on the ground and stretched out her hand to touch the child’s cheek. For a moment she felt wet skin, a wisp of hair.
‘Don’t you worry,’ she soothed. ‘Don’t you worry, little one.’
‘Beatrice Arrowner!’
She glanced round. The Minstrel Man was standing, legs apart, an ugly snarl on his face.
‘You stupid wench! You foolish bitch! You whine, you beg and, when you have the power, you throw it away as if it was a dirty rag!’
He took a step forward. A silver disc came between him and Beatrice. The Minstrel Man smirked. He spoke in that strange guttural tongue. The disc moved away. The Minstrel Man snatched the reins of his pony and the animal raised its head. Beatrice recoiled in horror; it was no longer a sumpter pony but a shape with black hair, long ears, snarling mouth, fiery eyes.
‘Farewell, Beatrice Arrowner.’ The Minstrel Man waggled a finger at her. ‘I still have company to keep at Ravenscroft.’ And, whistling under his breath, he and his ghoulish mount walked away along the track. He lifted a hand in farewell but didn’t turn his head.
‘Beatrice Arrowner! I told you to be careful!’ Brother Antony was standing under a tree. He came towards her and grasped her by the hand. ‘Stay well away from him.’
‘I thought he could help.’
‘You thought he could help!’ Brother Antony shook his head sadly. ‘Do you realise what he was urging you to do, Beatrice?’
‘I wanted to help,’ she stammered.
He took her away across the track. Behind them the Moon people were more composed, talking among themselves, intent on moving camp as quickly as possible. Brother Antony and Beatrice watched them go then he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Why did you do that?’ Beatrice asked, surprised.
‘You’ve been tested and you have not been found wanting.’ Brother Antony smiled. ‘I told you, Beatrice, where you are now is just the same as life.’ He tapped her on the head and on the heart. ‘The intellect and the will are all that matter. Now the games are over. Robin and Isabella? They are demons.’
‘No!’ Yet she could tell from the grave expression on his face that he was telling the truth.
‘They are demons,’ Antony repeated. ‘They are the same as Crispin and Clothilde. In fact, they are one and the same being, manifesting themselves in either sex, assuming many forms. They were sent to tempt you. To entice you into the darkness. To hate, to seek vengeance. To argue constantly with God like their master does.’
‘And the Minstrel Man?’ Beatrice asked.
‘One of the great Lords of Hell, Dominus Achitophel. A great baron of the fiery pit, one of Satan’s tenants- in-chief. He wanders the wastelands which are both freezing and hot while the hordes of Hell pay him tribute.’
Beatrice repressed her fear. ‘But why would such a baron have anything to do with me?’
‘For two reasons. Yours is a soul still out for capture and a soul full of power. Satan, in the very depths of his hate, is always attracted by such souls.’
‘But the Minstrel Man said he was still going to Ravenscroft.’
Brother Antony smiled sadly. ‘Beatrice, most sins are the result of human weakness, of weariness and frustration. A man becomes tired of ploughing the soil, of watching his bairns starve, of his wife shrivel before his eyes. So he drinks too much. He doesn’t control his lusts. But that’s not badness, wickedness, just human frailty. Or take those who rob. Many are brought up in abject poverty, they know no different.’ Brother Antony’s face seemed to become smoother and younger, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘The compassion of Christ is all- understanding. In the end, Beatrice, God’s love will invade this world. It will sweep away, it will turn back, it will heal. At the end of time, when the heavens crack with fire, time will run back and God will make all things well.’ He paused and said something softly in Latin, staring up at the sky. ‘God is coming again, Beatrice. He has counted and weighed the tear of every child, the loneliest cry of pain. He has noted every injustice under the sun, and there will be a reckoning.’ His voice rose, his eyes bright. ‘Every time a child is abused, God is abused. Every time a woman is raped, God is raped. Every time an injustice is committed, God is violated. All these things must be put right.’
‘So why does the Minstrel Man go to Ravenscroft?’
‘The Minstrel Man sings a demonic hymn.’ Brother Antony stepped closer. ‘He’s attracted by the real evil there, true wickedness, a human soul, a being comfortable, endowed with talents, deliberately and maliciously plotting then carrying out dreadful murders. For what?’
‘I don’t know. Brythnoth’s cross?’
‘Perhaps. But, it’s not just greed. Other darker sins run in harness with it: an enjoyment, a malicious desire. A nightmare soul has sung its song and Hell has answered.’
‘Do you know who the assassin is?’ Beatrice asked. Brother Antony shook his head. ‘The all-seeing God knows. But God depends on us, Beatrice. On those who have the means, and the will, to see justice done.’
‘But the Minstrel Man threatened Ralph.’
Brother Antony shook his head. ‘Ralph’s soul and life lie in the hand of God.’
‘Like mine did,’ Beatrice declared. Her voice shook with emotion. ‘I saw that vision of my future.’
‘But was it the truth?’ Brother Antony retorted. ‘I tell you this, Beatrice, what God has prepared for you and Ralph, when his justice is done, will compensate for the evil and wickedness you have suffered. Trust in him, trust in me.’ He grasped her hands. ‘Promise me, Beatrice, now you have been tested, now you have chosen for yourself, that never again will you listen to Crispin and Clothilde, Robin and Isabella. Or whatever other demon Hell spits out.’
‘I promise.’ Beatrice turned away.
‘Where are you going, Mistress?’
‘Why, Brother, to Ravenscroft.’
He pointed down the road at the retreating party of Moon people.
‘But you have done an injustice, reparation is demanded.’
‘If I could, Brother Antony, I would do anything. That poor child, the terror in his eyes…’
