naked steel and heard the clink of chain mail.
‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Matthias, we have had people waiting at the ports for many a month. You know I have a finger in many pies, take a deep interest in what comes in and out of our kingdom. You weren’t at Winchelsea an hour before a messenger was speeding to London.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Matthias, must I spell it out as if you are a child? That night in my secret chamber.’ Emloe stepped closer. ‘Never have I seen such power, such a manifestation.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘True, the house was burnt but nothing that cannot be replaced. You, however, Matthias, cannot be replaced. You are more precious to me than the costliest silk or rarest diamonds.’ Emloe’s voice took on a more mocking tone. ‘And we looked for you, here and there. What happened to my riders? Sent into deepest Gloucestershire, they were! It was months before I discovered their rotting corpses round that church!’ Emloe’s eyes glittered in the gloom. ‘What happened, Matthias? Did you release the power?’ He wagged a finger. ‘Then back and forth to the Hospitallers at Clerkenwell. Tush! Tush! We dare not seize you there.’ He spread his hands. ‘The good knights cannot be bribed and bought. They have a tendency to smite first and ask afterwards.’
Matthias pulled his cloak around him and glared at Emloe. He was not afraid, just angry, seething with fury. Emloe and the rest — James of Scotland, Fitzgerald, Prior Jerome, men who would not leave him alone — and now what? Trussed and bound, taken back like a puppet to London? Matthias’ hand went to the second dagger he wore strapped close to his belt. He slipped this easily from its pouch. Emloe was revelling in his good fortune.
‘So, what is it to be, Matthias? A knock on the head and bundled into some cart? Come back to London! Live like a lord! Wine, gold, any wench you want! A house? Favour at court?’ He waggled a finger. ‘I’ve been a good detective, Matthias. There are still warrants out for your arrest! That business at Oxford, and your name was among the list of rebels captured at East Stoke. And what happened at Barnwick? Who did let the Scots into that castle?’
Matthias idly wondered if this was the confrontation Dame Emma had spoken of. Was the Rose Demon here? Emloe smirked, lording it over him.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Matthias declared. ‘You want to see the power, Master Emloe?’
The warlock nodded.
‘You wish to see the demons rise? So you shall, and here’s my hand on it.’
Matthias stepped forward. As he did so, his hand came up, and before Emloe could even move Matthias struck the dagger deep, turning it into the man’s stomach. He pulled Emloe close, pushing in the dagger with all his strength.
‘Go down,’ he whispered. ‘And meet the demons!’
Matthias threw Emloe, gagging and choking on his own blood, to the floor.
Figures came out of the darkness but Matthias knocked them aside. He reached the door, fingers pulling at the bolts. Then he was out, racing down the stairs.
‘Murder!’
A scullion coming up the stairs was knocked sideways.
‘Stop him!’ a voice shouted. ‘Murder!’
By the time Matthias reached the cobbled yard, he could hear the shouts of ‘Harrow! Harrow!’, the usual call when the hue and cry were being raised. Matthias raced along the alleyway. At the bottom he stopped and turned. His heart sank. He could see pinpricks of torchlight, people shouting, hurrying towards him. He thought of Sir Edgar Ratcliffe but realised the camp was too far away. He ran on into the marketplace and through the open door of a darkened church.
30
Matthias slammed the church door behind him and stared around. Torches glowed in their iron clasps on the pillars: candles and oil lamps dotted the darkness before statues in the side chapels. Matthias heard the cries of ‘Harrow! Harrow!’ draw nearer. He pushed close the bolts of the door and walked swiftly up the nave into the sanctuary. He had hardly reached it when a small, balding man, dressed in a priest’s gown, came running through a side door. He lifted his spluttering torch and stared at Matthias.
‘What is it you want, young man?’
Matthias grasped the side of the altar.
‘My name is Matthias Fitzosbert, clerk. I demand sanctuary of Holy Mother Church!’
The priest sighed and lowered the torch.
‘Oh, not here!’
Matthias took a silver coin out of his purse.
‘Father, you know the law as do I. I demand sanctuary.’
The priest’s demeanour changed at the sight of the silver. He pocketed it quickly.
‘You can sleep over there,’ he declared, pointing to a shadowy alcove. ‘I’ll bring you some food, wine and blankets.’ He scratched his pock-marked nose. ‘You say you know the law but so do I. The mayor and bailiffs will come here. You can either surrender to them and stand trial,’ he paused, ‘or stay here forty days and ask to be exiled. Now, what is your crime, murder?’
Matthias nodded.
‘Yes, it always is,’ the priest sighed. ‘And you are going to tell me it was in self-defence.’
‘I did not want the man’s death.’
‘Well,’ the priest stretched out his hand, ‘my name is Father Aidan. The sanctuary is yours.’ He pointed to a side door. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t urinate or relieve yourself in here. There’s a small latrine outside fed by an underground brook. Remember this is God’s House and the Gate of Heaven. Keep it clean.’
‘Oh, Father?’
The priest turned round. Matthias held out a second silver piece. ‘There’s another one of these, Father, on two conditions. First, would you collect my baggage from the Cog of War tavern? They won’t refuse to hand it over to a priest.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t want any accidents happening to me,’ Matthias declared. ‘No one slipping in and out of the church.’
‘They wouldn’t dare!’
‘Oh yes they would, Father. These men fear neither God nor man. I killed their leader.’
‘Very well.’ Father Aidan pointed down the church. ‘When I say Mass the front porch will be open, but after I’m gone you can bolt both doors from the inside.’ He took the silver coin. ‘You and your possessions will be safe.’ He paused as he heard the hubbub outside. ‘I’ll just remind our assembled brethren about the law of sanctuary. If they break it they are excommunicated.’ He waved his hand. ‘I know, I know. I heard what you said. They fear neither God nor man, but if they break into my church and commit violence, they’ll do a merry jig on the town’s gallows!’
Father Aidan may have been a mercenary priest but he was true to his word: the crowd assembled outside soon dispersed. He brought the rest of Matthias’ belongings from the Cog of War and made his uninvited guest as comfortable as possible.
The next morning, just after Mass, the mayor and bailiff arrived. They stood in the mouth of the rood screen while the town clerk recited in a rushed monotonous fashion Matthias’ rights. When he had finished, the Port Reeve stepped forward.
‘You murdered a man at the Cog of War. I know, I know,’ he raised his voice, ‘it was self-defence but there’s a whole host of witnesses say it wasn’t. So, you’ve got a choice, my murdering lad! You can surrender to us and, if you do, you’ll probably hang, or you can take an oath to leave the country by the nearest port. Now, in normal circumstances, that would be here in Winchelsea but I reckon that’s too close to be a fitting punishment,’ he continued sonorously. ‘So, for you, my bucko, it’s Rye. You can’t take a horse. You’ll have to walk there. You must carry a cross we give you. If you leave the King’s highway, you can be slain on the spot.’ He shrugged.
