‘You have a parish, Father?’
‘No, I am a tutor in Lord Audley’s household.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And you are right, I am not here to shrive you. I come to ask for your help.’
Matthias lifted his hands in a jangle of chains.
‘Father, I’m dirty, unshaven and, in about four days, I’m going to be burnt to death. How can I help you?’
‘I was at your trial. They said you were a Yorkist.’
‘They also said I was an assassin and a sorcerer.’
‘But you do have powers, don’t you?’
Symonds’ head came forward, his eyes gleaming, lips parted. Matthias wondered if the priest were not a little insane: something about the eyes, that slight tilt to the head. A secretive man, Matthias thought, constantly engaged in subtle schemes.
‘Father, if I had such powers, I wouldn’t be sitting here.’
‘She said you’d be diffident.’
Matthias’ heart skipped a beat.
‘Who said that?’
‘Morgana. She approached me after the trial. She said you were a Yorkist, not a murderer, a man of great power.’
‘What do you propose?’ Matthias asked wearily. ‘And speak low, for the turnkey is very suspicious.’ He smiled weakly. ‘He thinks I’ll sprout wings and fly away.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s already searched me and is richer by two coins.’
Symonds edged a little closer. ‘I shall speak and speak quickly. Edward IV of blessed memory died three years ago. Two years later his brother Richard of Gloucester, having assumed the crown, was defeated at Market Bosworth, by Henry Tudor.’
‘And I understand George, Duke of Clarence, the third brother,’ Matthias added drily, ‘died rather mysteriously in the Tower. As did Edward IV’s two boys, the Princes. People said they were murdered by their Uncle Richard so that is the end of the House of York.’
‘I cannot speak for any of them,’ Symonds replied. ‘The fate of the Princes is a mystery but Henry Tudor is a usurper.’ He drew himself up, his eyes glittering: a fanatic, Matthias thought, a man obsessed with a cause.
‘The Yorkists are dead,’ Matthias declared. ‘And the power of Henry Tudor is more than manifest. You saw it at my trial.’
‘One Yorkist prince still lives,’ Symonds whispered dramatically. ‘Edward of Warwick, Clarence’s son.’
The doings of kings and princes did not interest Matthias but he tried to recall what Baron Sanguis had told him.
‘He’s in the Tower!’ Matthias exclaimed. ‘Warwick was kept prisoner by his Uncle Richard as well as Henry Tudor.’
‘He’s an imposter,’ Symonds snapped. ‘The true Warwick has escaped. He has the support of Yorkist lords and he is safe in a house outside Oxford.’ Symonds clapped his hands. ‘I intend to take him to Dublin. The Irish lords led by the Earl of Kildare will rise in revolt to support him. Other English lords, including de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, and my Lord Lovell will join us there. His aunt Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, will supply us with mercenaries and gold.’
‘So, why do you need me? A scholar about to be burnt to death?’
‘Morgana says you are a man of great power. You will aid our cause, a talisman for our success.’ The priest got to his feet. ‘You really have little choice in the matter, do you?’
Matthias shook his head. ‘Any fate is better than burning.’
‘I shall return tomorrow night.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ Matthias replied drily, ‘my face shaved, my saddlebags packed.’
The priest smirked, sketched a blessing in the air and shouted for the turnkey.
Matthias spent the night speculating on whether Symonds was insane or just foolhardy. Late the following evening, Amasia came: she, too, bribed the gaoler: he leered at Matthias and said he would keep the door to the cell open. Amasia’s face was hidden in the shadow of her hood. She sat in a corner of the cell well away from him.
‘Why have you come?’ Matthias snapped. ‘To gloat? To say you are sorry? You might as well go to the execution ground and spit in the flames!’
‘
Matthias’ head jerked back. It was Amasia’s voice, low and sweet, but the words and the tone were that of the hermit.
‘Do not get excited.’ Amasia turned her face and whispered. ‘The oaf at the end of the gallery is watching us. I know what you are going to ask. How and why?’ Amasia played with a tendril of her hair. ‘When a soul dies, Matthias, it’s like light from a candle, it travels so quickly, so far, so fast. The journey lasts for eternity. I am different: I am locked in the same moment of eternity because of my will, because of my love. All I see, all I deal with, is the eternal now. Imagine,’ her voice was low and soft, ‘imagine, Matthias, you are back at Sutton Courteny. There are houses all along the street. You can go into any of them and do whatever you like — eat, drink. So it is with me.’
‘And Amasia?’ Matthias asked. ‘The girl I knew?’
‘Some people,’ she replied, ‘because of their strength and the spiritual state of their souls, can resist me, like a powerful householder can bar the windows and doors against an intruder. Others? I can slip in like a thief in the night. They have weakened their spirit. Remember the words of the gospel, Matthias: “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Have you ever wondered, Matthias, how you can lose something which is eternal?’ Amasia glanced quickly down the gallery and leant across. ‘It’s so easy, Matthias. Amasia lost her soul when she betrayed you.’ She smiled. ‘Remember the gospels, Matthias? When Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus, Satan entered.’
‘Why not possess me?’ Matthias taunted.
Amasia’s head went back.
‘Why not me?’ Matthias repeated, shuffling his chains. He sat back when he glimpsed the turnkey stand and stare down. ‘You can’t, can you?’ Matthias whispered. ‘Someone, something is blocking you.’
Amasia lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
‘There are those around you,’ she whispered. ‘You see battles on earth, the same is true of the spirit world, an eternal war between the lords of the air, yet it’s not just that, Matthias. I do not want to enter you. Control is not love: power and love are as far apart as east and west.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I want you to know that.’
‘If I had stayed with Morgana, where would we have fled?’
‘Only heaven knows,’ Amasia laughed softly as if savouring the joke. ‘But now, rather than control events, like a swimmer in a river, I must flow with them. I knew Rokesby was going to hurt you, that’s why he had to die first. I knew the city authorities would try to arrest you, so Morgana was waiting for you. Now the silly priest, Richard Symonds, he is the key to the door.’
‘Don’t you have that power?’ Matthias mocked.
‘I have answered that, Matthias. You cannot control the will,’ she continued, ‘unless the will is handed over to you: that is another matter.’
‘You quote Scripture!’ Matthias retorted.
‘Why not?’ Again the smile. ‘Evil men can quote it and use it to justify their actions.’
‘What’s going on there?’ The gaoler was glaring down the passageway.
‘I must be going,’ Amasia said. ‘We shall meet again, Creatura.’
For the rest of the day Matthias remained tense and watchful, at the same time trying to hide his emotions from the gaoler.
‘They are getting the stake ready at Carfax,’ the fellow declared. ‘Cleaning the cobbles, the faggots and brushwood have been dried.’ He closed one eye and stared at Matthias. ‘You should thank God,’ he added, ‘and pray it doesn’t rain. It can take hours to get the fire burning.’
On these words of comfort, he spun on his heel and went back to his table.
It was well after curfew and the gaoler was settling down for another night’s drinking when Matthias heard
