lolling.’ She popped more marzipan into her mouth. ‘And, before you think it, never mind say it, I’m not a wanton. I’m a maid, a virgo intacta. I am seventeen years of age. My hand has been asked in marriage five times. The last one was a knight who owned lands in Scarsdale. He was youngish, elegant and he walked like this.’
She got up and did a mincing walk up and down the chapel. Matthias smiled. She imitated the man in such detail: the slight swagger, the hand half-raised, fingers splayed. Matthias had seen fops and court gallants do the same and the look on her face, slightly deprecating, eyes half-closed, was accurate too. She stopped, bunched her skirts up and held herself slightly backwards.
‘He had the most incredible codpiece. I told Father he should marry one of our mares!’
Matthias couldn’t hold his laughter back. Rosamund crouched beside him, her face now serious. He went to grasp her hand, she knocked it aside, popped a piece of marzipan into his mouth, then punched him gently on the jaw.
‘Don’t say it, Matthias. Don’t say anything to me you don’t mean. Don’t go away thinking I’m some lady in a tower who dies to be free. I love my father. I love this castle. I love the wild countryside around. I have heard the songs of troubadours and I have listened to courtly praises. I’ve met men who want to play cat’s-cradle with me in some window seat or bower. It just makes me giggle. It’s good to see you smile. Now, open your mouth.’
Matthias obeyed, another piece of marzipan was put in.
‘So, don’t say anything,’ she whispered, ‘unless you mean it. I have liked you, Matthias, from the very moment I met you. I could say more but I won’t.’
And then she was gone. Matthias just sat dumbstruck. He wished she’d come back, he really did. For those few minutes, everything in the past seemed to have gone. He was just a young man, most fortunate in being teased by a lovely woman. She had said she liked him but Matthias had glimpsed the passion in her eyes. He realised how little he did know about women. He got to his feet, absent-mindedly put the Bible back on the altar and wandered out. Father Hubert passed him on the stairs.
‘Do you think it can be bound?’
‘Yes, it’s very nice, Father, isn’t it?’
The chaplain looked at him strangely. Matthias realised he hadn’t been listening to the question. He went on down, then wandered around the castle. He wanted to see Rosamund but there was no sign of her so he went and lay down on his bed, staring up at the roof beams as if he had never seen them before.
That night at supper Rosamund came down dressed in a dark green samite gown with lace fringes round the neck and cuffs. Her wimple was of pure white gauze. Matthias had never seen anyone so lovely. She sat eating moodily but, when she caught his eye, she winked slowly, followed by such a mischievous grin, Matthias wondered if she were just teasing him. His heart lurched. He couldn’t take that. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to crouch before him. She could poke fun as long as she stayed. After supper, however, she rose quickly, the back of her hand against her forehead.
‘I feel a little hot and feverish,’ she whispered.
Sir Humphrey glanced at her.
‘But tomorrow,’ she cooed, ‘I’ll be better.’
Another slow wink for Matthias, the Devil’s own grin, and Lady Rosamund Bearsden swept from the hall.
Matthias did not sleep much that night. He could think of nothing but Rosamund, her beauty, her directness. On one occasion he felt a chill. Her name, Rosamundi: could the Rose Demon be here?
The next morning at Mass he felt guilty. Rosamund took the host as usual. Afterwards Matthias engaged in such a furious bout of sword fighting that Vattier threw his hands up in dismay and conceded defeat.
Matthias, covered in sweat, went back into the keep, up to his own chamber. The door was slightly ajar. His heart leapt in his throat. He pushed the door aside carefully.
‘No, it’s not her.’ Father Hubert was sitting on his bed. ‘Come on, Matthias.’ He gestured at the stool opposite. ‘Close the door and sit down.’
Matthias did so. ‘What do you want, Father?’
‘You’ve already told me. I said, “It’s not her” and you didn’t even bother to ask me who. I’m talking about our Rosamund.’
‘What about her?’
‘She loves you deeply, Matthias. I could tell that the first day we met. Didn’t you see her? She went pale.’ The priest leant closer, his face full of concern. ‘I’ve known her since she was. . well, since I baptised her. She can be a wilful minx, a tease, but she’s as honest as the day is long. She is a woman of absolute determination. If she sets her mind on something then it will happen. She has told me she loves you. She loves you deeply, Matthias Fitzosbert.’ He shook his head. ‘And she doesn’t know I am here. I always knew this would happen. Rosamund is not some summer butterfly. When she hates, she hates. When she fights, she fights. I have always said that if she loves, God help the man she chooses. Now, Matthias, you must not play with her affections. This is no “kiss me in the stable”, or some tumble in the straw. Do you understand me?’
Matthias, fighting hard to control the elation within him, nodded. Father Hubert looked down at the floor, stubbing it with the toe of his sandal.
‘You are a good man, Matthias, honourable and truthful.’ He glanced nervously towards the door. ‘But there are two other matters I have to tell you.’ He paused to choose his words. ‘You have heard about the legends of the north tower?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, they are not legends. That tower is haunted! Sir Humphrey keeps the door locked. On one occasion I did bless it but, I think, it will need more than a blessing to make reparation for the terrible evil committed there.’
‘Father, what has that got to do with me?’
‘Well, the tower has been quiet for a number of years, but recently there have been stirrings, faint noises; lights glimpsed through the windows.’
‘And?’
‘They occurred the first night you arrived here and have done so ever since.’
‘Why do you blame me, Father?’
‘Ah well, that brings me to the second matter!’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do you remember, Matthias, a few days ago you were sitting in the small garden on the far side of the hall? A beautiful, sunny day. You had a piece of parchment over your lap, smoothing it down with a pumice stone. Well, I went into the hall. I was thirsty. I took a cup of buttermilk and went and stood by the window to ask if you wanted to share it.’
‘Of course, I remember!’
‘You were not alone,’ the priest said. ‘Matthias, believe me, I am not a fool. Since I was a child I have had second sight.’ He scratched his balding pate. ‘Sometimes I see things which … well, I’d prefer if I didn’t. A hooded person was sitting next to you. His cloak was black as night, the cowl pulled up. At first I thought it was someone from the garrison but, strange, I hadn’t seen him when I first came in, and why sit like that on a hot summer’s day? I stared at that figure. I couldn’t see any hands or face. I went cold with fear yet, at the same time, through the window, came this rich thick smell of roses. I have never smelt the like before. I put the buttermilk on the table. I was going to call out but, when I glanced up, the figure was gone.’
Matthias got to his feet. ‘I can’t answer that, Father. All I can say is that I try to be a good man.’ He went across to the door and turned. ‘But, if you want your answer regarding Rosamund, I love her as much as she does me.’
Matthias went down the steps, both elated and concerned at what the priest had told him. He went across to the small scriptorium where Sir Humphrey kept his keys, each neatly tagged on its hook. The key to the north tower was large and brassy. Matthias took this and hurried down. Thankfully, no one was about. Sir Humphrey had gone hawking; the soldiers were preparing for another day’s routine. Matthias entered the keep and unlocked the iron-studded door leading to the north tower. He pushed this open, went through, then locked it behind him. He stood for a moment staring up the spiral stone steps. He sniffed. Nothing but must and mildew. It was colder than the rest of the keep, perhaps because of its position, and that the windows were shuttered and barred. He climbed the steps, stopping at each level. The doors to the small chambers stood open. They were bare, gaunt and swept clean, not a stick of furniture. Matthias walked into one. He went across, pulled up the bar on a shutter and opened it. He stared out across the wild heathland beyond the castle walls. A party of horsemen rode there,
