‘And why are you here?’
‘Tied here. Tied by sin. Unforgiven. No atonement. No reparation.’
‘Maude who?’ Matthias decided it was best if he talked as he would to strangers, not dwell upon the evil, sinister atmosphere.
‘Maude Beauchamp.’
‘Why are you held here?’
‘I committed a terrible sin. Unfaithful, led to murder. Imprisoned in darkness.’
‘And can you leave?’
‘In time, yes, when reparation is done. I’d love to continue my journey.’
‘Where to?’ Matthias asked.
‘Out of the darkness. Sometimes I can see the light, just a pinprick, like a star in the sky-’
‘She’s frightened of you, you whoreson bastard!’ the man’s voice interrupted, harsh, malicious. Matthias caught a hint of fear.
‘Aren’t you frightened?’ Matthias retorted quickly.
He felt something rush at him out of the darkness. He was pushed, staggering back against the wall, almost dropping the torch. Matthias gasped for breath even as the man’s voice screamed.
‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I am sorry.’ The voice was now wheedling, importunate.
‘Then why are you frightened?’ Matthias gasped.
‘Oh, Matthias. Creatura.’ The man’s voice was still wheedling.
‘Why do you call me that?’
Matthias stood staring into the darkness. He heard a gasp, like a dog which had run far and fast and was now lolling, mouth open, jaws slavering. The sound made his flesh creep.
‘You know why.’ The man’s voice was soft. ‘You carry something sacred but I cannot name that-’
‘Oh, please help me!’ the woman’s voice cut across.
‘She’s frightened of you.’ The man’s voice rose as if to drown the woman’s. ‘She knows about the Dark Lord. She’s frightened that she will be hurt even more.’
‘What must I do?’ Matthias asked.
‘Piss off, just piss off!’
‘Masses, prayers.’ The woman’s voice came as a whisper.
Matthias stood for a while but no other voices came. The room grew warm as if braziers had been wheeled in, full of burning charcoal.
‘Matthias! Matthias!’ Vattier’s voice echoed up the steps. ‘Matthias, are you all right?’
Matthias went out of the chamber and down the steps. Vattier stood in the doorway, sword drawn. Matthias pushed him outside and slammed the door shut. He walked back to the priest and handed over the crucifix and pyx. Even as he did so, the murmuring and the clattering from the north tower began again.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Matthias declared, ‘at least for the moment. But in two days’ time it will be the Feast of All Souls. Yes?’
Father Hubert nodded.
‘The day the Church specially sets aside to pray for the dead. We’ll come back then, Father. You and I in the evening, after sunset. We’ll offer a Mass for the repose of the soul of Maude Beauchamp.’
20
Two days later, on the Feast of All Souls, Vattier helped Matthias set up an altar in one of the chambers in the north tower: a wooden table, two oil lamps at each end, a crucifix, cruets, a missal, chalice and paten. Matthias also arranged for sconce torches to be lit and placed in the wall. The sergeant-at-arms moved nervously. Matthias could understand why. Now and again they’d hear the quick intake of breath as if some being stood in the shadows watching them intently.
Rosamund had wished to be present but Matthias refused.
‘It’s best not,’ he explained. ‘The little I know, and from what I have read, such occasions can go wrong.’
Father Hubert readily agreed to help.
‘It’s only just and right,’ he declared. ‘I am a priest: these manifestations and phenomena come from a soul in distress. How can I refuse?’
Sir Humphrey arranged for guards to be placed in the gallery outside the north tower, hand-picked men under the command of Vattier. Matthias gave them strict instructions not to open the door unless they heard his voice or that of Father Hubert. He and the chaplain arrived just before sunset. They watched the sky and, once the weak sun had dipped behind a thick ridge of clouds, Father Hubert began to vest. The oil lamps were lit. Father Hubert, and Matthias acting as his altar boy, approached the altar, bowed to the crucifix:
‘
‘Oh, piss off, you vile, scurrilous priest!’
Father Hubert stepped back.
‘Just ignore it,’ Matthias whispered.
‘I therefore call upon St Michael, St Gabriel, St Raphael,’ the chaplain continued, ‘leaders of the heavenly host, to come out and meet this soul and take it to such a place. Let her not fall into the hands of the enemy, the evil one, the son of perdition!’
‘Shut up! Piss off! Leave her alone. Why are you here, Hubert? Who are you to be praying for anybody?’ The voice dropped to a wheedle. ‘Don’t you remember Ursula? Don’t you remember how much you used to lust after her?’
Father Hubert bowed his head, shoulders shaking, tears running down his face.
‘She was a girl,’ he whispered, ‘so many years ago.’
‘So what, Father?’ Matthias retorted. Matthias raised his head and sniffed: the vile stench was back, as if someone had suddenly opened a great sewer. The flames of the torches began to dip. ‘Continue!’ Matthias hissed. ‘For the love of God, Father, you must continue!’
‘I will go unto the altar of God, to the God who gives joy to my youth,’ the priest intoned. He pressed on and as his voice became stronger, the stench disappeared and the torches revived. Throughout the Mass, even though Father Hubert was now shaking, the sweat pouring down his face, the interruptions continued. Shouted obscenities and clattering on the stairs outside, giggling and, at one time, the walls broke out in a dark, oozing mud. None of these phenomena lasted long. The consecration was reached, host and chalice elevated and the manifestations subsided. Matthias, now and again, heard a woman sobbing but not in distress, rather like someone crying tears of joy or thanksgiving. At that part of the canon of the Mass where the priest had to name the dead soul, the clatter on the stairs outside grew intolerable: running up and down, clashing chains, hammering on the walls. Father Hubert had to pause and sit down.
‘I feel sick,’ he whispered.
Matthias told him to rest, and went outside. He stared up into the darkness and, abruptly, as if the thought had been whispered to him, he felt an urge to call on the Rose Demon: to bid for his power, his help. He closed his eyes and leant against the wall. So intense was this desire that he had to bite his lip.
‘Go away!’ he whispered.
‘Why?’ the man’s voice shouted, as if from the top of the tower. ‘Where has she gone? I am all alone!’
‘Can’t you go with her?’
Matthias opened his eyes. Father Hubert was now standing beside him.
‘I can’t go,’ the voice rasped. ‘Lost in darkness. I will not go! I will not forgive! I will not ask for mercy!’
‘Then,’ Father Hubert asked, ‘are we never to be rid of you?’
‘Not until they come for me, until this place is reduced by fire.’
