love Eve and all her daughters. Some, like Sarah, are more special than others. Your mother, Christina, was his choice.’
‘But am I his son?’ Matthias asked.
‘I don’t know. But, Matthias, in God’s world, in the realm of the spirit, the intelligence and the will are all that matter. We humans recognise that. I can make you cry, Matthias. I can make you laugh. I can make you weep but I cannot make you love me. The Rosifer loves you. He sees you as his incarnation.’ She put the knife down. ‘Rightly or wrongly, yet that is not the important matter. What is important to the Rose Demon is that you know who he is, that you accept who he is, and that you love him in return.’
‘But the deaths?’ Matthias exclaimed. ‘The violence?’
‘Is your life any different from others’, Matthias? Go out on the streets of London. Men, women and children are dying in many barbaric ways. The Rose Demon sees that as a part of life.’
‘But why the deaths?’
‘Whatever his beauty,’ she replied, ‘whatever his power, whatever he says, whatever he does, the Rose Demon is a powerful being with his face and will turned against God. He will not be checked. He will not allow anyone to block his way. If people do, if they frustrate him, as happened in Sutton Courteny, they are to be punished.’
‘But why the blood-drinking?’ Matthias asked.
‘Again, a mockery of what God does. Christ came among us and the price he paid was in his own blood: the Rose Demon turns this on its head. If he becomes incarnated in someone, he needs, both physically and spiritually, the blood of others to sustain him.’
‘And he can do that?’ Matthias asked. ‘Move from one being to another?’
‘Of course. If the door to someone’s soul is open, he can enter. Read the gospels, Matthias. Remember how Judas betrayed Christ. The words used.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Yes that’s it: “And Satan entered Judas.” We can all do it, Matthias. That’s why your father wrote the last quotation from the gospels about Christ and His Father making their home in any of us. If God the Creator can enter the human soul why can’t any other spirit? If we love Christ, if we love our neighbour, God will come to us. If we hate, if we steep our lives in wickedness, we send out a call which the Powers of Darkness will always answer.’
‘So, why doesn’t he enter me?’ Matthias asked.
‘Two reasons, I suppose. First, Matthias, whatever you’ve done, your face is turned towards God. Rosamund saw that: she recognised the goodness in you. As long as your will is turned to the good you are protected. Secondly, the Rose Demon himself wants to be accepted. You can force yourself into someone’s house, Matthias, but you are hardly welcome.’
‘But look at me,’ Matthias declared. ‘I am twenty-six years of age. My life has been shattered, my parents died barbarously, as did my neighbours and my beloved wife. I have the smell of death on me. Does the Rose Demon think he will persuade me?’
‘Of course.’ Dame Emma pointed to a crucifix. ‘Read the gospels, Matthias. We know the Devil confronted Christ on two important occasions. The first, when he was in the desert after fasting forty days. Satan thought Jesus would be vulnerable in mind, body and soul. He thought Christ would accept his offer. Christ, of course, refused.’
‘And the second occasion?’
‘By implication, in the garden of Gethsemane, the night He was betrayed. Jesus was tired, dispirited, full of anguish at Judas’ treachery. I am sure Satan would have been waiting for Him amongst the olive groves, ready to tempt, to place another reality before Him.’
‘And that will happen to me?’ Matthias asked.
Dame Emma blinked back the tears, her eyes full of pity.
‘Yes it will, Matthias. At the appointed time, in a chosen place, you will have your own Gethsemane. The offer will be made. The words will be put: “Look at the misery of life, Matthias. Deny everything and accept me.”’ Dame Emma leant across and grasped his hand. ‘And, whether you like it or not, young man, that is what all your life is about. And, before you ask, I do not know whether this has happened before or might happen again.’ She squeezed his fingers and withdrew her hand. ‘And don’t fuddle your brain or exhaust your spirit by wondering who you are or where you are from! That is not important. What is, is what you do and what you intend to do.’
‘These others?’ Matthias asked. ‘The woman Morgana? The witch Eleanor?’
Dame Emma just waved her hands. ‘God knows: they are just puffs of smoke, Matthias. The Rose Demon’s helpers and disciples. They are there to help carry out his will. They only pose danger if you let them.’ Dame Emma threaded the Ave beads through her fingers. ‘You are not a passive observer, Matthias. Don’t you realise how, time and again, you could have accepted the darkness? Made choices? Done evil? But you did not!’
‘But must I wait?’ Matthias asked. ‘Could I not give my life in some noble cause? Hide in a monastery?’ He smiled. ‘Or even join the Hospitallers?’
‘Matthias, I am just an anchorite, a woman who tries to pray and do good. I am not a prophet. Nevertheless, I think you could fly to the ends of the earth or hide on the other side of the moon but you cannot escape this. You must pray that the testing time comes soon. I know,’ she added softly, ‘and so does the Good Lord, that flesh and blood can only take so much.’ She paused and sipped from her wine cup. ‘Now you went to Tenebral and copied the marks down?’
Matthias rummaged in his saddlebag. He brought out the creased and yellowing roll of parchment he had used at Tenebral. Dame Emma studied this. She rose, complaining about the pain in her joints, and took a large eyeglass from a small table nearby. She pored over the manuscript.
‘I’ve never seen the likes before,’ she murmured. ‘They are a mixture of Anglo-Saxon runes and Ogham.’ She lifted her head. ‘The latter’s a Celtic sign code, very ancient.’
Matthias told her about his visit to the wall.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Dame Emma replied. ‘Time and again in history, the Rose Demon makes its presence felt. There have been other occurrences. You’ve heard of the legend of Arthur? Master Caxton’s printed edition of the work provoked much admiration, both at court and here, where the knights read such tales avidly. You know the legend about Uther Pendragon and the conception of the mystical King Arthur? Sometimes I wonder if that was the work of the Rose Demon. I’ve heard similar stories brought back by knights who’ve served in the eastern marshes or the burning sands of North Africa. They, too, have tales of a mysterious prince, a powerful being and his love for a certain woman.’ Dame Emma put the eyeglass down. ‘Never believe, Matthias, that Satan and his legions are little black imps. St Thomas Aquinas teaches that there are seven choirs of angels, each more brilliant than the preceding one, and they are led by five archangels. Three of these we know: Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. I suppose the same is true of Hell: Lucifer is a king, the Rose Demon and the Destroying Angel, whom men called Achitophel, are his dukes. Beneath them the barons, counts and the lords of Hellfire.’
‘Do you understand what they mean?’ Matthias pointed at the parchment.
‘No, I don’t but there is an abbot, a holy man, a scholar, Benedict Haslett. He’s Abbot of the Monastery of St Wilfrid’s at Dymchurch on the Romney Marshes. It’s a Benedictine house: a lonely, bleak place surrounded by marshes and heathland which stretch down to the sea.’ She sipped from her wine cup. ‘I will arrange for a letter to be drawn up for you to give him. Benedict is old and venerable, the work may take some time. However, Dymchurch and the Monastery of St Wilfrid’s may be a good place for you to hide, Matthias. Give you time to think, to reflect, to plan what to do next.’
‘Will I be safe there?’ Matthias asked.
‘Never depend upon anyone,’ she replied. ‘Neither me, nor Abbot Benedict nor anyone else. Depend upon yourself, Matthias,’ she insisted. ‘Keep your heart pure. Take the Sacrament, attend Mass. The Rose Demon can never take the host but, unfortunately, he can work through those who do, who merely worship Christ with their lips and not with their hearts.’ She got up, came round the table and stood over him. ‘I will pray for you, Matthias,’ she continued. ‘I shall never forget you but a word of warning. I am housed here, an anchorite, yet Sir Edmund is kind to me. The gossip and chatter of the community, what is happening in the world outside, is full of interest to a garrulous old woman like myself.’ Her smile faded. ‘We know about Emloe: he is a very evil, wicked man. The sweating sickness may be raging in the city but he will have news of your arrival here. Some old woman begging for alms, some urchin playing with his toy — such may be his spies.’ She grasped Matthias’ hand and squeezed it. ‘I will help you prepare for the journey. Some food, a good night’s sleep and there’s that letter. Is there anything else I can do?’
