Free The Rose Demon by Paul C. Doherty

alive or dead. The Hospitaller Order had merchants friendly to their interests in the area, and Sir Raymond had been numbed by the news. Otto had, some years previously, mysteriously vanished from his cave. At the same time a young shepherd boy had been found dead amongst the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. The finger of suspicion had been pointed at his brother but Raymond could hardly believe that. Otto would never hurt a child. Nevertheless, any attempts by Raymond to discover the whereabouts of his brother ended in mystery as if he had vanished from the face of the earth. Raymond had concluded his brother had died in some lonely place, and he returned to his hunt for this sinister being, the spirit he had released from the vaults of the Blachernae Palace.

    By now the Grand Master, who had helped Raymond since the brothers’ escape from Constantinople, was dead in mysterious circumstances, a fall from a horse whilst out riding alone. To the rest of the Order Raymond had become an eccentric, enigmatic figure. They could not understand his absorption with the past, in finding some mysterious Byzantine princess. Over the years, piece by piece, Sir Raymond had built up a picture, done careful study, yet it was years before he accepted the truth about the Rosifer.

    He took a key from his pouch and unlocked the coffer where he kept his papers. He plucked out a piece of yellowing parchment and studied the faded green-blue ink. It was dated some ten years previously from an Armenian slave-dealer who had been paid by the Order to search for this elusive Byzantine princess.

    The merchant had made careful searches and discovered that a Byzantine princess, singular in her beauty and strange garb, had been sold to a Sipahi commander. None of the other captives could recognise her or say which family she had belonged to. The Turkish commander had taken her to his palace at Adrianople. About three months after the fall of Constantinople, the Sipahi commander and his entire family had been mysteriously killed: throats cut or pierced, blood drained from their cadavers. Of the Byzantine princess there was no sign. Search parties had been organised and, eventually, the princess’s corpse had been found in a cypress wood close to the house: she bore no mark of violence, or any indication of how she had died. Only on hearing of this some years later from the Armenian had Sir Raymond fully accepted that it was no longer flesh and blood he was hunting, but the most cruel and subtle of spirits.

3

    Sir Raymond put the parchment away. He felt tired after the wine. He lay down on his camp bed, promising himself a few minutes’ rest before he returned to Margaret of Anjou’s council. He had scarcely made himself comfortable when he fell into a deep sleep, only to be roughly shaken awake by a royal messenger.

    ‘Sir Raymond, come! The Queen is waiting!’

    The Hospitaller groaned and struggled from his bed. He took a water bottle and splashed the contents over his face, then, having dried himself on his cloak, he followed the man back through the camp to the Queen’s pavilion. As soon as he entered and glimpsed Wenlock’s triumphant smile, he knew his counsel and advice had been rejected.

    ‘Sir Raymond,’ Beaufort refused to meet his eyes, ‘Her Grace the Queen has decided. We will deploy before dawn, our backs to the abbey. Our army will be divided into three divisions. Devon will command the left, myself the right, Lord Wenlock here, together with Prince Edward, will hold the centre.’ He pushed across the map which had been drawn during Sir Raymond’s absence. ‘You, Sir Raymond, will stay with Lord Wenlock.’ Beaufort explained. ‘I shall take my force,’ a stubby finger traced a line, ‘and try to go behind York’s left flank. They will think they are being attacked in the rear as well as the front. Wenlock will then charge.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Panic will ensue, the Yorkists will flee.’

    ‘It’s