Free The Rose Demon by Paul C. Doherty Page A

foolishness!’ Sir Raymond snapped, glaring down the table at the Queen. ‘Madam, Edward of York, whatever you think of him, is a capable general. He has smashed your armies at Barnet: he will have scouted the terrain of this land and be prepared for any ambuscade or surprise.’

    ‘We can’t retreat!’ the Queen snapped. ‘Sir Raymond, I have never really understood your reasons for tying your fortunes to my banner. However, you have seen our star rise and fall. We have lately come from France.’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘I am tired of being King Louis’ pensioner. Every day York grows stronger.’ She jabbed at the piece of parchment. ‘We must bring him to battle and destroy him and his entire house once and for all!’

    ‘And what if it goes wrong?’ Sir Raymond asked desperately. He tried to control the panic seething in his stomach. ‘Only a few miles away lie Edward and his brothers, Richard of Gloucester and George of Clarence. They, too, have been fighting the length and breadth of this kingdom and are bent on total victory.’ Sir Raymond drew himself up. ‘If we lose tomorrow, then we lose for ever!’

    The Queen, however, got to her feet, one hand resting on the shoulder of her sulky, spoilt son. The commanders also rose to leave. Sir Raymond looked around. We are dead men, he thought. We should commit ourselves to God and our bodies to our enemies. I am to die, my task unfulfilled.

    ‘Gentlemen,’ the Queen folded back the voluminous sleeves of her dark murrey dress, ‘our deliberations are finished. We should be moving before dawn.’ She swept out of the tent and her commanders followed.

    Sir Raymond sighed. He stayed for a while staring at Beaufort’s crudely drawn map, then he heard a commotion outside, men shouting for the captain of the watch. Sir Raymond went out. In the flickering firelight he could see two horses, each with a corpse slung over it. A throng of men stood around. Officers arrived, beating them back with the flat of their swords. Sir Raymond pushed his way through: the corpses were unroped and laid next to each other on the ground.

    ‘What’s the matter here?’ Raymond demanded.

    The officer lowered his torch. Sir Raymond’s heart skipped a beat. The throats of both soldiers had been neatly pierced on either side of their windpipes, the fronts of their jerkins were soaked in blood. Their faces were white-blue, eyes staring: a look of terror frozen on their dead faces.

    ‘In God’s name!’ a soldier muttered. ‘They are two of our scouts.’ He pointed into the darkness. ‘They went hunting for food, as well as information, in the woods near Sutton Courteny.’

    ‘I found them,’ another voice replied. ‘They were lying in the woods, faces down, about ten yards apart. Each had drawn his knife but I couldn’t find anything.’

    ‘What do you mean?’ The Hospitaller looked up at him.

    ‘Well, six of us went out,’ the soldier replied. ‘We all agreed to meet at a certain place and return to camp. These two went into the woods. I went to a deserted village but there was nothing there. When they failed to return, I went looking for them.’ He scratched his chin. ‘They were just lying there, no sign of any enemy.’

    The officer tapped one of the corpses. ‘What weapon could cause such wounds? Just look, are they dagger holes?’

    ‘Or teeth marks?’ another added. ‘Like those of a large wolf.’

    Sir Raymond stood up. He felt unsteady, his mouth dry with fear. He had seen such marks before in his haunting journey around Europe. While the officer made arrangements for the men’s bodies to be tossed into a pit, Sir Raymond, breathing deeply to control his fear, walked slowly back to his tent. He pulled aside the flap and went inside. He was pouring himself another cup of wine when he noticed two white roses lying on top of a chest. They had not been there when he left the tent. On each were sprinkled small drops of blood. Sir Raymond drank