Guinevere (17 page)

“Poor dear,” the maids clucked. “She doesn’t want us to see her cry. Let her go; no one would harm such a child.”

She kept repeating to herself, “My brothers are dead. My brothers are dead. The Saxons killed them. Matthew will never tease me again or sweep me up on his horse for a ride. John won’t tell me any more legends about the stars. And Mark will never sing to me or kiss me good night.”

But she couldn’t sense the finality of their lives, only the ending of something in hers. She had never seen a dead person. She only knew of battles from sagas and harpers’ tales. It didn’t occur to her that Matthew would never ride a horse nor John see the stars nor Mark sing to anyone again. Vaguely, she felt that they were still doing all those things, but without her. She resented them for not returning. So when she wept against the unicorn’s flank, it was for herself, for the sudden emptiness in her own life, not the destruction of theirs.

Being with the unicorn soothed her without questions or demands. It was always there waiting for her, no matter what time she was able to get away. It told her stories of things she didn’t understand. It knew nothing of the world of men except its part in the pattern of capture and death. But it knew how the trees prepared for the winter and the celebration the woodland made with the coming of spring. It told her of how the earth repaid the sacrifices of battleblood by growing all the more lush and green the following year. It knew the tunes the stars play deep on a winter night and even the first notes of the aubade sung by the mountains to the sun chariot in ancient times. All this lulled Guinevere and rested her aching heart. She had not fully cast her lot with humanity and was unaware that she had the choice of becoming one of those amoral, immortal creatures the unicorn spoke of, or one like those who followed Geraldus. She came closer to becoming one that summer than she ever would again, until the end. But she wasn’t aware of the decision and so let others make it for her.

Chapter Nine

It seemed a mockery for summer to be so beautiful that year. The rain and sun combined for what was certain to be one of the best harvests in many seasons. Guenlian and Leodegrance spent only superficial interest on it. It was enough for them if they could get up each morning, dress, and accomplish one more day without succumbing to their own despair. After the first vicious tide of grief had subsided, they spoke no more of it. By mutual consent, their conversation was mundane to the point of sterility.

“May I have my blue beads, dear?”

“Of course. Will there be guests to dinner?”

“I think not. I have heard that Potius and his family are emigrating. Is that so?”

“Yes, the old sot complains that he can no longer get decent wine here so he is going back to Gaul to see if he can raise his own. The fool! Wait until he discovers that grapes do not grow already fermented in the cask!”

“Not many neighbors left to come to dinner.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not in the mood for much company anymore.” Abruptly, “I must go check the horses. The roan mare has a sore on her left hind foot that isn’t healing well.”

“Yes, I must hurry myself. I really should be sure the maids have cleaned the dining hall properly. Things have been lax with them ever since Flora has been ill.”

Ever so carefully, they stepped around the open wounds, averting their eyes from the festers. Everyone followed
their
own pattern until the whole household felt as if it were involved in some complicated ritual dance, where one missed beat would bring catastrophe.

And the center about which this dance revolved was Guinevere, never a part of the pattern, but always the focus, an object of caution and concern. She spent a part of every day with her unicorn, now that the weather was warm. Constant association with it had left a sort of aura about her. Spending so much time with a creature of fantasy gave her an otherworldliness and a serene attitude that half frightened those around her.

“It’s not natural,” a stableman flatly declared one day. “She doesn’t seem human, that one.”

“What are you saying?” a housemaid answered indignantly. “She’s as kind and gracious as can be. Grows more like her poor, dear mother every day.”

“Sure, she smiles at you and asks after your health, but do you think she sees you? Look at her eyes sometime instead of at the floor. They give me the shudders.”

“What do you want from her, to kiss the hem of your robe? A smile and a friendly word aren’t enough for your excellency. If her eyes bother you, it may be your own guilty conscience looking back at you.”

“You’re all addled by that girl. You think she’s as pure as rainwater. Look how everyone lets her run off to the forest any time she pleases without a guard or even a maid. She stays there for hours and comes back smiling like she’s seen a vision. But nobody asks her where she goes or who she meets. She’s probably got a lover from some peasant family and is laughing at you all for not seeing it . . . Urk!”

Pincerna had entered behind him and now grabbed him by the collar. He was almost frothing with righteous anger.

“Get your disgusting body back to the stables! If I ever hear of you repeating such evil slander about the Lady Guinevere, then freeman or not, I’ll lash you until there isn’t a piece of whole skin left on your body! If she looks even to scum like you as if she’s seen a vision, maybe she has. Do you think the saints appear to your kind? Now get back to work and never let me see you here in the house again! Do you understand?”

The horseman was a head taller than Pincerna and twenty years younger, but he nodded and left as if an entire army were chasing him. That night, he stole one of the best horses and escaped. Leodegrance received the news with indifference.

“He won’t get far. Our mark is on the horse. No one will believe we gave it to him. In the meantime, we have others.”

Pincerna shook his head. The Leodegrance of old would have gone out after the man and brought him back tied face downward over the horse’s tail. He wondered if he should mention the accusations the man had made. No, of course there was no truth m them and Leodegrance and Guenlian had enough just now. Still, it might not be a bad idea to send someone out after her, just to be sure she was safe. Whom could he send? Caet? No, it might start more gossip if he were seen sneaking out after her, and tongues were ever ready to spread such tales. Who then? A woman? It really wasn’t dangerous in the immediate area. But not many of the servants were left and none could really be spared for so many hours. Of course, Rhianna! It was so easy to forget her, she hardly ever spoke. He had trouble remembering that she was still about the house, the only fosterling who had insisted upon remaining. It probably wasn’t good for her to do so. The house was too glum these days. She really hadn’t been looking well, lately. This was no place for a young girl now, not even Guinevere, really.

That thought passed through his head with a shock. No, it wasn’t a good place for Guinevere now. But who could imagine her anywhere else? One might as well uproot the tree by the gate. Pincerna dismissed that whole idea.

Accordingly, the next day when Guinevere set out, Rhianna followed her. She took a basket with her as an excuse if noticed, but no one questioned her. Rhianna was the sort of person who is easily overlooked. She was seventeen and had a well-developed body for her age, and long, slender legs. But her face was still that of a child and she had a way of staring wistfully at the world around her that discouraged most of the men of her class. They preferred their women round and flirtatious, at least for enjoying before their marriages were arranged. Mark had commented on her figure, but it had never occurred to him to go farther than that. Her meekness made him nervous.

Rhianna was more than fashionably pale. Her skin was almost greenish white and she panted a bit as she hurried to keep up with Guinevere without being seen. Occasionally Guinevere would break into a run and leave Rhianna far behind. Rhianna went as fast as she could, but she knew she couldn’t keep up and was sure she would lose her.

She had not wanted the job of spy, but it hadn’t occurred to her to refuse. Every time someone approached her these days she trembled for fear they would insist she return home. She couldn’t go home, not now. And yet she didn’t have any idea of what she would do. Like the rest of the house, she could only think one day ahead, no more. But the day for a decision was nearing for her.

Guinevere had disappeared into a tangle of vines and branches. Rhianna waited a minute and then followed her. The growth was very thick—it was impossible to see far ahead. Struggling to remove the vines caught in her hair she didn’t stop quickly enough on the other side and nearly stumbled over the two of them.

The unicorn started and rose to its feet. Guinevere looked up.

“It’s all right,” she said lazily. “It’s only Rhianna. She won’t hurt you. Let her touch you, too.”

But the beautiful creature only shook its mane and backed away from her, vanishing among the trees.

“Wait!” Guinevere called. “Come back! It’s only Rhianna!”

Rhianna grabbed her arm. “Don’t bother, Guinevere. It can’t come back for me. It won’t let me come near it.”

Then she sank to the ground, coughing and weeping bitterly.

“Rhianna!” Guinevere put her arms around her. “Don’t cry so. You are the only one after me who has seen him. Not many people do even that. I suppose he is only my unicorn. Perhaps you’ll meet one some day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Guinevere,” Rhianna pushed her away. “A unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin. Everyone knows that. Now go away and leave me alone.”

She tried to rise to her feet and stumble away, but went only a few steps before she reeled dizzily, and grasped at a tree to support herself.

Guinevere ran after her and held her up.

“Rhianna, what’s the matter with you?” she cried. “Why are you out here? I’ve never seen you this way. You must be ill. Here, let me help you.”

“No, don’t bother,” Rhianna said fiercely. “I’m not ill; I’m wicked. I’m going to have a baby and soon everyone will know. My family will disown me and yours will throw me out and I’ll probably die and go to hell.”

She sat down again and cried and coughed some more. The running had worn her out completely and she looked terrible. Guinevere sat beside her, wanting to help but not having any idea of where to begin.

“But I don’t understand, Rhianna. How could this happen?”

“Guinevere, don’t you know anything?”

“Not about babies. No one ever told me and I never thought to ask.”

Even in her misery Rhianna smiled. “No, I suppose no one would.” The thought of someone sitting down with Guinevere and explaining sex to her was ludicrous. Still, she would very likely be married someday. “Well, it’s no matter. I have no husband and there is but one road open to me.” Her voice shook. “But I am weak and afraid. Oh, I wish I had a unicorn!”

“Babies must have fathers, I know that much. Isn’t that so? Where is this person, Rhianna? If he became your husband, then everything would be all right. He isn’t . . . uh . . . unsuited to us, is he?”

Rhianna flushed. “Where would I meet anyone ‘unsuited’? Guinevere, you are amazing. Your brother Matthew is the father and, in case you have forgotten, he is dead. He can’t marry me now. At first, I was so glad we had had those few times together. He came back in the spring just to see me. But now I only feel sick and ashamed, and wish we had waited until he asked my parents so we could be properly married.”

Her voice drifted off. It didn’t matter if Guinevere listened or not.

“I had such dreams. Our beautiful villa high in the mountains. I knew just where it would be. Away from Saxons, Irish, and Piets and away from all those noisy drunken soldiers. Just the two of us. I told him all about it and he laughed and said it would be a fine place to come back to. We could raise horses and when he was old they could be the dowries for our daughters. And now there is nothing left of him. Nothing but this,” she felt her stomach, “and this.” She held out her hand. On the middle finger was a signet ring.

Guinevere smiled. “I know that. Grandmother gave it to Matthew because he was the oldest and he would wear it even though it was a woman’s ring because he loved her so. He gave it to you? How he must have loved you then! Rhianna, you should go to Mother and explain it to her.”

Rhianna stiffened at once. “No, how could I do that? She would only think me wicked. She would say I was trying to please her for mercy, to push myself into your family and cover my shame!”

“Rhianna!” Guinevere was angry. “You know my mother. How can you say such things of her. She raised you, loved you. She will know what to do. What do you want instead, to kill yourself?”

She started. “No, or I would have already. But I think it’s the only honorable thing for me to do.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. It is true that nobody ever explains these things to me; perhaps I should ask. But I do know that my brother is no longer alive except for that part of him living inside of you; yet you want to destroy that too. I can see no honor in that and I don’t think Mother would either.”

She added, more humbly. “I don’t know or understand how you feel. I don’t know much about people at all, but Mother does and I think we should go to her. Now. Please?”

Rhianna’s face lit like a sunrise. It was what she had wanted all along, but had been too timid to do.

“Will you come with me?”

“Yes, but you must explain to her. I don’t know how. And, Rhianna, promise me that you won’t tell anyone about . . . about my friend?”

The wistful look returned to Rhianna’s eyes. “No. It belongs to you. I know what they would do with it. You are right. Even to have seen such a thing is more than I ever dreamed of. I’m really a very ordinary person. When I found that Matthew loved me, I felt there was really nothing more that life could give me.”

“It is not the same, I know, but you may say you have another family now, too.”

Guinevere held out her arms to embrace her sister. In that silent moment, perhaps all things mythical and true would have welcomed them.