A muffled creak passed behind her. Ethel didn’t turn. That would be the oil pots being dragged down to the village where the straw was laid. She could smell them, hot in the cool air.
Closer, closer, closer — the T’manians moved together, like a tortoise or a snake, thought Ethel, but you could see that they were men now, although they were still too distant to see their faces. No, thought Ethel suddenly. They weren’t men. You couldn’t hurt someone if you thought of them as men. They were just the enemy.
‘They’re nearly at the village, my Lady,’ someone whispered, as though the T’manians might hear if they spoke any louder.
‘Not yet,’ said Ethel. She stared at the T’manians till her eyes began to blur. They were short — even from here she could see that — their shoulders broad and their heads entirely hairless. Ethel wondered if their women were hairless, too. Their skins gleamed slightly silver, an oil perhaps, to protect their skin from the sea glare.
Ethel could hear her pulse ringing in her head. When should I give the order? she thought desperately. What if I get it wrong? When? When? When? In fifty breaths’ time maybe — she listened to her breathing, began to count.
One, two, three …
You could see the spears now, high above their heads, like saplings that had lost their leaves. Metal spears, and spears of fire-hardened wood, almost as lethal.
Twenty, twenty-one …
The first T’manians disappeared hidden between the cottages.
Thirty-two, thirty-three …
Now, thought Ethel, now … any longer and they may separate, pillage the cottages before descending on the Hall.
‘Now!’ she yelled.
Immediately a pigeon shot into the air; and then another and another.
Ethel stared down at the village.
Nothing happened.
What was wrong? Was the oil too cool to light? Was the straw too damp to fire? Surely there must be smoke soon. Surely …
Then someone screamed.
It was a long scream, on and on and on. Another came and then another — the village was full of screams.
Someone ran along the road, writhing and turning, their hair on fire. Others boiled out into the fields, throwing themselves onto the cool damp earth, rolling, rolling, rolling …
‘It was a good plan,’ said Ma’m Margot quietly. ‘Filling the streets with straw then pouring hot oil down and firing it. We should stop a lot of them that way.’
‘It was Tor’s idea,’ said Ethel. ‘He said they pour oil down from the castle walls onto the invaders. I wasn’t sure if it would really work. I thought there would be smoke.’
‘Not from burning oil and straw,’ said Ma’m Margot. ‘Not from this distance. It just looks like a heat haze in the air. Ah, there’s smoke now — one of the cottages must have caught. Now they’ll be running towards the pits.’
Like Ma’m Alice’s pits, thought Ethel, only covered with wet straw, so they looked just like the road, but wouldn’t burn. She wondered suddenly if Ma’m Alice was watching the battle from her hilltop. Could she see her on her unicorn? But surely it was too far away for that.
Suddenly the screaming changed.
‘Your plan worked, pet,’ approved Ma’m Margot.
‘But how many have been caught?’ whispered Ethel. ‘How many are still left?’
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ said Ma’m Margot.
Someone gave a sob of fear in the line behind. The sound stopped abruptly as though they were ashamed.
How long could it take for the surviving T’manians to leave the village? wondered Ethel. Maybe, maybe there were no survivors. Maybe they’d all been trapped or burnt. She turned to Ma’m Margot, then stopped.
The first of the T’manians appeared between the cottages, and then another … and another. They were close enough to see their round chins now, the smudges on the arms and legs, their armlets and their shields.
So many, thought Ethel desperately. There were still so many. The unicorn stamped beside her, alarmed by the screams. She patted him till he was still.
‘We must have got half of them,’ said Tor beside her.
Ethel nodded. Even half were so many. They looked determined, undeterred, as though they met burning oil and pit traps every month.
Of course, realised Ethel, those were the tools of war. You survived them or you didn’t. And you grew used to them. You couldn’t scare the T’manians with oil or traps.
The T’manians drew together — like a beetle, thought Ethel, a beetle with many legs and antennae waving at the sky. Someone gave a signal at the front.
The beetle began to march again.
A villager muttered in the lines behind. The muttering spread like melted butter down a hearth cake.
Ethel gripped her spear. It felt strange in her hand. It had hung in the Hall above the hearth. She wondered who had used it before. How long ago? Another Lady of the Unicorn perhaps? Then it should know her hand. But it felt strange.
‘Listen!’ she cried. The words were lost in the muttering behind. ‘Listen!’ she cried again, and now someone took up the cry — ‘Listen to the Lady! Listen!’
Ethel tried to keep her voice steady. ‘The time is nearly here! Remember! If one of us runs the rest may run but if we run we will be killed. If we stand we may be killed. But at least if we stand together we have a chance.’
The muttering stopped. ‘If we die the enemy gets our land. But if we win …’ Tears filled Ethel’s eyes suddenly. Who would give her courage? Who was there for her to lean on?
‘Advance when I give the order!’ cried Ethel. She mounted the unicorn. His coat was warm against her legs. She gripped the reins.
The enemy advanced, still beetle-like, steady and determined. Then suddenly the leader signalled again. The clump spread out to become a line, three deep perhaps, or four, curving slightly at the edges. They intended to surround the Hall, Ethel realised. Kill or be captured …
The line advanced. The unicorn snorted and twisted his head.
So many … so many … so many …
When would it start? Would they charge? Or just keep walking steadily, strike them steadily, kill them steadily …
No, she decided. The leader would give a signal and they’d run, their spears held low, their sword arms raised. And those behind her might run too. For who could stand when armed T’manians poured towards them?
They had to advance instead! It would give her people confidence if they were the attackers instead of waiting for the spears! She glanced at the people behind her — Tor with his sword, waiting for the Lady’s order, Ma’m Margot with a kitchen knife, Gary Tanner with his sharp, steel scraper, the farmers with their hoes and potato forks …
Would it really make any difference in the end?
The unicorn stood steady beneath her, his breath soft and even. At least he wasn’t afraid.
Ethel opened her mouth to call the charge.
Someone screamed. It was a different scream from the one before. This was a scream of terror.
Ethel turned.
It was, what was her name? One of the women from the dairy. She pointed at the T’manians — no, not at the T’manians. She pointed up beyond them to the hill behind.
Something was coming from behind the hill. People, many people. Were they people? Ethel squinted into the sun. The shapes were wrong for people. Too tall, too small, the wrong colours — no one was as tall as that, except Ma’m Alice, and …
A cloud shifted across the sun and Ma’m Alice lumbered into view.
She wasn’t alone. The others were all with her — all the people from the clearing that moonlit night and more besides, as though they’d spread the word through all the forest and the hills and plains. There was the white-faced giant, taller than Ma’m Alice; the old woman carried on his back; and other giants, thin lips in long-chinned faces, and a dragon creature. Was there really a dragon in the forest … or was it human, too? And others, so many others, the hidden peop
le facing daylight for their friend.
Was she their friend? Not yet, thought Ethel. But Ma’m Alice was their friend. They’d come for her.
Slowly they came forward, steadily across the plain, Ma’m Alice in the lead. Something scurried at her side. Hingram, Ethel realised. She could see him clearly now. He stopped, and as though he sensed her too, he lifted up his head and howled.
Carooooooooooooo!
The sound filled the hollow air. Another person screamed and pointed. One of the T’manians turned around, and stared …
‘Attack!’ shouted Ethel.
No one moved.
‘Attack!’ she yelled again
‘But … but, my Lady — the monsters!’ The voice was low. An enemy they could face. But not the monsters.
‘They’ll fight for us! Don’t you understand? They are our friends!’
There was no way to convince them. Or only one way … Armies need leaders.
Ethel dug her heels into the side of the unicorn. He reared, almost toppling her. He yelled in challenge to the horses facing them.
It was the first time she had ever heard him make a sound.
And then he charged.
She could hear his hooves against the dust-brown grass. She could hear his breath panting in her ears. There was no other sound.
And then the cries began behind her — a battlecry from Tor and Ma’m Margot’s warlike scream (who would have thought that Ma’m Margot could scream like that?). Fifty cries, a hundred, and the sound of running feet.
Ethel faced the enemy.
But the enemy had turned. They paid no attention to the villagers with their rakes and knives. They stared at the monsters coming from behind.
Their line broke without a sound. They ran, but not like an army ran. They ran towards the villagers, their spears cast down in their terror to be away.
The monsters shambled behind them.
Ethel pulled frantically at the unicorn’s reins. He halted, shying to one side. Someone ran in front of her — Gary Tanner, his rake raised high, striking at the fleeing men. Others came after him, their weapons raised. There was a new scent in the air, of blood and steel and hatred.
‘Stop them!’ Ethel turned. ‘There’s no need to fight now! The T’manians just want to escape! Stop!’ she cried, but her voice was lost in the yells and screams. ‘Stop!’
A man lunged against the unicorn, sending him skittering to one side. For a moment Ethel thought he was attacking her, then she realised he was unconscious, blood seeping from his skull.
‘Stop it!’ she shrieked, and this time the unicorn rose with her cry, his hooves flying towards the sky. But still the fight went on.
‘She said, stop it!’ The voice boomed across the battlefield. Ethel glanced around.
It was Ma’m Alice. She loomed above the fighters, twice as high as the tallest of them, her hands wider than two men’s heads, her voice louder than the cries of pain. Why did she look so much larger here, thought Ethel wildly, than on her hilltop? Because here you saw her surrounded by the world of ordinary sizes and proportions …
Ma’m Alice reached down. She grasped Gary Tanner in one giant hand and held him high; the other reached for a smooth headed T’manian. His metal necklace swung against his chest as she shook him like a rat.
‘Lay down your arms,’ boomed Ma’m Alice. ‘Every one of you! I mean now!’
There was silence. A rake clinked, a knife thudded on the grass. Then suddenly all over the battlefield men and women were laying down their hoes, their plough blades, Solvig Sweeper’s broom. Someone groaned, and then was still.
Ma’m Alice lowered the men to the ground. Gary Tanner blinked, his legs buckling as he collapsed onto the grass. His face was green.
The bearded invader recovered faster. He glanced once at Gary Tanner, once at Ma’m Alice looming above them, then he was running, running, running swerving through the silent crowd.
‘Catch him!’ someone yelled.
‘No!’ cried Ethel. ‘Let him go! Let them all go!’
And suddenly the field was full of running T’manians, their weapons left behind them, their feet thudding on the flattened grass, back to the road and to the sea.
‘We should go after them,’ someone called.
‘No!’ said Ethel again. ‘Let them run! Let them tell everyone what happens to T’manians here!’
‘The monsters get them,’ someone muttered, looking uneasily across to the hill.
‘The monsters,’ whispered another and the whisper spread. ‘The monsters, the monsters, the monsters …’
Ethel followed their gaze.
The people of the forest had stopped advancing. Like Ma’m Alice they looked even more different out here on the plain, their strangeness accentuated by the ordinariness around them. Were screams and battles normal? Maybe it was the gentle peace of the forest people that was strange, and not their faces …
‘Ma’m Alice?’ said Ethel unsteadily.
Ma’m Alice strode towards her. ‘Are you all right, child?’ she asked, her voice low.
Ethel nodded. There seemed no words to say. ‘Thank you,’ she said finally. ‘I … I’m sorry for what I said …’
Ma’m Alice smiled, her eyes intent on Ethel’s. As though she didn’t dare look to either side, thought Ethel, and see the revulsion on other people’s faces.
‘We told you in the forest,’ said Ma’m Alice gently. ‘We help our friends.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ethel again. For some reason the world seemed strangely clear, the sounds retreating to a distant buzzing in her ears.
‘Catch her,’ said a voice — Ma’m Margot’s, but very far away …
The bookroom was quiet when she opened her eyes. The books piled on their shelves, just as they should be, with the bags of mint bush and garlic to keep away the silverfish, the high wooden ceiling free of cobwebs — Ma’m Margot would never allow a cobweb.
‘Here,’ said Ma’m Margot. Something warm touched Ethel’s lips. She sipped.
‘Ma’m Alice?’
‘I’m here,’ said a voice.
‘She carried you in,’ said Ma’m Margot.
‘My unicorn?’
‘He’s in the courtyard munching thistles,’ said Ma’m Margot. ‘He’s safe. Everyone’s safe. I’ve had the wounded carried in. They’re in the Hall.’
‘The wounded?’ Ethel tried to sit up. Ma’m Margot pushed a pillow behind her.
‘Don’t you worry now, pet,’ she said. ‘I mean, my Lady. There are none that won’t heal with a little nursing.’
‘How many are there?’
Ma’m Margot counted on her fingers. ‘George the Weaver, he took a nasty blow on the head, and Eric the Binder, Gary Tanner fetched him a blow accidentally with his rake. He’s got a cut right down his arm but it will heal, it will heal, and Tor took a blow as well. Little Agnes from the farm by the creek, she’s hurt the worst — the T’manians got her before they reached the field, the child must have been hiding. A few others, nothing to what might have been, thanks to Ma’m Alice and her friends.’
Ma’m Alice said nothing.
Ethel sipped the drink again. It was bitter and hot, one of Ma’m Margot’s ‘good for you’ teas, but she felt stronger with every sip.
‘There’s one who would speak to you, when you’re feeling better,’ said Ma’m Margot slowly. She met Ethel’s eyes. Her look was strange.
‘One of the wounded?’ asked Ethel.
Ma’m Margot nodded. ‘Do you feel strong enough?’ she asked.
Ethel struggled to her feet. She felt silly to be so weak now. ‘Of course.’ She looked over at Ma’m Alice.
‘Off you go,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘I’ll be all right here.’
The Hall stank of blood and fear. Ma’m Margot had been busy, ordering hay beds for the wounded, salves and bandages to tend the wounds, and boiled strips of old petticoat that had been left to dry in the sun and rolled with lavender flowers to keep them pure, pots of powd
ered basil and calendula and comfrey root, all the silly things that Ma’m Margot had collected and that didn’t seem so silly now.
‘Over here,’ instructed Ma’m Margot.
Ethel trod between the pallets. Old Bertram, his eyes shut with the pain, his arm and one side bandaged. Little Agnes from the farm by the creek.
Why had the T’manians bothered with a tiny child?
Ethel wondered whether to smile, to reassure or comfort. But the wounded were buried in their world of pain.
Ma’m Margot stopped. Ethel looked down.
A man lay on the pallet before her. His skin was smudged with silver, whatever lotion he’d been wearing partially cleaned away. His face must have been bloody, for long gashes ran down his cheek as though they had been cut with a rake perhaps, rather than a sword. Now it was clean and the gashes covered with a layer of salve, like sliced strawberries set in jelly, thought Ethel, her stomach lurching suddenly. His side was bandaged too. His face paled as he tried to sit, then fell back among the straw.
Ethel stared at his blue, clear eyes, the round, bare skull, the iron around his neck, the silver skin.
This was the enemy.
For a moment Ma’m Margot met her eyes. Ma’m Margot, who had always been so loyal to her and to her people. Ma’m Margot had brought a T’manian inside the Hall.
The man gasped, as if he tried to speak. Slowly Ethel nodded. Ma’m Margot smiled an almost smile.
‘I’ll leave you with him,’ she said. ‘He wishes to speak to you alone.’
Ethel knelt by the man’s side. ‘Speak,’ she said.
The man frowned, as though it hurt to concentrate through his pain. ‘I beg a favour,’ he gasped. His accent was strange but intelligible. ‘Oh gracious Lady …’
‘Don’t waste your strength,’ said Ethel. ‘If you have something to ask of me, just ask.’
‘I would like to stay,’ said the man simply.
Ethel stared. ‘You mean stay here?’
The man nodded.
‘But … but you’re our enemy. You can’t stay here. We must send you to Coasttown. They have a prison there. You can be ransomed. Don’t worry. We don’t keep prisoners slaves.’
The Book of Horses and Unicorns Page 25
