Guinevere

by Sharan Newman

  Her dreams that winter were no longer vague. She was sure that the unicorn was with her then, listening to her wonderings. Guenlian had hoped that the two of them could grow closer during those dismal weeks, but she perceived at once that Guinevere was with them all only in body. She never laughed or commented on the stories they told. When she was spoken to, she would start and then smile gently at the speaker, asking her to repeat herself. Guenlian shook her head. It was no use. She tried to remember if she had been this way at thirteen. It was certainly an introspective time. Perhaps when she was older, there would still be time to talk together. There were so many things Guinevere didn’t know!

  Snow fell by the winter solstice and even though Guinevere had intended to stay awake to see where Flora went, she found that after her usual bedtime hot drink, her bed looked so warm and comfortable that she just couldn’t stay out of it any longer. So she snuggled down in the warm blankets and never discovered whether or not her brothers had told her the truth.

  And one day, late in March, when the wind howled and the trees were still bedraggled with the remnants of last year’s leaves, there was the joy of an unplanned visit from Matthew. Leodegrance had not thought to see any of his sons again before summer, when the spring invasions had been checked.

  “What brings you all the way back here?” he asked. “That’s not to say we aren’t glad to see you. There is nothing wrong, is there?”

  “No, no, of course not!” Matthew answered heartily. “I was bored stiff with all the training and decided I needed a week with my family. Nothing more.”

  His eyes drifted from his father to the group of faces behind, fosterlings, maids. He seemed to be searching for someone. Leodegrance was no fool. Nor did he pry.

  “It’s good to see you, son. You can fill me in on the preparations they are making for the invasions this year. Where does Arthur think the worst attack will come from?”

  Matthew made some answer that Leodegrance didn’t hear. He had seen the boy’s eyes light up and tried to follow them without being noticed. There were several girls there but only one looked his way. Rhianna? How unlikely! Why the child hardly spoke at all. Matthew’s style was hardly a shy thing like this. Still there was a glow on her face that was unmistakable.

  “Well,” thought Leodegrance. “It wouldn’t be a bad match. I’ll have to discuss it with Guenlian. Amazing!”

  No one had ever seen how that shy face could come alive or known how softly Matthew could speak. The week was over too soon for everyone and he rode away again. Guinevere watched until he disappeared. Of all of them, she was the only one whose thoughts were not on him. Her mind was reaching far into the forest, calling.

  Chapter Eight

  As the spring days lengthened and the earth dried, activity quickened at the villa. People blossomed out into the fields and woods, planting, visiting, building, or just traveling for the sheer joy of being out. Guinevere began to watch for Geraldus. Even with her dreams, the winter had been dull for her. The talk of the fosterlings and maids revolved around beauty secrets and gossip. Her thoughts were all of her unicorn, so she had little real communication with the others. They, however, never resented her or thought she was snubbing them when she neglected to join in their talk.

  They shared the common belief that Guinevere belonged apart from everyone else simply by right of her existence. They never expected her to be like them, so there was no animosity. Still, Guinevere was lonely and longed to be out again. All winter the unicorn had been only a shadow on her wall and a whisper in her mind. She yearned to be with it again, to caress its mane and to feel the cool weight of its horn on her arm. She began to fear that she had only dreamed it. She must know the truth. The first day that was relatively warm and dry, she begged to be allowed to go out walking or riding—alone.

  “You are too old to be out alone,” Guenlian replied. “Get some of the girls to go or have Caet accompany you.”

  She threw the words over her shoulder. She was airing the linen, a job she hated. But the winter dampness was in everything, and all the fine clothes would be ruined if they weren’t all taken out, piece by piece, and carefully dried and scented.

  “The girls are all busy or else they won’t go out in the sun, and Caet will be helping to clean the stables for the rest of the day. I won’t go far. Please!” She was feeling desperate.

  Leodegrance hurried by, pulling on his riding gloves. He was going to check up on the sheepfold. Shearing time was coming soon. He saw his daughter’s face and paused.

  “Let her go, my dear,” he smiled. “She has been held in the house too long, penned in by other people. Run off now, Guinevere; don’t stay long or I’ll not give you permission again.”

  Guinevere didn’t wait for fear of a change of mind. She hugged him joyfully, kissed her mother, and raced away.

  Guenlian frowned. “You shouldn’t have let her go. She’s almost fourteen now. She can’t run around unattended in the woods like a child.”

  “She is a child, Guenlian. Look at her. You kept her by your side all winter long. She had hardly a moment of her own. Didn’t she dutifully stitch altar cloths and oversee the kitchen maids? Let her go by herself for a while. You know as well as I that she’ll never be a chatelaine. Household cares are as far removed from her as starlight.”

  “I know it better than you. Wasn’t I the one who had to pick out all her false stitching? And the kitchen maids could have bathed in the kettles for all the attention Guinevere paid them. But I don’t care about that. I kept her by me because I wanted to keep her safe.”

  “No one will harm her here,” Leodegrance answered, but his voice was not assured.

  “I have just heard,” he added as if he had only then remembered it. “The Saxons that settled in the southeast last year have started moving north again. They are looting and burning. Cador has been sent to stop them.”

  “Really?” Guenlian answered carelessly. “Well, he is a good soldier. I’m sure he will have no trouble.”

  The linen slid from her hands. She picked it up.

  “Aren’t you going to see to the sheep?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be back late in the afternoon, don’t worry.”

  He kissed her gently and left.

  Guinevere managed to hold herself to a ladylike walk until she was safely out of sight of the villa. Then she felt the calling and everything left her mind but the need to be with him, at once. She tore across the field and into the wood to the place she knew he would be. There, standing motionless in a pool of sunlight, was her unicorn. She stopped a few feet from it and just stared at it. Joy filled her eyes. Then it stepped daintily toward her and bowed its head. She wrapped her arms about the silky neck and again became a part of its timeless world.

  The rider did not see them as he passed nearby, urging his exhausted horse onward for the last mile. His eyes were fixed straight ahead and his thoughts were on the job before him. He wore the remnants of a Roman soldier’s garb, many generations old. Only the breastplate was in good repair. His cloak was of thick wool, too hot for the weather, and it was caked with mud and torn. He didn’t slacken his pace until he was across the creek and at the gate. Then he checked his mount and asked to see Leodegrance.

  Gone, the sentry told him, looking disparagingly at the man’s grime.

  “Then take me to your mistress!” he snapped. “I have come from Cador and I’ve not ridden three days without sleep to be gawked at by the likes of you.”

  Guenlian and Pincerna were in the dining hall, preparing the menus and planning seating order for guests, when the rider was shown in. Guenlian glanced at him quickly, noting his labored breathing and the dust and mud covering his clothes. She wondered why the day had suddenly grown so dark. She couldn’t seem to focus clearly. All she could see was the glare of sunlight on his breastplate, searing her eyes and blinding her to everything else.

  “You bring a message from my cousin?” The words were cold and brittle and came f
rom far away.

  The soldier saw a tall, stately woman above him on the dais. She was like a statue before him, calm and aloof and waiting. He shifted his feet. All the way here he had been preparing to speak to Leodegrance, one soldier giving a report to another. That would have been hard enough, but he hadn’t been trained for anything like this. He didn’t know how to begin.

  “The Saxons . . .” he stuttered. His voice broke. Why did he get all the bad jobs? “We fought them five days ago. It was a horrible fight, with all of us strong and rested from the winter. They were a far greater force than last year. Some of their ships must have been missed by the watchers. We didn’t expect so many and finally had to give way. Your sons were fighting in the rear guard.”

  “As they should,” Guenlian nodded. “Go on.”

  He had paused again. Guenlian hadn’t moved or changed her expression since he entered. He didn’t want to go on. She stood there before him as if he were telling her it had rained in the north and the crops might be damaged. Why didn’t she help him?

  Guenlian couldn’t understand at first what he was saying. The light bewildered her. She felt someone move a chair behind her but she didn’t sit. She simply stared at the courier, trying to piece together his reason for being here. Finally, the realization hit her.

  “Which one?” she asked sharply. What a stupid question. Did it matter which? Was one son less precious than the others? Would the loss of one of them be a lesser blow? Why was it so dark? Only that horrid reflection glowing from that awful man.

  His mouth dropped open. “Look at her,” he thought. “The queen, no doubt. ‘Tell me your news, peasant, and let me get on with my work.’ Then I’ll tell her.”

  “All of them . . . my lady,” he added.

  Still her face didn’t change. “I see,” she said. “Tell Cador to make arrangements to have them sent home for burial.”

  “I . . . I . . . can’t,” he stammered. “It took us two days to regain the place. The Saxons had . . . had . . . looted and burned the bodies. There was nothing left.”

  There. That was the message. All of it. There was nothing more to be said, nothing he could give her. All he wanted was to be out of there, away from this cold woman with those terrible eyes. She still hadn’t moved, not a finger since he had entered.

  A last thread inside Guenlian snapped. Not even a shred of them left. Not even a Christian burial next to their ancestors with the proper prayers and godspeed. Nothing. What was this paper in her hand? A seating list. It fluttered to the floor.

  “Pincerna,” she said at last. “Give this man some food and a fresh horse and tell Caet to ready mine. I think I will go riding this afternoon.”

  She walked from the room without another glance.

  The soldier relaxed with a huge sigh. “And I come here trembling and shaking for fear of telling her, and all she says is ‘I think I’ll go riding.’” He snorted. “I’d always heard they raised their sons for their own glory. I believe it now. I’ve got five brothers at home but my mother would wail over my death as if the sun had gone out. She doesn’t even flinch when all three go under!”

  Pincerna descended upon the man so quickly he didn’t know what happened. The butler’s face was lined with tears and his voice faltered, but, as he spoke, he twisted the cords of the man’s cape so tightly that he nearly choked him.

  “Raven!” he rasped. “Bird of doom! Filth! My lady ordered you food and a horse and for her I shall see that you get them. Then leave this place and never return or your mother will most certainly wail!”

  He released the terrified rider and sent him to the kitchen with a servant.

  Then he raced out to the stables as fast as he could.

  The news had sped before him. Caet was leaning against Matthew’s new colt, sobbing loudly. Pincerna gripped his shoulders as gently as he could.

  “Caet, you must help me. Ready a horse for our Lady Guenlian at once. Then you must take the swiftest horse we own and ride it as fast as you can to find Leodegrance and bring him back. You will have to tell him why. Can you do this?”

  Caet nodded.

  Pincerna released him with gratitude. He knew the boy would find the necessary strength. That relieved his mind on one count. Now he must hurry. The sounds of horror and grief echoed through the villa like a wave spreading outward, spilling, rolling down the hill and out across the fields. In the whole house, only Guenlian remained silent and dry-eyed.

  She had walked to her room; she saw no one as she passed. She sat on the edge of her bed and carefully picked up her riding shoes. She wrapped the linen around her legs and then laced the shoes over it, watching the leather thongs cross in chi’s up her calf. “Christos” she thought. It made no sense.

  There was a great force inside pushing outward, hunting for escape. She must go quickly.

  She pulled on her gloves and went out to the courtyard. No one dared stop her. Caet stood there with her horse. His face was smeared but he was holding his tears back. He put out his hands to give her a lift up. She took the reins from him and started to put her foot into his cupped hands. Then, just for a second, she seemed really to see him. Her face softened, and bending, she kissed his cheek. He jumped back, startled, and then turned his face away so she couldn’t see. He knew now why Pincerna wasn’t going to Leodegrance himself. He watched her go and then ran back to the stables. Pincerna was waiting.

  “Has she gone?”

  “Yes, through the gate just now.”

  Pincerna patted his back. “Good lad. Now, you know your job. Don’t let your grief slow your pace. You are the best rider in the compound and you must prove it today. Leodegrance must be here when I return!”

  “I will bring him.” Through the numbing sorrow, he felt a thrill of pride. He was the one being trusted; not one of the foster sons or men at arms, but Caet. Pincerna had known that none of them felt as he did and he had discovered Caet’s dream to be like the brothers. He would not fail them!

  Pincerna took another horse, not fast but surefooted. He was not a good rider and he prayed that he could stay on long enough to complete his work. He rode out the gate and across the creek and then turned sharply, following a newly broken trail into the forest.

  Guenlian didn’t notice the watchman at the gate or hear his cry of “God save us all!” She didn’t feel the water splashing against the horse’s flanks and wetting her legs as she crossed the creek. She concentrated on making the horse take her the way she wanted to go and holding back the thing inside her until she was well away from everyone.

  Once she entered the forest, she broke off from the main path and let the horse find its own way among the trees and through the underbrush. The awful pushing was at her throat; she swallowed against it, but it was too strong. Suddenly, like a sword thrust into her brain, came the realization. She began to scream.

  It was like no sound she had ever made before. It was deep and inhuman, a primal wrenching forth of the anguish within.

  “My children! My babies!” she shrieked as she slid from the horse. The words were indistinguishable, long, drawn-out sobs of words. She fell to her knees and clutched the ground with her hands, her fingers digging into it and pulling out clods of new grass. She ripped the earth and pounded it until she was grimy and bleeding, but the earth didn’t notice. All the while her cries poured forth, with scarcely a breath taken. She couldn’t stop. She had to kill this horrible pain, to beat it out of herself. She clawed at her chest, ripping her delicate robe and leaving thin lines of blood against her skin. She kicked and screamed and pounded at the uncaring ground until she lay exhausted, beaten, whimpering and alone.

  A thousand years passed. She vaguely felt someone lift her gently and wipe her face, murmuring all the while. She didn’t resist. She was still too busy fighting the battle within herself to care what was being done to her body. There was no victory that way. She was lifted further and placed upon a horse. A voice was speaking to her but it didn’t make sense.

 
“Please, my lady, hold on for only a moment. I’m too old to steady you while I climb up myself.”

  She slid forward and limply held her arms about the horse’s neck while Pincerna got up behind her. Then he gathered up the reins and placed her head and shoulder against his chest. Then he held her with one arm while he tried to guide the horse with the other.

  “Forgive the liberty, my lady,” he pleaded. “I must get you home. I must take care of you.”

  She nodded. It didn’t matter. As long as no one disturbed her from her struggle. They went slowly. Pincerna reflected with a grim irony that if he were a young man, this would be romantic and dashing. Now he suspected that he only appeared foolish.

  A branch brushed Guenlian’s arm as it dangled beside her. Something stirred. Who was this man? Pincerna? Something about Pincerna. He had told her something once and she had been very sorry but had forgotten it almost at once. What was it about Pincerna?

  “You lost your children too, didn’t you?”

  He sighed. Perhaps he should keep talking, just to keep her from thinking. But this wasn’t exactly the story he would have picked.

  “Yes, my lady, all of them. Two to the winter sickness, one to the sea, and one more to the Irish raiders.”

  “Killed?”

  “I hope so. They took her on a slaving run one day when she and two friends were out hunting for shells on the beach. I never should have let her go.”

  He was silent for a while.

  “My wife died with one more in childbed and then I was alone with a farm and no one to leave it to, so I just walked away. I would have walked until I died if I hadn’t been a Christian, but the hermit who lived on the beach told me I would see them all again if I went on living, but if I took my own life all hell would part us. I don’t know if I believed him but I couldn’t take the chance. So I walked until I came here and you took me in.”