Suddenly, she realized that he was trying to say her name. She lifted her chin in disdain and pronounced it correctly. Now the man looked puzzled. He switched his stare to her braids and, with a strange look, reached down and lifted one. Guinevere shrank from him. He laughed, not unkindly, but she was too afraid to tell.
“Ic haebe an dohtor with swa gold,” he murmured. It wasn’t true, of course. His daughter was lovely, but her hair was not as rich and living as Guinevere’s. Still, in his eyes, Alswytha was beautiful too. However, Guinevere had no idea of what he was saying and only grew more terrified as he tried to speak to her. Finally, he put down the braid and went back to the campfire. There he seemed to be giving orders about something. Guinevere peered into the dark. Someone was being dragged from the other side of the camp. The person was protesting and struggling all the way. The fire was too bright between her and whomever it was, so she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. She saw the light gleam upon the neck band of a slave, and wondered why the poor thing was so determined not to be brought to its master.
Aelle was not interested in hearing the complaints of his slave. “We brought you with us because you speak her language. Now go over there with us and translate. I will hear not a word more. And if I discover that you have said one word other than what I tell you, I will have your tongue for my breakfast!”
Guinevere heard the shouting and angry words and shrank as far as she could into the furs. Aelle was coming back now. Two other men were dragging the slave between them. She could see that his clothes were ragged and that the collar was his only ornament. Even though Guinevere had no imagination, she felt a nameless dread slip over her and she remembered half-heard stories about strange, horrible things Saxons did with women captives. She felt her hands grow icy and her heart pound in her throat as the men brought their struggling burden nearer. The slave kept his face averted all the while so she could not see him. No matter how he fought, he didn’t move his head. She could tell that the side toward her was hideously scarred and feared that the side he was hiding might be even worse. Her stomach started to recoil when a slap made the slave turn and face her fully.
For a second Guinevere just stood there, unable to believe what she saw. Then she screamed. Over and over in choking gasps she cried out. Finally she managed to push forth one lone word.
“Mark! Mark!” she sobbed and fell into his arms.
“Hush, Guinevere, hush. You mustn’t let them know who I am! Try to control yourself,” he begged. But she couldn’t stop shaking and sobbing.
“What’s wrong with her?” Aelle demanded. “What does mark mean?”
“It means ‘mercy,’” Mark replied angrily. “You have terrified the poor girl. She recognized that I was one of her own people and wants me to plead with you to save her.”
“Well, calm her down. Tell her that we won’t do a thing to her if she stops that shrieking. What a noise! I thought she was bewitched!” Aelle complained. “Go on. Tell her!”
Mark disentangled her arms from him. He smoothed her hair and wiped her eyes and nose with his shirt as he had when she was a child. “Guinevere, it is all right. Never mind why I am here. Just listen to me. This is Aelle. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He only plans to trade you for Alswytha. The Saxons are a strange people, but they have their own ideas of honor and he won’t harm you, I believe, unless they refuse to return his daughter. Do you understand?”
“Alswytha?” Guinevere questioned.
Aelle was watching her closely. He nodded emphatically.
“They know you are her friend. Ecgfrith told them all about his stay at Cador.”
“Ecgfrith? We thought he had drowned.”
Mark frowned. “I wish he had. It was his idea to capture you. Aelle never would have thought of it. He is more the type to storm the castle.”
“But what can we do, Mark?”
“Nothing. Just hope that Arthur agrees to release Alswytha. And when they do, Guinevere, you must promise you will never tell anyone that you saw me here. Do you understand?”
“What! What are you talking about?”
“That is enough!” Aelle thundered. “Does she understand?”
Mark refused to face her again. “She does,” he answered.
“Then return to your work, Ceorl, and next time you receive an order, don’t ignore it, or you will wish we had killed you with the rest of your army.”
Mark only gave him a mocking smile that was particularly horrible on his stricken face.
In the following days, Guinevere grew less concerned about her own fate and more worried about Mark. It made no sense to her. She was alone in this strange place and she wanted him now more than she had ever wanted anyone before. Finding him here was a miracle and she supposed that he would be as overjoyed as she. But he shrank from her. When he wasn’t being used as an interpreter, he kept as far from her as possible. She couldn’t understand why. The scars on his face meant nothing to her. Was it something she had done? His rejection of her hurt her terribly.
Each day they broke camp and started her walking again further to the east. She hated this. If only they had given her a horse! Her shoes were for riding and not strong in the soles. But she had learned that if she lagged or stumbled, someone would pick her up and carry her, and this was even more offensive. So she marched on with set lips. She saw that Mark was not forced to stay in any one place and yet he always managed to be as far from her as possible. Finally she decided that he was completely indifferent to her and for some reason liked living as a slave. This made her angry and her anger carried her on for several miles.
She had started calling her unicorn almost at once, but he had taken a long time to respond. Finally she became aware of his intelligent concern for her, but his answer was very faint.
"I am far from you,” he told her, “but do not fear. I am coming for you.”
That satisfied her and Guinevere ceased to worry that she might not be rescued. It would happen. That was enough to know. The only problem now was in reaching Mark, who was further away from her than a mythical creature could ever be.
For Mark, these days were the worst of any since that murky afternoon of his last battle. He thought he had drawn a boundary line carefully through his memory. His life before was neatly kept deep in some dark place where he need not look at it. Any thought of his home, his childhood, his family always brought him to that last moment, to the death screams of his brothers, to his own insane rage and the searing pain across his face and, finally, to the knowledge that he had lived. It was better to imagine that he had always been a slave, following the rounds of labor and subservience with the dull numbness of the hopeless.
But there was Guinevere, resting serenely upon her cushions, as unconsciously arrogant as only the pampered child of the wealthy could be. She showed no more fear of her captors. She didn’t even seem to be interested in them. Mark had forgotten that calm, assured tilt to her chin, the air of being sublimely certain of her place at the top of the orders of society. Had he ever been like that? Alswytha had always called him, “my lord Ceorl.” He had thought she mocked him. But that was another memory to subdue. Her cool hands reaching through the pain. She had never shown disgust at his looks. She had kept him alive for weeks when he longed for death. How he had hated her for that gift. Poor little Alswytha, so timid, so lonely. Blast and shrivel that Ecgfrith! What kind of man would leave her alone like that, among enemies? Mark’s brain followed the treadmill of all he would forget. He wanted to ask about home and if his parents were well, but that would only start the cycle again. The only thing was to avoid Guinevere and hope she would respect his desire and keep silent about his fate.
Aelle and Ecgfrith had been watching Guinevere, too.
“She would make a fine queen,” Ecgfrith mused. “She would be an ornament to any hall. Why should we return her to her people? What if we gave her a greater honor? We gave Vortigern one of our women to wed. It is time that they returned the gesture. What
better way to affirm our right to Britain than by forming an alliance with one of their great houses?”
“I am glad you feel that way, my son,” Aelle smiled craftily. “I have been thinking the same thing. I have been very lonely since your mother left and things have not been managed well. Alswytha never had any authority in the hall. This woman will do for me very well indeed.”
Ecgfrith glared at his father, who laughed in his face.
“Get your own bride, my son. This one is for me. Remember, I have many sister-sons with the same right as you to my lands. Why should she marry a man whose landhold is uncertain?”
“And what of Alswytha? You have said how much you care for her. She will not be returned unless we can bargain for her.”
“You didn’t think of that when you wanted this woman for yourself. But we can arrange something. Perhaps one of their lords will take her to wife. That will solve the matter.”
Ecgfrith swallowed his words and bowed from his father’s presence. But he vowed that he would rather see Guinevere and Alswytha both killed than know that his father had taken his prize from him.
Chapter Fifteen
Guinevere was sharply awakened late one night by a strange noise in the woods on the opposite side of the camp from her. Her first impulse was to pull the furs over her head and go back to sleep. She had walked all day over scarcely visible paths in worn-out shoes and was tired to the marrow of her bones. The guards around her were silent but alert, and were staring anxiously in the direction of the noise. She heard people moving about the camp as the rustling in the trees grew louder. Finally she forced herself to open her eyes and find out what was going on.
The fires had died out. It was about an hour before dawn: the sky was that gray color between stars and sun that is more difficult to see in than dark night. The earth was smothered in fog. Guinevere could hear the guard muttering nervously. What was that noise? It sounded like a large animal pushing its way through the undergrowth, but there was also a noise of wood being snapped and gnashed and perhaps metal being pounded. She peered into the darkness, but the fog shifted and spun so that she could make nothing out.
The clanging and gnashing sounds were getting louder and closer. Trees swayed and branches crackled as the thing passed by. A red glow bobbed through the darkness, twice the height of a man. By now, everyone was awake, standing, gaping in awe or terror as the noise and the light came closer to the camp. Suddenly there was a tremendous roar and a hideous monster came raging into the midst of the men. It was huge, as tall as a watchtower and covered with fur and tough hide. Long strings of moss dangled from its shoulders and several arms. Its single eye glared in crimson fury and its cavernous mouth glinted with steel-sharp teeth. Blood dribbled down its chin. A constant cacaphony of groans and whines came forth from its midsection and, as they watched, frozen, it charged the nearest man and trampled him underfoot before the terrified Saxon could even draw his sword.
A few soldiers made a feeble attempt to stand against the thing, but most of them ran screaming into the forest. Many returned in a gibbering streak of panic, pursued by a second beast that appeared from the opposite side, just to the left of Guinevere.
She watched in bewilderment as her fierce captors fell in a babbling heap on the ground or grabbed what they could and sped to the safety of the dark woods. Aelle, Ecgfrith, and a few of their eorls were making an effort to fight the things when, all at once, a mass of horsemen, all wearing horns and with their faces painted scarlet and blue, forced their way into the clearing. At the sight of them, Aelle understood how he had been tricked and, with a savage scream, he attacked.
One of the riders galloped to where Guinevere stood, too stunned to move. He swooped down and tried to pull her into the saddle with him. She writhed furiously in his grasp and at first could not make out what he was yelling.
“Guinevere, stop! We’re here to save you! Please, you’re pulling my costume off!”
Guinevere relaxed her kicking and looked up into the face of the man holding her. She saw a Roman nose and a strong chin streaked with paint and dirt.
“Who are you?” she shrieked over the tumult.
“Arthur. Your parents sent me to find you. Hurry! We mustn’t give them time to reorganize!”
She swung up behind him and screamed in his ear.
“We can’t go without Mark! You have to find him!”
“Mark?”
“My brother! He’s here somewhere. We can’t leave him!”
“Guinevere, Mark is dead! We saw him go down!”
“No. He’s here, I tell you! Help me find him!”
She slid from the horse again, despite his attempts to catch her. Then she waded right through the jungle of riders and monsters and frantic Saxons, totally oblivious to the swords and hooves and the shouts of those she passed. Arthur yanked his horse around and tried to follow her. He hacked his way through the mess, hoping that he hadn’t hit any of his own men. He found Guinevere on the other side, tugging at a slave who was resisting her ferociously.
“I told you to leave me alone!” he cried. “I’m not going back! I won’t let them see me like this. Guinevere, get away from here!”
Arthur could never have recognized his battered face, but the voice was past mistaking. For a second, he could only sit in disbelief, tears blurring his eyes.
He shook himself quickly. This was no time for questions.
“Lieutenant!” he barked. “You are coming with us. Take this horse and your sister and get out of here. That is an order!”
Mark squinted at him and then his eyes widened as he recognized his commander and friend.
“Arthur . . . I can’t!” he began.
“You will!” Arthur roared, and leapt to the ground. “Guinevere, take my horse and get up behind him. Be sure he stays with us. Her safety is on you, Mark!”
One of the men was wounded and hanging from his horse. Arthur scooped him up and mounted behind the injured man. Guinevere caught at the bridle Arthur threw her and pushed Mark until he was on the animal’s back. Then she clambered up herself. The sky was growing lighter and the “monsters” had wisely stomped back into the forest. A knot of horsemen were still fighting Aelle and his companions. Seeing that Guinevere had been recovered, the horsemen tried to disengage themselves but were having trouble getting away. Arthur dove his horse through the center, his wounded partner gripping the mane for dear life. Aelle faltered and fell back onto his son, his shoulder gashed and spurting blood. Ecgfrith saw that the Britons were getting away and tried to throw Aelle off. But it was too late. In another moment, the remnant of the rescue party was gone, Arthur at their heels.
There was nothing more to be done. Arthur had won again. Ecgfrith surveyed the destruction caused by the monsters and the Britons. He rained all the curses of the goddess Hel upon the cowards who had run. Some of them would never know a roof over their heads again, if he had his way. Outcasts from their clan they would be for this, and he would be sure that they wandered unaided by any lord until they died. But even that revenge could not console him for this outrage. With smoldering hatred, he returned to the side of his father. Perhaps the old man would die and then the land right would be his. The thought was grimly cheering.
• • •
As Guinevere rode through the growing dawn, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother, she thought she heard laughter. She looked all around in her astonishment for the source. No one near her appeared in a mood for levity. The men around her were exhausted, each painted face bowed over his horse’s mane as they tried to stay awake. The monsters, towers of wood overlaid with leather, fur, and branches, had been cast off and left to rot among the trees. The men who had carried them, perched dangerously on platforms over their saddles, were making no pretence of staying alert. They were slumped on the horses’ necks, swaying a little as they passed from sleep to drowse and back again. Their animals looked as tired as the men, for they had been ridden hard since the previous morning to re
ach her before it was too late. The tired beasts kept moving from habit and in the hope, no doubt, that somewhere soon there would be some soft grass and clover. So who was laughing? There was such delight in the sound that Guinevere smiled, too, in anticipation of the joke.
Then she became aware that no one else had heard the merriment. The sound was in her mind alone. She sent out a question.
“Yes,” the unicorn answered. “I was here all night, but you didn’t need me. I have never seen such amazing creatures! It was really astonishing the way they put those monsters together! Some of those men who captured you ran directly into me in their flight. They cried out in horror and flew in the other direction. I was somewhat offended. I have always gathered from you that I was a rather handsome beast.”
“Of course you are,” Guinevere soothed. “But what do you find so amusing?”
“Humanity,” he replied, and she could get no more explanation than that.
“I must return to the shore,” he continued. “I will wait for you there. You should come soon, I think. I have a strange feeling that someone needs you there.”
Then he was gone.
Mark sat stiffly before her, his head and face hidden in a cloak someone had tossed him. She leaned her cheek against his back and tried to feel a softening in him, a response to her concern. But his spine remained straight and he showed no interest in her. He was lost in his own anger and fear.
Arthur watched him and worried. He thought he knew what Mark was feeling. How could he face his parents after allowing his brothers to die and himself to be so degraded by his captors? Arthur could sense the pride and the shame, even though he couldn’t completely agree with it. He hoped Mark would change when he had been home for a time. Perhaps he would fit back into his old life when he realized that no one would blame him for what had happened, that they would only rejoice that he was alive. And, Arthur considered a little guiltily, I need him. I must have a man like that in my government; one who knows both worlds and can bring them together. But Arthur had no idea how to convince this sullen stranger of that. He fervently hoped that Leodegrance would know what to do.
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