The Pure Heart

by Trudi Tweedie

  ‘Maria told me you tried the cure on your wife,’ I said slowly, ‘but it didn’t work.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the merchant. ‘I had acquired a whole ounce of a powdered unicorn horn, the central ingredient for that particular potion . . . but unfortunately the batch was not pure.’

  My eyes urged him on with his tale though my inner concerns lay only with my own future.

  ‘A charlatan apothecary cut it with an inferior substance,’ he went on, his tone bittering, ‘and so it did not work.’ A shadow passed over the merchant’s face. ‘But death would not be cheated quite as easily as I’d been.’

  Death would not be cheated.

  That was the phrase that Maria had used when she claimed she remembered the death of her mother. But Father Ronan had said that the merchant’s wife had died six years ago, during the outbreak in Venice. If he was right, the girl’s memory could not hold true. But I didn’t want to risk asking the merchant about the year his wife had died again. And I didn’t want to get Father Ronan in trouble.

  ‘In fact, that is why I require your presence now in the tower, Iseabail,’ said the merchant, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  ‘Please – don’t make me cut off the unicorn’s horn, sir. It’s only a baby!’ I blurted out.

  ‘And therefore its horn is of no use,’ said the merchant genially. ‘Too soft until they are fully grown, you see. But it possesses something else of great value.’

  He watched the realization dawn on my face; it was the creature’s blood he needed my help to extract.

  ‘With this final ingredient, my potion will be complete, and Maria will have no more need to take the waters here.’

  ‘Maria will be completely cured? And taking the blood will not hurt the unicorn?’

  ‘Like taking the boy’s,’ said the merchant, a reassuring grin spreading across his lips, ‘the procedure will bring the creature no harm. And yes, Maria will be entirely better. No more violent outbreaks. No more evil tempers. Well, no more than an ordinary child,’ he said, smiling wider.

  And once it was done, the household would leave for Venice.

  If Maria was better, perhaps we could find a way to be as we were when I had first arrived. And wouldn’t I want to look after the unicorn? Perhaps, I thought, gazing up at the tower, perhaps I could go with them.

  Plaustrell instructed that I must take a bath before I came to the tower. Admittedly I’d managed to avoid one for almost a week and one of the servants, most likely Sylvia, must have informed on me.

  This time though, I rolled the large barrel used for storing towels in front of the door of the bathhouse so that the interfering servant could not follow me in. I would take a bath, but only on my own terms.

  After lowering myself into the fragranced water, I forced my mind to consider a life in Venice as part of the merchant’s household. The sooner I came to terms with not returning to the island, the better things would be for everyone. And, although things would always be difficult with Maria after everything she had said and done to me, without her tempers, life would be bearable.

  And I would gladly take up the merchant on his request to become his assistant.

  The merchant would need me after all, to manage the unicorn. And surely he would be bringing his trusted stable boy along too?

  It was difficult not to picture Artair and Eilidh, difficult not to feel angry and sad and betrayed. But I forced myself to look ahead at the life that was now open to me. Would it really be so bad?

  I took up the horsehair brush and scrubbed my fingernails, thinking about William. If we both went to Venice, then maybe . . . just maybe . . . we could have a future together. He might not have a voice, but William had kind eyes, strong shoulders and steady employment. He was gentle too, and sweet. Thinking of how we had laughed together over the ‘goat’ brought a small smile to my lips. Of course, I was ashamed to be thinking such thoughts so soon after realizing my engagement was over, but clinging on to the memory of Artair had the potential to destroy me. Abruptly the smile fell away. Distraught, I unwound my hair and tugged at it hard before I washed it.

  After the bath, I re-dressed in the fresh clothes that had been set out for me. The merchant seemed determined that I should be clean before I helped with the extraction. With my hair still damp, I set off for the gardens and the tower.

  But when William opened the door at my knock, I found that he was not similarly cleansed. His face was streaked with sweat and a fresh cut glistened on one cheek. Then I noticed his shirt. Torn so severely that it hung limply from one shoulder.

  ‘What on earth . . . ?’ I said, raising my hand to his cut.

  But he caught my hand deftly before I reached it, holding it a moment to his warm face. Like an apology for what was to come.

  Then he led me into the lower chamber and I was stunned by the state of the place. Every piece of furniture had been smashed. The beautiful octagonal table now lay in splinters beside the fireplace and the throne-chair looked like it had been hurled at the wall. Now it lay on its side, two legs missing and a crack running the length of its elongated back.

  ‘Is that Iseabail?’ said a voice from up the ladder.

  ‘Yes, it is me!’ I shouted back, my voice reverberating around the circular room.

  William put a finger promptly over my lips then pointed to the bed, or what was left of it. The whole canopy had collapsed over the mattress which itself was heavily torn revealing tufts of stuffing, some of which were scattered around the floor like dead mice.

  But beneath the fallen canopy, something was stirring.

  The ladder twanged as the merchant’s feet descended, but my eyes were fixed on the broken bed. Or rather, what was in it.

  ‘Is it under there?’ I said, making to move towards the canopy. William, now standing behind me, gripped his arms tightly about my waist and pulled me back.

  ‘Ah, Iseabail,’ said the merchant as his tall frame stooped its way down the last rungs. When he reached the bottom of the ladder, he walked around the circumference of the room, away from the bed. ‘William, it’s better if we stand over here for now. Let Iseabail approach.’

  I was disappointed when William released his strong hands from my waist – but he didn’t step away from me just yet.

  Then, more movement beneath the torn covers.

  I felt William holding his warm breath behind my ear and realized that I too was holding mine.

  Presently, a small pink horn appeared above the detritus followed by a creamy white fluff and the unicorn’s head emerged.

  Its tufty beard sat above a shackle encircling its neck which in turn was attached to the thick chain the merchant had brought after it had escaped the stables. The other end of the chain was fixed into a metal ring hammered into the circular wall behind the bed.

  The merchant gestured that I should not make any sudden movements and it seemed that as the animal realized where it was, it became agitated, thrashing its head from side to side so that its beard caught in the shackle.

  And then the noise began. That mournful lament, a seal pup calling for its mother. The cry was intense, earsplitting within the confines of the tower. The clover-leaf window behind my head vibrated in its casing.

  I fell to my knees and put my hands over my ears. William fell to his too and put a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Deafening, isn’t it?’ shouted the merchant above the ruckus.

  The unicorn began to thrash about wildly, pulling at the chain, but although further damage was endured by the bed, it was no match for its tethering to the wall.

  Even so, I could never have expected such a tiny creature could be so strong and vicious, or its cry so heart-wrenchingly loud.

  ‘How did you manage to catch it?’ I said, rising to my feet once the terrible noise had ended. ‘In the wild, I mean.’

  ‘I paid an obliging huntsman,’ explained the merchant. ‘He was instructed to ensnare a fully-grown beast but ended up with a foal instead.’

>   ‘It misses its mother,’ I said, a lump in my throat. I felt sorry for the poor thing, despite the alarming damage it had inflicted on the merchant’s tower. It was frightened, torn away from its natural habitat, all alone here. In a sense, just like me.

  The unicorn proceeded to stick its infant horn into the mattress, ripping it further.

  ‘I need you to calm the creature, Iseabail, so that I can extract its blood.’ For the first time, I noticed the slim instrument in Plaustrell’s hand – the quill with which he had used on William. I started towards the bed, then hesitated. I had the upper hand, I reminded myself. I had to make sure my future was secure.

  ‘I take it that you have informed Maria that I am to join you in Venice?’ I said boldly. ‘That you are to take all of the household?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the merchant. ‘A good decision, Iseabail. When everyone is well enough to make the journey, we shall go to Venice. You shall ride proudly at my side. Now, the unicorn?’

  I felt the tension in my body release slightly though I had never ridden before. I glanced at William, who nodded, though his face was tight with some worry I could not read. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward.

  Let’s just get this over with, shall we?

  I edged closer to the wrecked frame of the bed, marvelling that such a small creature had managed to smash to bits heavy oak. The creature immediately took its chances, leaping off the torn mattress towards me – and I fell to the floor in fright. The chain restrained it, but it reached me, just. Collapsing, it placed its head against my thigh, its cry turning into a vibrating purr.

  I looked up at the merchant. He was staring intently, frozen to the spot, holding his despicably sharp quill.

  But then the inside of the tower began to fade about me. And I wasn’t there any more, I was in a forest. It was summer and there were birds calling all about me, I could smell pine needles, feel the soft breeze on my face. I saw a unicorn, drinking from a clear blue lake nearby. It must have been an adult because it was as big as a horse, with a huge twisted horn extending from its forehead. The horn shimmered gloriously with a greenish-pink pearlescence. I felt my legs running over the soft ground to join it. I peered down into the lake, hoping to see our reflections. But I wasn’t me any more. Instead, two unicorns stared back from the mirrored lake. I was by far the smallest. And I had the tiniest pink horn protruding from my forehead.

  ‘Hold it still, Iseabail,’ said a stern voice, shocking me back into the cold womb of the stone tower.

  ‘But I saw her!’ I cried out.

  ‘Saw who?’ snapped the merchant. I realized that he was kneeling next to me now, beside the taut chain, ready to insert the quill into the unicorn’s rump. ‘What did you see, Iseabail?’

  ‘Its mother,’ I said, stroking the creature’s head. ‘For a moment, it was like—’ I looked up at William who had taken a step closer to see better.

  ‘Like what?’ said the merchant, impatient now.

  ‘Like I was the baby unicorn – recalling a happy memory!’

  The unicorn continued to purr and I wondered if it was experiencing my memories, my home. The white beach down in the bay of my village, the soothing crash of the Atlantic on the shore. That last kiss as Artair held me in his arms. Maybe that would be possible, if the two of us were somehow connected.

  ‘Get the jar, William,’ said the merchant with a scowl. Once again he seemed jealous of my affinity with the creature. But I didn’t care, for despite the vision fading I had never felt more elated.

  ‘We won’t take much,’ said the merchant, back to the business at hand. ‘A few drops will suffice. So, keep it calm, if you will.’

  ‘Please be gentle with it,’ I urged, my awareness now focused back on the welfare of the creature. ‘Will you let it go when its purpose is served? Maybe return it to its home?’

  Plaustrell didn’t reply. He chanced a stroke of the animal’s rump, then another, but I knew that he wasn’t trying to pet it: he wanted to connect with it too.

  The unicorn remained docile across my knee, its blue eyes staring up at me, and only me.

  Annoyed, Plaustrell took up the sharp end of the quill and positioned it over the rump.

  ‘Not the best place to extract blood from an animal,’ he explained tersely. ‘But it’s probably best that I remain out of sight at the back here.’

  William handed him the jar and retreated.

  The merchant struck quickly, pushing the sharp end into the unicorn’s fur, just above where the back leg joined to the torso. The quill went in first time, the entry point hidden beneath the white fur, but if the unicorn felt anything it didn’t show it. Instead it kept on purring, its entire body vibrating.

  Eventually liquid moved out along the transparent stem of the quill. But it wasn’t dark and viscous like William’s blood or the blood of any other animal that I’d seen, but dull turquoise, the colour of seaweed.

  ‘It’s green, just how it has been written!’ said the merchant excitedly.

  The green blood began to drip down into the jar and the animal remained calm. I dipped my forehead to meet its horn, feeling a crackle of static. Like the approach of a storm.

  ‘Now I must not be greedy,’ the merchant willed himself, withdrawing the quill skilfully and standing it in the jar so that not a drop of green escaped.

  Then he rose to his feet and moved towards the ladder.

  ‘Your duties here are fulfilled for now, Iseabail,’ Plaustrell said tautly, his back still turned towards me.

  ‘Not yet,’ I pleaded. ‘Just a few more—’

  ‘That will be all, Iseabail!’

  William stepped out from the shadows and tugged at the back of my dress. Reluctantly, I prised the unicorn’s head off my lap and made to stand.

  The animal gave off the most awful yelp and sprang immediately to its feet.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ I whispered, stroking the point where the quill had once entered its hide – it was still bleeding a little, and I wished I had something to stop it. ‘I promise.’

  Its eyes stared up at me, crystals of indigo. The creature was afraid again.

  ‘Both of you are to leave now,’ ordered the merchant as his head disappeared up into the ceiling. ‘Before the creature gets all stirred up again.’

  William took me firmly and pulled me out of the tower, not allowing me to look back. He closed the tower door behind us and led me quickly down the steps, his hand warm in mine.

  William quickened his steps, leading me into the sunken garden which was now cast with shadows from the setting sun. Here, he threw me a sad look, then dropped my hand and made towards the path that would take him to the stables, assuming I would take the other path to the house.

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted after him. ‘Please!’

  He did as I asked, turning around as I ran to his side.

  William reached down to take up my left hand in his own. He turned it palm down, stroking my newly smooth skin.

  ‘You noticed that the unicorn cured my scar?’

  William dipped his head, as if ashamed he had betrayed me.

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said, putting my hand under his chin to lift it. ‘You had to tell him. He would’ve found out anyway.’

  But as William raised his eyes, they glazed over milky, almost like they had frozen. Then he gripped his throat with both hands before dropping to his knees.

  ‘My goodness, what is it?’ I said, banging my fist on his back frantically as he coughed violently. ‘Have you swallowed something?’

  The choking passed quickly and I helped him back to his feet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I said, reaching out to touch his neck, but he stopped me, his eyes watery after the fit. This time he caught my hand with the forefinger suspended in mid-air. We both stared at the tip of the finger, which was stained faintly green.

  ‘Unicorn blood,’ I began. Then I looked at the print I had left on William’s pale neck, an insignificant smudge sitting just above his
Adam’s apple.

  ‘What have you done?’ said a voice, his voice. It was barely audible, no more than a croak – but totally unmistakable. William pulled away, his face pale and frightened – as if shocked at the sound.

  ‘The unicorn blood has cured your voice,’ I said wonderingly. I think until that moment I had only half believed in its properties. It was nothing short of miraculous.

  His eyes rose to meet mine and he gazed at me darkly, taking my hands in his once more. ‘Iseabail, you must go,’ rasped William. ‘The master is not what he seems. You can’t trust him.’

  I felt a jolt of fear, but shook my head. ‘I can’t go home. They don’t want me there.’

  ‘I am not an educated man, I can neither read nor write,’ he said, ‘but even I can tell that Plaustrell will do anything in his power to keep you here. You can’t trust his stories. Leave. Home, or elsewhere: anywhere is better than here.’

  And with that, he pulled away from me, glancing nervously over his shoulder towards the tower – and his master within.

  I was left standing there in the dusk with a pounding heart. Father Ronan had told me not to trust Plaustrell’s tale about the rejected supplies – and now William had too. Even I had thought the story about the chief falling from the rocks unlikely . . .

  Who was I supposed to trust? I wrung my hands nervously, but William’s earnest words were the ones that kept ringing in my mind – and now I was too frightened to stay. I would do as he said. I would leave. And to ensure that Plaustrell would let me go, I needed to convince him that he didn’t need me at all.

  That night, I sat in the window seat of the upper landing, observing the posts on the moor. As the moonlight struck the tips of their sharp pinnacles, they looked like they were lit from within. White-hot, burning prongs of doom. Tonight, I would tell the merchant that I would not be accompanying him to Venice, after all – instead, I would return home as I’d always planned. If he was telling the truth and I was rejected by Artair and Eilidh, so be it: at least I would know the truth. And at least I would be safe.