The Book of Horses and Unicorns

by Jackie French

  ‘Tell him I won’t hurt him,’ she said softly.

  ‘Tell him yourself,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘He doesn’t understand words. Just voices and how you say things. Say you’re his friend and he might understand.’

  Like the unicorn, thought Ethel. ‘Hello,’ said Ethel tentatively. The creature looked up at her with large brown eyes. ‘My name’s Ethel,’ she added softly. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘I call him Hingram,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘It’s not his name, of course. I had a brother once …’ She shook her head. ‘Hingram, this is a friend,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you like another friend?’

  Hingram blinked at her inquiringly, then looked back at Ethel.

  ‘Try feeding him something,’ suggested Ma’m Alice. She walked over to the store cupboard by the door and pulled out a shank of geep, greasy with cold fat. ‘Try this.’

  Ethel wriggled off the chair and took the meat. She crossed the room warily and held it out towards the boy. ‘Here,’ she said slowly. ‘Are you hungry?’

  Suddenly the boy snatched the meat. He held it close to his chest and warily retreated again. He sniffed it, and then began to gnaw.

  Ethel went back to her seat and clambered up. ‘How can he be a friend? You can’t talk to him, or …’

  ‘Friends help each other,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘That’s how we met. I’d been trapping down below and Hingram, well I reckon he came after the scent of meat. He can’t catch much for himself so he scavenges.’

  ‘You mean … stuff that’s already dead?’ Ethel suppressed a shudder.

  Ma’m Alice shrugged. ‘He forages what he can. I had known someone was around. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye. Never fully, you understand, Hingram was too wary for that. So I left bits of meat out for him, and vegetables too, though he never ate those, and sometimes fruit. He liked fruit, too …’

  ‘But that day something else came after the scent of meat. A lion. I should have seen it coming, but lions are the colour of the rocks. I’ve never seen a lion around here before or since, though I’ve seen prides in the distance, way off on the plains beyond the forest. They hunt in packs, you know. Maybe this one had been cast out of its pack. Animals can do strange things when they’re cast out.’

  Ethel shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen one.’

  ‘Let’s hope you don’t,’ said Ma’m Alice. Her thick fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘It must have been hungry because it leapt on me, big as I am. And big as I am it had me down and I was fighting it off my throat. I still have the scars.’ She held up one broad arm.

  ‘And then it dropped away, right off me. It just lay there …’

  ‘Dead?’ asked Ethel.

  ‘Not dead. Stunned. It lay there for a while then blinked and slunk away and it’s never come back either. Frighten something enough and it doesn’t return.

  ‘But it was Hingram who had saved me. He’d grabbed a rock and leapt up onto the boulder — that big one straight out there — and threw it down onto the beast’s head.

  ‘He didn’t have to save me. He could have let the lion take me, then taken my hut for his own, and scavenged from my traps and had all the meat he wanted …

  ‘But he was my friend. And he’s been my friend ever since.’

  The fire crackled and flared. Hingram started back and then relaxed. He sucked at the marrow from the shank, then threw the bone into the fire. The scent of charred bone filled the hut. He looked around hungrily.

  ‘May I give him some more?’ asked Ethel.

  Ma’m Alice nodded.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ethel. ‘I just remembered. I brought you some chicken. From the kitchens at the Hall. It’s in the saddlebag on the unicorn.’

  Ma’m Alice smiled. ‘That was kind of you,’ she said. ‘It’ll be good to taste something I haven’t caught myself and cooked myself. And chicken … well, I don’t get chicken in my traps. But …’ She stopped as Hingram scurried across the floor.

  He walked on four legs, not two, thought Ethel. She froze as Hingram stopped by her chair. He raised his head and quickly licked her leg, then backed away, as though he was ready for a blow. Another pause and he was gone, a shadow through the door.

  ‘I thought he would leave soon,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘He never stays long.’

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Ethel. ‘Where does he come from?’

  Ma’m Alice shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘He can’t speak … I don’t think he hears well enough to learn to speak, and his eyesight is none too good as well. But his sense of smell seems to make up for it.

  ‘No, I don’t know where he came from. If he had parents who cast him out, or who died and left him alone. If he was born like that or just grew … differently. I don’t know.’ She crossed over to the fire and threw more wood on — a giant root, a tree root perhaps, thought Ethel. Only someone as big as Ma’m Alice could have managed it.

  ‘Why did you want me to meet him?’ she asked finally.

  Ma’m Alice sat heavily on the other slab chair. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘Perhaps … perhaps I thought that the Lady of the Unicorn should know someone different, to learn a little understanding perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted one friend to meet another.’

  An owl boomed outside. ‘Am I your friend?’ asked Ethel finally. ‘I would like to have a friend.’

  ‘Doesn’t the Lady of the Unicorn have friends?’ asked Ma’m Alice.

  ‘No,’ said Ethel. ‘Loyal subjects. But I left my friends behind when I became the Lady. When I was … different.’

  ‘Friends then,’ said Ma’m Alice. She licked her wide dark lips. ‘Now, where is that chicken you said that you brought?’

  The moon was low on the horizon, as though someone swung it from a string high up in the night sky. Ethel untethered her unicorn. He whinnied at her softly and pressed his nose against her, as though checking that she smelt the same despite the unfamiliar scents that clung to her.

  Ethel glanced down the hill. She could just see the Hall from here, a dim light in the dark. ‘It’s later than I thought,’ she said. ‘Ma’m Margot will be worried.’

  ‘Won’t she be asleep?’ asked Ma’m Alice. The roast chicken looked tiny in her hand, like a roast sparrow, not a hen, thought Ethel.

  ‘No. She never sleeps before I do, I think.’

  ‘A loyal woman,’ said Ma’m Alice.

  Ethel sighed. ‘Loyal to the Lady,’ she said. ‘To the idea of the Lady. Not to me. I don’t think she even likes me. She loved the last Lady very much.’ She gathered the unicorn’s tether in her hand. ‘I’ll mount when we get down the hill,’ she said. ‘It will be lighter there, away from the rubble. Thank you for your hospitality, Ma’m Alice. And for introducing me to your friend.’

  ‘It’s good to have friends,’ said Ma’m Alice vaguely. She met Ethel’s eyes for a moment. ‘I do have other friends,’ she said slowly. ‘Not ones I see often, but friends none the less. Maybe one day you would like to meet them too?’

  ‘Friends like Hingram?’

  ‘No. Not like Hingram. There’s no one else like Hingram. But not like the people of the village or the farms or the Hall either. These are forest people.’

  ‘I didn’t know there were forest people,’ said Ethel. ‘Grand Marshal Kevin says there are dragons in the forest.’

  ‘No dragons,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘A few kangaroos. Possums. A colony of bats. And people. Different people.’

  ‘People like you?’

  ‘Some like me. A bit. Some different in other ways.’

  ‘I would like to meet them,’ said Ethel slowly.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ethel.

  Ma’m Alice nodded. ‘Next full moon then. That’s when we meet — at the full moon.’

  For a moment Ethel hesitated. Witches met at full moon, and werewolves bared their teeth … it didn’t take much of a leap of imagination to see Hingram as a werewolf.

  Then she
shook herself. She was being silly. Hingram was no werewolf. He was a boy, a different boy. And it made sense for the outcasts of the forest to meet at full moon when there was more light to see by.

  ‘Will I meet you here?’ she asked.

  Ma’m Alice nodded. ‘At dusk,’ she said. ‘When everyone is indoors. There’s just time for me to walk to the forest and meet my friends then come back here before the world is awake and people see me.’ She grinned in the darkness. ‘I travel fast,’ she said. ‘I have long legs. But perhaps your unicorn can keep up with me.’

  ‘Of course he can,’ declared Ethel proudly.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Ma’m Alice.

  ‘I hate darning,’ said Ethel.

  ‘But it must be done, my Lady,’ said Ma’m Margot.

  ‘Not by me,’ said Ethel.

  ‘But the Lady always mends the tapestries, my Lady.’

  ‘I am the Lady,’ said Ethel. ‘And this Lady doesn’t darn. Anyway, I’d make a mess of it.’ She glanced out the window. The sky arched like a blue glazed bowl held upside down, the breeze smelt of forest and far hills. She wanted to be outside, not stifling by the fire. ‘I’m going to inspect the defence wall,’ she said. ‘Grand Marshal Kevin said they would start to dig the foundations today.’

  Ma’m Margot looked back down at her darning. ‘I believe he has had to postpone it again, my Lady,’ she said. ‘He said something about needing more materials. He has gone to Far-marsh Castle with his men.’

  ‘But he’d just got back from getting new materials,’ said Ethel. ‘He said he needed to arrange a supply of dressed stone.’

  ‘And now perhaps he needs stonemasons, my Lady,’ said Ma’m Margot.

  ‘But …’ Ethel hesitated. Ma’m Margot was antagonistic enough about the Marshal. There was no point making it worse. And after all, there was no real hurry for the walls.

  ‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Ethel said finally. ‘After all, he was the King’s defender. He’s built defence walls all along the coast. He told me about the walls he built at the salt marshes just last night.’

  ‘Yes, my Lady,’ said Ma’m Margot, attending once more to her darning.

  Ethel wondered if she’d even listened.

  The moon rose fat and yellow, like it was a duckling stuffed full of grass ready to make its first swim across the sky. Ethel ignored the stares of the Hall workers as she crossed the hard-packed rubble courtyard. The unicorn lifted his head as she approached, his mouth full of thistle from the crevices between the stones, his coat gleaming white against the mud and rubble walls.

  Ethel rode slowly between the gates then turned the unicorn point forward to the hill. Let them stare, she thought. She was the Lady. No one had any right to question where she went, or why.

  Especially not Ma’m Margot.

  A child waved to her as she rose between the cottages, then giggled as she waved back. A girl gathering washing from the line gazed at her, curious, the men and women with their hoes nodded respectfully.

  I am the Lady, thought Ethel.

  The dusk settled as she approached the hill, pink clouds shading into grey. Ma’m Alice waited among the boulders, her head with its thick ring of plaits towering above them. ‘I saw you set out,’ she explained.

  ‘You see everything,’ said Ethel.

  Ma’m Alice laughed, a booming sound that sent the unicorn skittering. ‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘Not what goes on behind the windows or in the sheds. But I see enough. Come,’ she said. ‘We have to hurry.’

  It was strange travelling through the night, thought Ethel, watching the trees’ thin fingers brush against the moon and send the shadows dancing across the road, glancing unseen into the dim interiors of cottages, watching people sitting by the fire or carving, mending or knitting by the light of a single slush lamp on the table.

  It was even stranger to be with Ma’m Alice. What did Ma’m Alice think when she looked through cottage windows, watching the peaceful everyday life indoors? As far off to her as if she’d been — the Lady of the Unicorn, thought Ethel.

  Not that she wanted to live in one of those houses again, mend sheets by the light of a spluttering lamp — Ma’m Margot came briefly into her mind. Was she still mending by the light of the Hall candles, waiting for her Lady to return?

  Ma’m Alice turned, a solid lump against the night. ‘Not too fast for you am I?’ she asked softly.

  ‘No,’ said Ethel. The unicorn wasn’t even straining. A unicorn is hardier than a horse, thought Ethel proudly — stockier and more enduring, even if it didn’t have a horse’s speed.

  ‘Not far now,’ said Ma’m Alice.

  Ethel nodded. Somehow Ma’m Alice seemed even odder away from her hill, as though up there her size seemed normal against the massive boulders. Even her walk seemed different — not a normal walk like other people’s, but a sort of lunging hunch. Perhaps, thought Ethel suddenly, there were other things different about Ma’m Alice apart from her size.

  ‘Tired?’ asked Ma’m Alice.

  ‘No,’ said Ethel. ‘I slept this afternoon.’

  Ma’m Alice’s grin was white in the moonlight. ‘What did your people think of that?’

  ‘It’s none of their business what I do. I’m their Lady.’

  The grin grew wider. It was a big grin even in the enormous face, a little bigger than a normal grin might be. ‘I should think that made what you do even more their business,’ said Ma’m Alice.

  ‘But …’ Ethel stopped. She had been going to say the people didn’t own her. But maybe they did in a way. ‘My Lady,’ said Ma’m Margot.

  She didn’t want to be theirs. She wanted … What did she want?

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Ma’m Alice.

  The forest was a dark mass against the stars, almost purple after the pale gold of the plain. Only the odd branch broke the smooth dark line, dancing firelit against the moon. It was strange to think the forest had been there even in the olden days, too marshy for the olden-dayers to bother with clearing.

  The forest would be full of shadows, thought Ethel.

  ‘Ma’m Alice?’

  ‘Yes?’ The giant grinned again. ‘It still seems strange to hear you call me by that name.’

  ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘What were you wanting to ask?’

  ‘Will Hingram be there?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘He often is. You can never tell though.’

  ‘Will he mind my being there? Will he remember me? Does he realise I’m the one he met at your place?’

  ‘Oh, he realises that well enough. I think he’s intelligent, for all he can’t hear much or speak or see. More intelligent than you or me perhaps. How would we survive if we couldn’t see or hear, if we had to scurry on all fours from babyhood like Hingram?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ethel.

  Ma’m Alice shrugged. ‘Every time I don’t see him for a few days I worry. Maybe he’s been caught in a trap, or someone has set the dogs on him.’

  ‘But, but they wouldn’t!’ cried Ethel.

  ‘Of course they would,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘Think back to your farm life girl. What would your aunt have done if she saw a thing like Hingram out the window one dark night?’

  ‘She’d have …’ Ethel didn’t finish. ‘But she’d have been wrong!’ she said finally.

  ‘There are lots of wrongs in this world,’ said Ma’m Alice softly.

  Of course, Ma’m Alice would know, thought Ethel, and was silent.

  She could smell the forest before they reached it. Why had she never noticed the forest’s smell before? Was it stronger at night? Or did the colours of the day just blind you to the scents of night? A damp smell, a soil smell, a rotting smell — but not like garbage rotted. A scent of a thousand years of leaves soaking into swamp. A mosquito buzzed against her arm. She swatted it absent-mindedly.

  ‘We leave the track here,’ said Ma’m Alice. ‘You’d better dismount and le
ad him now. The branches can be low.’

  ‘But how do we find the way?’

  Ma’m Alice chuckled. It was a louder sound now that she no longer had to fear people hearing her. As though she could be more herself in the forest, thought Ethel. ‘I know the way,’ she said. ‘Thirty, no almost forty years I’ve come this way. You walk behind me, and keep the unicorn behind you too, or you’ll find yourself knee-deep in mud.’

  ‘How did you find the way the first time?’

  ‘I was led here,’ said Ma’m Alice, stumping through the trees. Her head was taller than the lowest branches, so she had to duck or hold them back. ‘Just as I’m leading you now.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Who was the friend?’ persisted Ethel.

  Ma’m Alice stopped. ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ethel.

  ‘His name was Justin. He was a leper.’

  A leper. For a moment Ethel started back. Perhaps Ma’m Alice was infected too. But her skin had seemed clear. Surely if she had been infected it would have shown in forty years.

  ‘No, I’m not a leper,’ said Ma’m Alice, as though she’d read her mind. ‘Leprosy isn’t particularly infectious. In fact for all I know Justin didn’t have leprosy at all. But his skin was different, marked and mottled, and these days that makes you a leper. You can read all about leprosy and skin diseases in the old books, though no one bothers. They had cures even for leprosy in the old days.

  ‘Justin found me after I’d been cast out, after I’d begun to grow and kept on growing, so that they could no longer pretend that I was normal. I had no idea how to survive in those days. I went from village to village, hoping someone would take me in …’

  There was no self pity in Ma’m Alice’s voice, thought Ethel wonderingly. Her voice was matter-of-fact.

  ‘But of course they didn’t. It was at the last village I tried. A woman gave me scraps and told me to go … but that little kindness made me hope for more. I sat on her doorstep, hoping she’d smile at me again, but she screamed at me instead and the children began to throw stones.