‘Are you sure? Is this friend trustworthy?’
‘Yes,’ said Ethel quietly.
Ma’m Margot calculated quickly. ‘It takes four hours to walk here from Coasttown. Or even less …’
‘Maybe they won’t come here …’ said Ethel hopefully. ‘Maybe they’ll stay at Coasttown or travel another road …’
‘They’ll loot Coasttown and send their loot to the ships,’ said Ma’m Margot calmly. ‘Then they’ll take the main road inland. And that leads to here. The T’manians want land. They want farms. They won’t stay in Coasttown.’
‘But … ‘Ethel faltered. There was no way around it. The T’manians would be here …
‘You are sure about this friend of yours?’ insisted Ma’m Margot.
‘Yes,’ said Ethel, for suddenly she was.
‘Then we have to hurry,’ said Ma’m Margot.
‘Yes.’ Suddenly reality hit like a fist in the face. ‘Grand Marshal Kevin,’ she said. ‘We have to tell him! He’ll know what to do, how we can defend ourselves! Thank goodness we have Grand Marshal Kevin! We must call the villagers in from the farms! They must bring everything they need to the safety of the Hall …’ She hurried from the room, Ma’m Margot behind her.
‘T’manians!’ Grand Marshal Kevin’s bright round face seemed to shrink, like an apple that had been stored too long. ‘Coming here? No, girl … I mean, my Lady. You must be mistaken. The T’manians would never come to a place like this, not after all these years, so far up the coast …’
‘I’m not wrong!’ cried Ethel. She waved the letter. ‘I arranged a lookout.’
‘You arranged a lookout? Without consulting me! That was wrong, very wrong, my Lady.’ Grand Marshal Kevin was indignant. ‘I’m in charge of the defences here. Lookouts are to be arranged then I should do the arranging. When I was in the service of King Dennis no one ever thought of …’
‘Surely that’s of no matter now,’ said Ma’m Margot quietly.
‘Yes!’ cried Ethel. ‘The T’manians will be here! We’ve got four hours to get ready! To defend ourselves!’
‘Four hours!’ stammered Grand Marshal Kevin. ‘But … but the walls aren’t finished.’
‘I don’t think they’ll wait for us to finish the walls,’ said Ma’m Margot dryly.
Ethel stared at her. Ma’m Margot had changed. No, she hadn’t changed, that was the strange thing. Just when you’d have expected her to be different, she was just the same as she had always been, organised and matter-of-fact. But this wasn’t a tally of the storerooms now. This was war!
‘No. No — of course not,’ Grand Marshal Kevin said. He seemed to take hold of himself. ‘You are right … of course you are right. We must act at once!’
Ethel let out her breath in relief. Of course Grand Marshal Kevin knew what to do.
‘Stevens, call the guard!’ announced Grand Marshal Kevin. ‘We must go at once!’
‘Go? Go where?’ cried Ethel.
‘To the Far Mountain Stronghold of course. To ask for assistance. More troops, more guards, more swords and shields!’
‘But it will take you a day’s ride to get to Far Mountain! Maybe more. The T’manians will be here by then!’
‘Lady, be sensible!’ said Grand Marshal Kevin. ‘We can’t hold off an attack ourselves! We don’t have the means! Even the walls aren’t finished.’
‘But you said …’
‘Well, never mind that now,’ said Grand Marshal Kevin hurriedly. ‘The sooner I set off, the sooner we’ll be back — with reinforcements! You can be sure that we’ll bring reinforcements — Stevens, there you are! Call the guard together. We must leave at once!’
‘But you can’t take the guard!’ cried Ethel.
‘Of course I must, Lady! There are T’manians about! I must get through to Far Mountain safely if I’m to bring help to you. In two days I promise — three at most, or four …’
‘No.’
Grand Marshal Kevin hesitated at the sound of Ethel’s voice. ‘My Lady?’
‘No, you will not take the guard. We need the guard here. They are the only ones who have ever fought the T’manians.’
Grand Marshal Kevin’s face stilled. ‘They are my guard, my Lady,’ he said quietly. ‘Not yours.’
‘They stay,’ said Ethel.
Grand Marshal Kevin smiled. Ethel had never seen Grand Marshal Kevin smile like that before. ‘Call the guard then, my Lady. Let’s see if they will stay with you, or come with me.’
Ethel glanced at Ma’m Margot. Ma’m Margot nodded, and slipped out the door. A moment later she reappeared, with the noise of many feet behind her.
Ethel gazed at the line of guards. There were five of them, tall men like the Grand Marshal, and the herald and standard bearer too. They wore swords, and tunics, and their hands were calloused in different ways from a farmer’s hands, or a tanner’s.
‘Will you explain or will I?’ she asked Grand Marshal Kevin.
‘You explain. You are the Lady,’ said Grand Marshal Kevin. His voice was polite.
Ethel watched the faces of the men. Why did it seem so normal for Ma’m Alice to look down on her, while these men made her feel so small?
There was no time to waste feeling insignificant, she told herself. She held her chin high. ‘The T’manians are invading Coasttown,’ she announced, as calmly as she could. ‘The Grand Marshal believes that the best tactics are to get reinforcements from Far Mountain. He would like you to go with him,’ she lifted her chin a fraction higher, ‘to hold his hand perhaps when it gets dark. But I’m ordering you to stay here, instead, to help with the defences here, though the Grand Marshal,’ she shot him a scornful look, ‘may go if he likes. Do you understand me?’
No one answered. The men glanced at the Grand Marshal.
The Grand Marshal smiled his strange new smile again. ‘I think you will find that my men follow where I lead,’ he answered softly. ‘I’m the Grand Marshal, my dear.’ He paused, the smile deepening. ‘I mean, my Lady.’
Ethel glanced round at the guard. None met her eyes.
‘But you gave me your word!’ cried Ethel. ‘You’ve lived here all these months, eaten our food!’
‘For which we thank you, my Lady,’ said the Grand Marshal. ‘But now it’s time to go.’
‘Did you ever intend to fight if the invaders came?’ asked Ethel quietly.
One of the men grinned. The Grand Marshal shook his head. ‘Why would T’manians come here, so far up the coast? They had small enough pickings last time. No metal — who wants to haul pumpkins to the coast? Although it seems now they have come. No girl. I’ve done enough fighting not to want more. Oh, I’d have built your walls for you, given enough time. But only a fool fights when they don’t have to.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Look girl. I won’t stay for you. But I will give you advice. Good advice. I may not have done all I said I did back in your Hall, but I have fought the T’manians before.’
We don’t want your advice! screamed Ethel’s mind. But her voice was silent.
‘My best advice — though you probably won’t take it — is for you to tell your people to take what they can, and escape now. Otherwise they’ll be killed, or kept or sold as slaves.’
‘But where should we run to!’ cried Ethel.
The Grand Marshal shrugged. ‘But if you do decide to fight,’ he continued, ‘keep your people fighting. If they start to run they’re lost. Armies need leaders. If one person runs everyone will run. But if one person leads, then … maybe … your people will, too.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Ethel quietly.
The Grand Marshal shook his head. ‘You have no weapons,’ he said. ‘No one with any experience. As I said, my best advice, my dear, is to go now, taking what you can. I’m sure Far Mountain will shelter you and Ma’m Margot, even if it doesn’t have room for the villagers.’
For the first time Grand Marshal Kevin met her eyes.
‘I’m not a villain, Lady. I’m just a man who has seen too
much fighting, just as my men have.’
‘Then why didn’t you turn farmer? Tanner? Builder?’ cried Ethel.
‘Us? Farmers!’ The Grand Marshal laughed. He was still laughing as they left the room.
Ethel watched him go.
‘Just like that,’ she whispered. ‘As soon as there’s danger he’s gone … What do we do now?’
‘We make do with what we’ve got,’ said Ma’m Margot.
It was almost as though they were back at the stocktaking — four barrels of salt fish, eighteen smoked legs of geep …
‘Sound the bells,’ said Ethel quietly. ‘Call in the villagers. Call everyone together in the forecourt. You’re right. We must make do with what we’ve got.’
The forecourt was full — men in shepherd’s aprons jostled with men in tanning leathers; women in farmer’s skirts next to cooks and silversmiths. Ethel watched them helplessly. She had never felt younger, never felt more alone. What was the use of being able to ride a unicorn now? Did it make her a better leader? Did it tell her how to harness villagers into a fighting force to repel the T’manians?
Ethel felt the unicorn’s damp nose against her arm. It gave her confidence. She was the Lady of the Unicorn. She must know what to do! She vaulted quietly onto his back. At least up here she could see and be seen.
‘Villagers, farmers, people of the Hall …’ Her voice shook. To her surprise the courtyard was suddenly silent, the faces, round as plates along the sideboard, looking up at her.
‘The T’manians are coming!’ Fool, she told herself — they know that, that’s why they’re here. ‘We have two choices. We can fight, or we can run.
‘If we run, we leave everything — our harvest, our land, our homes. And even then the T’manians may catch up with us and make us slaves, or worse.’
‘There’s nothing worse,’ said a voice.
‘Oh yes, there is,’ said someone else.
Ethel ignored them. Somehow now she had started to speak it was easy to keep on, as though she was no longer Ethel, as though for the first time she was the Lady of the Unicorn. She could feel the power seep into her — the power of their expectations, the power of their love. Even if it was for the Lady and not for her, it was still there.
‘This is OUR land!’ For the first time her voice rang clear. ‘Let anyone who wants to leave, leave it now! Now! While there’s still time — perhaps — to run!’
Ethel looked slowly around.
No one moved.
‘Then we will fight!’ she said.
‘But … but how … ‘the voice was bewildered, not antagonistic. Somehow it broke the tension. Ethel grinned.
‘With our hoes and rakes and kitchen knives — with everything we have!’
‘But they have spears and shields.’ Again the voice was only questioning, as though of course the Lady would know the answer.
And somehow the answer came. From books? From stories that she’d heard? Or because she was the Lady. The unicorn shuffled slightly. Ethel held him still. ‘They have their spears,’ said Ethel. ‘But we have something else. We love this land. We have to fight for it. They don’t.
‘And we have something else. We know our own villages. We know every track and tree. And that’s what we’ll use to defeat the T’manians!’
‘What about Grand Marshal Kevin?’ came another voice from the back of the crowd. ‘Where is he? Where are the guards?’
Ethel gritted her teeth. ‘The Grand Marshal has …’ she stopped. She couldn’t say that the Grand Marshal had fled, announcing the case was hopeless. But she had to say something. They were waiting …
‘The Grand Marshal has gone to get reinforcements,’ came a voice behind her. ‘He’ll be back when he can.’ Ethel stared. It was the youngest of the Grand Marshal guard’s, the one who had brought the message from Ma’m Alice, Tor Underhill. ‘Till he returns,’ he turned to Ethel. ‘I’ll help the Lady organise our defences here.’
Tears stung Ethel’s eyes. We have three hours to get ready,’ she said instead. ‘Maybe four.’
The crowd was quiet as she spoke.
The water clock dripped slowly in the courtyard. A cart creaked in through the gateway and then another, piled high with blankets, pumpkins, beds, sacks of seed and sheaves of hay — everything that could be gathered in was piled around the courtyard, with Ma’m Margot still with her tally book, accounting for it all.
‘Weapons,’ demanded Ethel.
Tor Underhill nodded. ‘I’ll see to it, my Lady. It’s best that everyone uses the ones they know. A soldier can use a sword because he’s been trained to them for years. But a farmer knows the balance of her hoe or rake. And the blacksmith knows the feel of hammers …’
‘Tor?’
‘Yes, my Lady?’
‘Why didn’t you leave with the others?’
Tor shrugged. ‘I had to choose,’ he said. ‘Either be loyal to you, or to the Grand Marshal. I met the Grand Marshal only six months before we came here, my Lady. I had no reason to be loyal to him.’
‘And you had to me?’
Tor nodded. ‘I was brought up around here, my Lady. My family has always followed the Lady of the Unicorn.’
‘Oh,’ said Ethel. ‘Have you ever fought the T’manians, Tor?’
‘No, my Lady. But I’ve listened to the other guards’ stories. And the Grand Marshal taught me sword craft. I can drill troops, my Lady.’
Ethel gazed out at the crowded courtyard again. ‘If only there was some other way to defend ourselves.’
‘If this was a castle,’ said Tor slowly, ‘we could pour boiling oil down on the invaders. Or rocks …’
‘But this land is flat.’ Ethel shook her head. ‘If only there was some way to trap them before they got to the Hall, some way to …’ Suddenly she stopped. ‘Tor!’
‘Yes, my Lady.’
‘I’ve had an idea. Maybe it’s a silly idea.’
‘No idea is silly now, my Lady,’ said Tor seriously.
‘Maybe …’ said Ethel slowly. ‘Just maybe … it will work …’
The clock in the courtyard dripped down onto the rocks. The moisture seeped into the crevices, feeding the watercress and swamp dock that grew below the clock.
Two hours. Three hours. Four.
‘Any sign?’ demanded Ethel.
‘No, my Lady,’ said Ma’m Margot calmly.
‘The lookouts?’
‘In place up on the roof, my Lady.’
‘The hay?’
‘Pul the Shepherd says it’s scattered, my Lady.’
‘The barricades?’
Ma’m Margot nodded. ‘Everything we could lay our hands on, my Lady. It’s all piled up before the Hall. Tor is drilling.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘Drilling the troops out front.’
The Lady’s troops, thought Ethel. Farmers and bakers and geepherds, with hoes and rakes and sticks …
The barricades would keep no one out — only the Grand Marshal’s walls might have done that. But they would at least provide shelter against the spears till the T’manians drew close.
Suddenly Ethel’s mind was blank. There had to be more that they could do. But she couldn’t think. She had to think, thought Ethel desperately. She had to make decisions for her people.
‘Then get everyone together,’ said Ethel’s voice, the Lady’s voice. ‘In lines behind the barricade.’
They waited outside the Hall behind the piled up firewood and furniture and carts. The sun beat down, shadowless.
‘Send the children in for water,’ ordered Ethel. ‘Tell them to bring buckets and cups so everyone can drink. Bring water for the unicorn too.’ The unicorn snorted beside her. The activity had upset him. He tossed his head restlessly. His tail flicked, though the day was still too cool for flies.
Four hours, Ma’m Margot had said. It took a man four hours to walk from Coasttown to the Hall. But these men would be moving swiftly, hoping to arrive before the alarm went out, before fleeing Coasttowners brought their message t
o the Hall.
‘Five hours,’ muttered Ethel. ‘It’s been five hours since we had word.’
‘Then they’ll be here soon,’ said Ma’m Margot calmly beside her.
‘Ma’m Margot …’whispered Ethel.
‘Yes?’ answered Ma’m Margot.
‘Nothing. It’s just … it’s just I wish the Grand Marshal were here … Or not the Grand Marshal — someone who really knew how to lead …’
‘You’re managing, pet,’ said Ma’m Margot. ‘I mean, my Lady.’
‘That’s the first time you’ve called me “my Lady” since the message came,’ said Ethel irrelevantly.
Ma’m Margot grinned. A lock of hair had slipped from her headdress, rusty against her indoors face. ‘Maybe I had to keep reminding myself that you really were the Lady before. But you’re the Lady now well enough. You’re doing fine, pet. You’re doing fine.’
Suddenly down the road a dark grey plume of smoke twisted towards the sky. A farm roof set on fire, thought Ethel. The T’manians were nearly at the village.
Someone muttered fearfully behind her. The whispers rose and fell along the lines — ‘They’re here, they’re here, they’re here …’
‘They’re here, my Lady,’ said Tor unnecessarily.
‘Send the children into the Hall,’ ordered Ethel. ‘Joel Blacksmith, tell them to fetch the oil.’
‘Yes, my Lady,’ said Joel Blacksmith.
Then she saw them.
They were far away still, just past the hills between the Hall and the coast. Like earwigs thought Ethel, not like people yet at all. The sun glinted on their spears, the metal garlands round their necks and arms. It was like something in a book, thought Ethel. It was all just the same as everyone described, except here it was real.
It didn’t feel real. It felt as though you could turn the page and it would all be over. If only she could just turn the page and skip this bit. Or put the book away and say, ‘I don’t want to read this anymore.’
But this was real.
Could she hear them? Surely not at this distance — and yet she could. The muffled thump of many feet, the jangle of armour. But no voices. That was the most ominous aspect. The silence. There was too much silence. As though the birds too knew there would be a battle, as though even the animals had retreated.
The Book of Horses and Unicorns Page 24