“There is something strange about this. Even if he was raised in your house, he was only a stable boy, hardly a companion of yours. And they say that the old ones have never given up their struggle to drive us from this land. Perhaps there is some spell attached to it. Pearls are for grief, they say.”
“I don’t believe you,” Guinevere insisted. “Caet only sent me this to remember him by. It is beautiful and I will wear it, if Arthur agrees.”
“Arthur would agree to anything you say just now,” Sidra sniffed.
“I don’t remember Caet well,” Arthur said when she showed him her present. “I only was with him on the trip we took with Mark. He didn’t say much then. But he was with us when we saw the vision of the Holy Mother. She wouldn’t reveal herself to anyone evil. I see no reason why Guinevere should not wear it.”
The day finally came when they set out for London. It was late autumn again, with bone-chilling rains and thick mud. But everyone was well wrapped, and the route had been planned to require only a few hours’ travel every day, with stops at various villas and small towns. The company would be excellent, for people from all over the entire country were slowly converging upon London. As Arthur and Guinevere’s caravan approached the town, the roads became crowded with people of all classes. This marriage was an event to tell one’s grandchildren about and no one was going to miss it.
Geraldus and old Plotinus lumbered along, both draped in dozens of blankets. The singers flitted beside them, still clad only in their thin robes despite the raw weather. He confided to Guinevere that they had been practicing an epithalamium in her honor, and he only hoped it would be better by the day of the wedding.
“I simply can’t manage the tenors,” he mourned. “They never would listen to me.”
Gawain was so muffled up that only his nose was visible, but he was cheerful, too.
“Arthur has promised me that on the day of your marriage, he will make me a knight of the Round Table,” he gloated.
“What is that?” Geraldus wanted to know.
“Oh, something he has invented. I’m not too sure of it, myself, but he assures me it is something very important. He was most impressive when he told me about it. I am greatly honored. Are you sure we will only be traveling until early afternoon? I’m freezing.”
“Probably not even that long, if this weather continues.” Geraldus shivered.
Before they left Cador, Guinevere had gone down to the beach for one last meeting with her unicorn.
“You have neglected me recently,” he chided her.
“I know. I am sorry. There was so much to do, so many people demanding my time that I couldn’t get away to you. But after this wedding is over, I will have time again. Won’t you come with me to London? Then, as soon as all the people are gone, we can have a lovely walk.”
“A wedding?” his eyes whirled in thought. “I do not know this word, but it frightens me. What is it?”
“It is nothing bad. It only means that I will have a husband and I will be a wife. It doesn’t matter, though. I will still love you as I always have.”
He shook his mane and salt water splashed across her face. “I do not know what is wrong. I am very tired and I feel that something important is about to happen to me. I cannot understand it, but I see myself in a small garden surrounded by walls. It is very cold and everything in the garden has died. Do you think that it is London?”
“I don’t know. I have never been there. You are very cold now.” She drew away from him, puzzled.
They were silent while the world spun them closer to their fate. At last the unicorn spoke again.
“I think I will see you in London.”
She didn’t notice the grief and exhaustion in his words, and so she left him with a light heart, certain that she would soon be with him again.
The last few days before the ceremony were a blur to Guinevere. Much later, she was to remember a bewildering crush of people everywhere she went, all trying to say something to her. Some of them had such strange accents that she could barely understand them. Guenlian seemed to know everyone and was always greeting someone with a cry of joy and insisting that they be introduced to Guinevere. Arthur was always busy with these strange people too, and barely saw her. Even at dinner, he was kept busy talking to someone far down the table from them. He was aware of it, at least, and promised her in a husky whisper that it would soon be over and he would never leave her again. She hoped so.
The day itself was awesome in its pageantry. The only thing that stood out in her mind before the actual ceremony was Gawain wishing her happiness and in the next breath crying out: “Oh no! Mother has come. I never thought she would be here.”
Guinevere followed his pointing finger and saw a middle-aged lady, rather plump and dressed much too gaudily. She was not the siren Guinevere had expected. With her was a boy of twelve or so. He was very striking. His skin was so pale that it was almost a translucent blue and his hair was a mop of red as bright as Arthur’s once must have been.
“Gracious,” she commented. “Is that one of your brothers?”
“Oh yes, that’s Modred. He’s the youngest. I haven’t seen the others but they must be about. I’ve often wondered about his father. He’s as odd-looking as I am.”
But Guinevere at that moment passed on to other wellwishers and soon forgot about her sister-in-law to be.
In order to provide as much entertainment as possible, a long processional started the proceedings, and then various speeches and sermons ensued. But at the heart of it there was a brief moment when Arthur and Guinevere stood alone upon the dais, and suddenly the crowded church was soundless. The candles sparkled in the winter mist around their heads and more than one person wondered if he ought to kneel before them.
Guenlian had a sharp pang as she watched. She felt as if Guinevere were about to go through a door into a world where she couldn’t follow. She wanted to call her baby back, to stop everything and rush her home in her arms, safe and protected forever. She was ashamed to find that she was crying.
Guinevere gazed down into the hundreds of faces. Each one held an individual secret for her and she wondered what they were thinking about all this. Far on the edge she noticed one man towering over the others. She caught his eye and he smiled encouragingly, gesturing to show that he had brought Mark and Alswytha with him, as promised. Then the priest muttered something and Guinevere faced Arthur. He slid a ring on her finger and repeated the priest’s words, and then she recited what she had been taught. Then she was looking into Arthur’s eyes and he was kissing her. There was wild cheering, which was ineffectually hushed by the priest, and she was somehow conveyed out into the streets where even more people cheered and called out blessings on her. Through all the tumult, Guinevere suddenly heard singing. It was the most beautiful music she had ever heard, full of hope and joy and certainty. She looked around and around for the source and finally saw that it was Geraldus. He was directing his chorus, which was floating above his head. He had a seraphic smile on his face, and for once the whole chorus was standing together and singing in tune, for her. Nothing that had happened so far had affected Guinevere so much.
“Thank you all,” she whispered, sure that they would hear her. “The angels must envy such music.” At this they all smiled from ear to ear without missing a note. Their voices remained with her until the procession reached the home where she and Arthur would spend the night.
They were left at the door, with speeches and laughter. Then everyone went away to leave them to themselves, and to finish their own celebrating.
Arthur led Guinevere up a narrow staircase to a beautiful room. The floors and walls were covered with warm hangings and carpets. There was a small fire in the brazier and a supper had been left for them. The bed was covered with fine linen and furs and her night dress lay on top.
Guinevere took her husband’s hand and smiled at him. They were both suddenly very shy. It occurred to Arthur that this was the first time since he had met her that he and Guinevere had really been alone. He was seized by sudden panic. What if he held her too tightly and she broke in his arms? She was like a clear porcelain to his touch. It would be so easy to harm her.
“Shall we eat?” she asked politely.
She seated herself at the small table and began dishing out the meat and gravy. “I don’t know what the custom is for men, but they wouldn’t let me have anything to eat or drink today and I’m starving. Do you want some?”
He forced himself to sit across from her and choke down some food. It had grown dark by the time they had finished. Guinevere was looking nervously at her nightdress. For a few minutes she drew designs in the gravy remaining in her bowl. Finally, she set down her spoon, stood, and walked around the table to Arthur. She gulped once or twice and fumbled with the catch on her belt as he watched stupidly.
“It’s not that I don’t know about this,” she explained, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. “Mother finally told me yesterday and of course, Risa . . . It’s just that I’m rather unsure about it. Don’t you think we could just talk for a few days until we feel more comfortable?”
Understanding was dawning in Arthur’s eyes. “Oh, Guinevere! I’m sorry. I didn’t think of how you might feel. I wouldn’t hurt you, truly. You know how much I love you.”
“Oh yes,” she answered eagerly. “And I do want to be your wife. It’s only . . . not quite so. . . . I’m just . . .”
She trailed off.
“My beautiful, precious Guinevere. I promise that after tonight I won’t even touch your hand until you tell me I may . . . but, tonight. . . . The marriage must be consummated tonight or everyone will know it wasn’t, or worse yet, believe you are . . .”
“Must!” she cried, “But why? What difference does it make? I thought you understood!”
“I do!” He felt horrible, almost sick. “But we have to. They will come for the sheets in the morning.”
“They will what? But that’s barbaric!”
“No, it isn’t. It’s an old Roman custom. I thought you knew.”
Guinevere sat back down. “No, no one told me about that. Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are. Well,” she took a deep breath. “If there is nothing else to be done, I might as well start learning how to be your wife now.”
With a swift, determined movement, she unpinned her blue surcoat and laid it carefully across the clothes chest. She then took off her shoes and began unpinning her shift. She paused as Arthur watched, dumbfounded, and then she blew out the lamp. By the light of the brazier, she finished undressing.
When he realized what she was doing, Arthur quickly removed his formal garments, too. He was glad that she couldn’t see him clearly in the dark. He was terrified that she would find him repulsive.
When he had finished, he stood still in the middle of the room, not sure what to do. Then a voice called from the bed.
“Arthur, you will freeze out there. Don’t you want to lie here with me?” said a pathetic little voice. “I’m rather nervous, Arthur. Please be careful.”
“Oh, I will be,” he vowed. “I could never hurt you.”
He slid into the bed beside her and tried to touch her gently. But she was so frightened and his desire and inexperience were so great that he hurt her very much. She screamed once and then bit her lip, horrified that someone might have overheard.
In the end, though, it was he who cried in shame and sorrow and she who comforted him with caresses.
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t know what to do. Never mind. I will learn. We have time. I intend to be your wife for many years.”
But he could not be comforted and only clung to her, murmuring apologies until he fell asleep.
When she was sure that he was not going to waken, she slipped from his grasp and got up. She washed herself carefully and put on the nightdress, which had fallen to the floor. She didn’t want to return to bed immediately. Quietly, she wandered about the room, stopping at last at the tiny window. It had no glass, but wooden shutters. She opened them a crack.
The moon shone down on a small walled garden. The plants were all brown and bedraggled from the winter rains and the tiny fruit trees were bare. In the middle of it stood her unicorn.
“I didn’t feel you there!” she said in surprise.
“I know,” he replied, his voice thick with resignation. “The time has come.”
“What do you mean?” A chill swept over her as she remembered Rhianna’s bitter cry, “He won’t stay for me. Only a virgin can tame a unicorn!”
“But you are my unicorn!” she sobbed. “It can’t matter that I am no longer a maid.”
He gazed up at her with pleading eyes. “I am your unicorn. You are my Guinevere. That will always be. But the time has come for a new unicorn to be born.”
“Then take me with you!” she pleaded. She stretched her arms down to him.
“That is not the way. I have told you this before. I have only come to say farewell to you and to let you know that the memory of you will be forever in the mind of the unicorn kind. All who come after me will dream of finding someone like you. Please do not cry for me. We could not be together now as we were before and I would be so lonely without you. This is not the world I was meant to stay in. Let me go now to search for my place.”
She could not answer but she held out her hands to him. He reached his head up and she felt his hot breath against her fingers. Then she turned away and knew he was leaving. She felt a vibration within her body as of music played so high that it cannot be heard by human ears. It grew until she could no longer bear it and then she felt a shattering of something in her heart, like crystal smashing on a stone.
She must have wept for a long time, for the moon had moved when she looked up again. She felt drained of more than tears. Something in her life was gone and she blindly groped for something to replace it. Her eyes fell on Arthur.
Asleep, he was much younger-looking than his twenty-eight years. His hair fell over his forehead and he was snoring gently. Guinevere studied him for some time.
“There is something very dear about him,” she decided at last. “I think I could learn to love him very much.”