_Twelve Old Men Without Magic_
Now few things pass by a village and leave no talk behind them. Nor did
this unicorn. For the three that saw it going by in the starlight
immediately told their families, and many of these ran from their houses
to tell the good news to others, for all strange news was accounted good
in Erl, because of the talk that it made; and talk was held to be
needful when work was over to pass the evenings away. So they talked
long of the unicorn.
And, after a day or two, in the forge of Narl the parliament of Erl was
met again, seated by mugs of mead, discussing the unicorn. And some
rejoiced and said that Orion was magic, because unicorns were of magic
stock and came from beyond our fields.
"Therefore," said one, "he has been to lands of which it does not become
us to speak, and is magic, as all things are which dwell over there."
And some agreed and held that their plans had come to fruition.
But others said that the beast went by in the starlight, if beast it
were, and who could say it was a unicorn? And one said that in the
starlight it was hard to see it at all, and another said unicorns were
hard to recognize. And then they began to discuss the size and shape of
these beasts, and all the known legends that told of them, and came no
nearer to agreeing together whether or not their lord had hunted a
unicorn. Till at last Narl seeing that they would not thus come by the
truth, and deeming it necessary that the fact should be established one
way or the other forever, rose up and told them that the time had come
for the vote. So by a method they had of casting shells of various
colours into a horn that was passed from man to man, they voted about
the unicorn as Narl had commanded. And a hush fell, and Narl counted.
And it was seen to have been established by vote that there had been no
unicorn.
Sorrowfully then that parliament of Erl saw that their plans to have a
magic lord had failed; they were all old men, and the hope that they had
had for so long being gone they turned less easily to newer plans than
they had to the plan that they made so long ago. What should they do
now, they said? How come by magic? What could they do that the world
should remember Erl? Twelve old men without magic. They sat there over
their mead, and it could not lighten their sadness.
But Orion was away with his hounds near that great inlet of Elfland
where it lay as it were at high tide, touching the very grass of the
fields we know. He went there at evening when the horns blew clear to
guide him, and waited there all quiet at the edge of those fields for
the unicorns to steal across the border. For he hunted stags no more.
And as he went over those fields in the late afternoon folk working on
the farms would greet him cheerily; but when still he went eastwards
they spoke to him less and less, till at last when he neared the border
and still kept on they looked his way no more, but left him and his
hounds to their own devices.
And by the time the sun set he would be standing quiet by a hedge that
ran right down into the frontier of twilight, with his hounds all
gathered close in under the hedge, with his eye on them all lest one of
them dared to move. And the pigeons would come home to trees of the
fields we know, and twittering starlings; and the elfin horns would
blow, clear silver magical music thrilling the chilled air, and all the
colours of clouds would go suddenly changing; it was then in the failing
light, in the darkening of colours, that Orion would watch for a dim
white shape stepping out of the border of twilight. And this evening
just as he hushed a hound with his hand, just as all our fields went
dim, there slipped a great white unicorn out of the border, still
munching lilies such as never grew in any fields of ours. He came, a
whiteness on perfectly silent feet, four or five yards into the fields
we know, and stood there still as moonlight, and listened and listened
and listened. Orion never moved, and he kept his hounds silent by some
power he had or by some wisdom of theirs. And in five minutes the
unicorn made a step or two forward, and began to crop the long sweet
earthly grasses. And as soon as he moved there came others through the
deep blue border of twilight, and all at once there were five of them
feeding there. And still Orion stood with his hounds and waited.
Little by little the unicorns moved further away from the border, lured
further and further into the fields we know by the deep rich earthly
grasses, on which all five of them browsed in the silent evening. If a
dog barked, even if a late cock crew, up went all their ears at once
and they stood watchful, not trusting anything in the fields of men, or
venturing into them far.
But at last the one that had come first through the twilight got so far
from his magical home that Orion was able to run between him and the
frontier, and his hounds came behind him. And then had Orion been toying
with the chase, then had he hunted but for an idle whim, and not for
that deep love of the huntsman's craft that only huntsmen know, then had
he lost everything: for his hounds would have chased the nearest
unicorns, and they would have been in a moment across the frontier and
lost, and if the hounds had followed they would have been lost too, and
all that day's work would have gone for nothing. But Orion led his
hounds to chase the furthest, watching all the while to see if any hound
would try to pursue the others; and only one began to, but Orion's whip
was ready. And so he cut his quarry off from its home, and his hounds
for the second time were in full cry after a unicorn.
As soon as the unicorn heard the feet of the hounds, and saw with one
flash of his eye that he could not get to his enchanted home, he shot
forward with a sudden spring of his limbs and went like an arrow over
the fields we know. When he came to hedges he did not seem to gather his
limbs to leap but seemed to glide over them with motionless muscles,
galloping again when he touched the grass once more.
In that first rush the hounds drew far ahead of Orion, and this enabled
him to head the unicorn off whenever it tried to turn to the magical
land; and at such turnings he came near his hounds again. And the third
time that Orion turned the unicorn it galloped straight away, and so
continued over the fields of men. The cry of the hounds went through the
calm of the evening like a long ripple across a sleeping lake following
the unseen way of some strange diver. In that straight gallop the
unicorn gained so much on the hounds that soon Orion only saw him far
off, a white spot moving along a slope in the gloaming. Then it reached
the top of a valley and passed from view. But that strong queer scent
that led the hounds like a song remained clear on the grass, and they
never checked or faltered except for a moment at streams. Even there
their ranging noses picked up the magical scent before Orion came up to
give them his aid.
And as the hunt went on the daylight faded away, till the sky was all
prepared for the coming of stars. And one or two stars appeared, and a
mist came up from streams and spread all white over fields, till they
could not have seen the unicorn if he had been close before them. The
very trees seemed sleeping. They passed by little houses, lonely,
sheltered by elms; shut off by high hedges of yew from those that roamed
the fields; houses that Orion had never seen or known till the chance
course of this unicorn brought him suddenly past their doors. Dogs
barked as they passed, and continued barking long, for that magical
scent on the air and the rush and the voice of the pack told them
something strange was afoot; and at first they barked because they would
have shared in what was afoot, and afterwards to warn their masters
about the strangeness. They barked long through the evening.
And once, as they passed a little house in a cluster of old thorns, a
door suddenly opened, and a woman stood gazing to see them go by: she
could have seen no more than grey shapes, but Orion in the moment as he
passed saw all the glow of the house, and the yellow light streaming out
into the cold. The merry warmth cheered him, and he would have rested
awhile in that little oasis of man in the lonely fields, but the hounds
went on and he followed; and those in the houses heard their cry go past
like the sound of a trumpet whose echoes go fading away amongst the
furthest hills.
A fox heard them coming, and stood quite still and listened: at first he
was puzzled. Then he caught the scent of the unicorn, and all was clear
to him, for he knew by the magic flavour that it was something coming
from Elfland.
But when sheep caught the scent they were terrified, and ran all huddled
together until they could run no more.
Cattle leaped up from their sleep, gazed dreamily, and wondered; but the
unicorn went through them and away, as some rose-scented breeze that has
strayed from valley gardens into the streets of a city slips through the
noisy traffic and is gone.
Soon all the stars were looking on those quiet fields through which the
hunt went with its exultation, a line of vehement life cleaving through
sleep and silence. And now the unicorn, far out of sight though he was,
no longer gained a little at every hedge. For at first he lost no more
pace at any hedge than a bird loses passing clear of a cloud, while the
great hounds struggled through what gaps they could find, or lay on
their sides and wriggled between the stems of the bushes. But now he
gathered his strength with more effort at every hedge, and sometimes hit
the top of the hedge and stumbled. He was galloping slower too; for this
was a journey such as no unicorn made through the deep calm of Elfland.
And something told the tired hounds they were drawing nearer. And a new
joy entered their voices.
They crossed a few more black hedges, and then there loomed before them
the dark of a wood. When the unicorn entered the wood the voices of the
hounds were clear in his ears. A pair of foxes saw him going slowly, and
they ran along beside him to see what would befall the magic creature
coming weary to them from Elfland. One on each side they ran, keeping
his slow pace and watching him, and they had no fear of the hounds
though they heard their cry, for they knew that nothing that followed
that magical scent would turn aside after any earthly thing. So he went
labouring through the wood, and the foxes watched him curiously all the
way.
The hounds entered the wood and the great oaks rang with the sound of
them, and Orion followed with an enduring speed that he may have got
from our fields or that may have come to him over the border from
Elfland. The dark of the wood was intense but he followed his hounds'
cry, and they did not need to see with that wonderful scent to guide
them. They never wavered as they followed that scent, but went on
through gloaming and starlight. It was not like any hunt of fox or stag;
for another fox will cross the line of a fox, or a stag may pass through
a herd of stags and hinds; even a flock of sheep will bewilder hounds by
crossing the line they follow; but this unicorn was the only magical
thing in all our fields that night, and his scent lay unmistakable over
the earthly grass, a burning pungent flavour of enchantment among the
things of every day. They hunted him clear through the wood and down to
a valley, the two foxes keeping with him and watching still: he picked
his feet carefully as he went down the hill, as though his weight hurt
them while he descended the slope, yet his pace was as fast as that of
the hounds going down: then he went a little way along the trough of the
valley, turning to his left as soon as he came down the hill, but the
hounds gained on him then and he turned for the opposite slope. And then
his weariness could be concealed no longer, the thing that all wild
creatures conceal to the last; he toiled over every step as though his
legs dragged his body heavily. Orion saw him from the opposite slope.
And when the unicorn got to the top the hounds were close behind him, so
that he suddenly whipped round his great single horn and stood before
them threatening. Then the hounds bayed about him, but the horn waved
and bowed with such swift grace that no hound got a grip; they knew
death when they saw it, and eager though they were to fasten upon him
they leaped back from that flashing horn. Then Orion came up with his
bow, but he would not shoot, perhaps because it was hard to put an arrow
safely past his pack of hounds, perhaps because of a feeling such as we
have to-day, and which is no new thing among us, that it was unfair to
the unicorn. Instead he drew an old sword that he was wearing, and
advanced through his hounds and engaged that deadly horn. And the
unicorn arched his neck, and the horn flashed at Orion; and, weary
though the unicorn was, yet a mighty force remained in that muscular
neck to drive the blow that he aimed, and Orion barely parried. He
thrust at the unicorn's throat, but the great horn tossed the sword
aside from its aim and again lunged at Orion. Again he parried with the
whole weight of his arm, and had but an inch to spare. He thrust again
at the throat, and the unicorn parried the sword-thrust almost
contemptuously. Again and again the unicorn aimed fair at Orion's heart;
the huge white beast stepped forward pressing Orion back. That graceful
bowing neck, with its white arch of hard muscle driving the deadly horn,
was wearying Orion's arm. Once more he thrust and failed; he saw the
unicorn's eye flash wickedly in the starlight, he saw all white before
him the fearful arch of its neck, he knew he could turn aside its heavy
blows no more; and then a hound got a grip in front of the right
shoulder. No moments passed before many another hound leaped on to the
unicorn, each with a chosen grip, for all that they looked like a rabble
rolling and heaving by chance. Orion thrust no more, for many hounds all
at once were between him and his enemy's throat. Awful groans came from
the unicorn, such sounds as are not heard in the fields we know; and
then there was no sound but the deep growl of the hounds that roared
over the wonderful carcase as they wallowed in fabulous blood.