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“I wish you’d come up in the forest and have a look at the trap,” said Ethelbert. “I want to make sure I got it right.”

“I’m sure it’s a fine trap, and I want to see it,” said Elmer. The dream of catching a unicorn ran through the drab fabric of the lives of the father and son like a golden thread.

Both knew there were no unicorns in England. But they’d agreed to madness—to live as though there were unicorns around; as though Ethelbert were going to catch one any day; as though the scrawny family would soon be stuffing itself with meat, selling the precious horn for a fortune, living happily ever after.

“You’ve been saying you’d come and see it for a year,” said Ethelbert.

“I’ve been busy,” said Elmer. He didn’t want to inspect the trap, to see it for what it really was—a handful of twigs over a scratch in the ground, magnified into a great engine of hope by the boy’s imagination. Elmer wanted to go on thinking of it as big and promising, too. There was no hope anywhere else.

Elmer kissed his son’s hands, and sniffed the mingled smells of flesh and earth. “I’ll come see it soon,” he said.

“And I’d have enough left over from them horse drapes to make drawers for you and little Ethelbert,” said Ivy, still enchanted. “Wouldn’t you two be the ones, though, with blue drawers all shot through with them little gold crosses?”

“Ivy,” said Elmer patiently, “I wish you’d get it through your head—Robert really is horrible. He isn’t going to give you the drapes off his horse. He never gave anybody anything.”

“I guess I can dream if I want to,” said Ivy. “I guess that’s a woman’s privilege.”

“Dream of what?” said Elmer.

“If you do a good job, he just might give me the drapes off his horse after they’re all wore out,” said Ivy. “And maybe, if you collect so many taxes they can’t hardly believe it, maybe they’ll invite us to the castle sometimes.” She walked about the hut coquettishly, holding the hem of an imaginary train above the dirt floor. “Bon joor, monsoor, madame,” she said. “I trust your lordship and ladyship ain’t poorly.”

“Is that the best dream you’ve got?” said Elmer, shocked.

“And they’d give you some distinguished name like Elmer the Bloody or Elmer the Mad,” said Ivy, “and you and me and Ethelbert would ride to church on Sundays, all spruced up, and if some old serf talked to us snotty, we’d haul off and—”

“Ivy!” cried Elmer. “We are serfs.”

Ivy tapped her foot and rocked her head from side to side. “Ain’t Robert the Horrible just gave us the opportunity to improve ourselves?” she said.

“To be as bad as he is?” said Elmer. “That’s an improvement?”

Ivy sat down at the table, and put her feet up on it. “If a body gets stuck in the ruling classes through no fault of their own,” she said, “they got to rule or have folks just lose all respect for government.” She scratched herself daintily. “Folks got to be governed.”

“To their sorrow,” said Elmer.

“Folks got to be protected,” said Ivy, “and armor and castles don’t come cheap.”

Elmer rubbed his eyes. “Ivy, would you tell me what it is we’re being protected from that’s so much worse than what we’ve got?” he said. “I’d like to have a look at it, and then make up my own mind about what scares me most.”

Ivy wasn’t listening to him. She was thrilling to the approach of hoofbeats. Robert the Horrible and his entourage passed on their way back to the castle, and the hut trembled with might and glory.

Ivy ran to the door and threw it open.

Elmer and Ethelbert bowed their heads.

There were shouts of happy surprise from the Normans.

“Hien!”

“Regardez!”

“Donnez la chasse, mes braves!”

The Normans’ horses reared, wheeled, and galloped into the forest.

“What’s the good news?” said Elmer. “Did they squash something?”

“They seen a deer!” said Ivy. “They’re all taking out after it, with Robert the Horrible in front.” She put her hand over her heart. “Ain’t he the sportsman, though?”

“Ain’t he, though,” said Elmer. “May God make his right arm strong.” He looked to Ethelbert for an answering sardonic smile.