“Come now, little master.” Rimbaud looked up. He had been sitting on the stone step of the church, hands dangling between his thighs, head bowed. The beadle had slipped up on him unawares. “Why so sad? It’s a beautiful day. You should be out romping in the fields with the other boys.”

“It’s my unicorn, sir.” Rimbaud reached over and stroked his unicorn’s pure white flanks. “He’s sick.”

“Is he now?” The beadle stared down at the unicorn with concern. Its horn was a pure uniform gold, resplendent in the morning sunlight, its hoofs burnished silver. It was no taller than the boy himself, a small unicorn by any standard, but lay there listlessly, apathetic, its eyes a dull, muddy shade of green. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve tried feeding him raspberries and currants and mint jelly but he hardly eats at all.” Rimbaud massaged the unicorn behind its ears, something that always caused Ty’shen to roll his head in pleasure and nuzzle Rimbaud’s hand. But now there was no response, no spark at all in Ty’shen’s eyes. “He won’t drink as he should, not even from the head of the spring down in Ballyhoo where the water is pure and crystalline.”

“Hmnn. This won’t do. Won’t do at all.” The beadle rocked back and forth on his heels. He rumpled the great mane of hair on his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “I have it! You must go and see the Queen.”

“The Queen!” Rimbaud’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “I couldn’t do that.”

“But you must! The Queen, the Queen, the Queen, you must go and see the Queen.”

“How am I to do that?” Rimbaud protested. “I know no one in the Queen’s household.”

“How?” The beadle looked quite dumbfounded at this question. It seemed not to have occurred to him that there would be any problem in going to see the Queen. “Why, you’ll simply march on up to the castle, cross over the moat, knock on the gate thusly,” the beadle rapped his knuckles twice against his forehead , “and, when the door is opened, ask to see the Queen. What could be simpler than that?”

“I’m not certain that would work,” Rimbaud said, though he spoke reluctantly for he himself wished to believe that it would be that simple.

“Of course it will work,” the beadle exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t it? The Queen is probably staring out the window of the highest tower right this very minute wondering where the boy Rimbaud and his beautiful white unicorn are. Wondering why he has not yet come and graced her court with his presence, with his warm smile and his bright blue eyes.”

“Do you really think so?” Rimbaud said, imaging the Queen in just such an attitude as the beadle portrayed her.

“I haven’t a doubt in the world.” The beadle paused. He looked back over one shoulder then turned and looked back over the other. “Not a doubt. But you must hurry. You mustn’t keep the Queen waiting. She is a Sovereign who insists that things be done at once. Always at once. She would like their being done before that if it were at all possible. But, at the very latest, always at once. When you are ushered into her presence you must remember that.” The beadle nodded his head wisely.

“And she’ll be able to help my unicorn?” Rimbaud was on his feet, ready to leave immediately. “You’re certain?”

“Why,” the beadle was quite astonished at this question, “she’s the Queen, isn’t she?”

Rimbaud leaned down over Ty’shen, whispered in the unicorn’s ear. Ty’shen rose to his feet reluctantly, hoofs and horn flashing brilliantly in the sunlight. “I can’t thank you enough, beadle,” Rimbaud said. “I don’t know what I should have done if you hadn’t spoken to me. It hurts so badly to see Ty’shen sick. But the Queen will make everything right again. Just like you said.”

“It was nothing, my boy. Nothing at all.” The beadle laced his hands across the ample girth of his belly. “Anyone would have told you the same. And you needn’t worry. She’s a good Queen. A noble Queen. She’ll know just what to do.” Rimbaud hurried down the walk, pushed through the gate and started down the road, Ty’shen trailing behind him. “Good luck, my boy,” the beadle called after him. “God speed. And tell the Queen her loyal subject, the beadle Damien, sends his regards. She’ll be happy to hear that, I’ll warrant.” Rimbaud waved once over his shoulder and then he and the unicorn passed over a rise in the road and on out of sight.

Rimbaud knocked twice on the huge wooden gate and then waited. He kept glancing back over his shoulder at the moat they had just crossed, a deep, black pit filled with stagnant water. A slick of algae lay over the surface but beneath it, Rimbaud knew, lurked some terrible creature with scales and long, sinuous arms.

“What do you think, Ty’shen?” he asked the unicorn. “Will anyone come to the gate? Perhaps there is some secrete code, a sign we must know in order to be admitted.” Ty’shen pawed the earth and shook his head. He was prepared to wait, no matter how long it took, and therefore so to was Rimbaud,

Rimbaud heard the sound of keys jangling followed by a voice raised in irritation.

“I don’t know why it always falls to me. Why I should be the one always to answer the door. I have quite enough to do as it is. I haven’t time to loaf about and make up riddles and rhymes. Unlike some others whom I shall forbear mentioning.”

The door swung open on its immense iron hinges. A tall man in a beautiful coat of crimson velvet stood there looking down at them. He wore matching breches of crimson and his boots were so highly polished that Rimbaud blinked and looked away from them. “Yes, what is it?” he asked.

“If you please, sir,” Rimbaud summoned his courage.” “We’re here to speak with the Queen.”

“Of course you are. I can see that for myself, you know. A boy and a unicorn, why else would you be here. Unless you’re a magician or a sorcerer. Or part of a troop of traveling musicians perhaps, in gaudy rags, with breathes reeking of garlic and holes in your shoes?”

“Nothing so exotic as that, I’m afraid,” Rimbaud said solemnly. “You see my unicorn is sick and I don’t know how to make him better again.”

“Ah, that is another matter. A sick unicorn bears looking into.” The man leaned down to peer at the two of them. “Well, you’re not so scruffy as I first thought. So, you wish to see the Queen, do you?”

“For the sake of my unicorn, sir. We’ve come such a very long way to see her. I’m certain she’ll be able to help.”

“What have you dragged in with you now, herald?” a loud voice accosted them. “Something covered with grime and dust and sweat, no doubt.” A short, squat figure hurried over to examine Rimbaud. He was hardly taller than Rimbaud himself but it was obvious that he was an adult and not a boy. He wore curious shoes that were long and tapered and curled up at the ends. And a ridiculous cap on his head that was blue and purple and red and green and sported tassels and bells. “A boy and his unicorn, well this is different. Or is it a unicorn and his boy. I’m never quite certain of the order of precedence. A most handsome unicorn indeed though I’d venture to say, not well. And the boy less handsome, less pleasing, though I think well enough of him for the sake of the unicorn. Why are you not kneeling, young scamp, to see so august a presence as myself?”

“Who are you?” Rimbaud asked, taken aback by the dwarf’s odd manner and his curious words.

“Some say that I am the Queen’s fool,” the dwarf answered. “Others that I am nobody’s fool. And still others,” the fool’s eyes twinkled and danced, “that I am both fool and knave. They do me too much honor, these last. For though I am sometimes a fool and sometimes a knave I am not both fool and knave at one and the same time. Pirrichio at your service.” The fool extended his hand. Rimbaud reached out to take it and the fool pulled his hand away again. “You are no taller than I am, you know. That is a highly suspicious circumstance. You haven’t come to replace me as the Queen’s fool, have you?”

“Oh, no,” Rimbaud assured him. “Nothing of the sort. I am here because of my unicorn.”

“Why I used the very same ruse myself when first I applied to be a member of the Queen’s court. My unicorn was not so handsome as yours, it is true. And, as he was no more than a figment I had fashioned out of thin air, there were those who said he did not exist at all. But I was able to pretend with great success. I had him prance and cavort, even had him sit upon the Queen’s lap. And whenever I need my unicorn, why I simply rely on my hands, my wit and my imagination and there he is again.” Pirruchio snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“I shouldn’t care for that,” Rimbaud admitted. “I am altogether too fond of my unicorn. I shouldn’t like for him to appear and disappear all at a moments whim.” Ty’shen Rimbaud’s hand and Rimbaud stroked him behind the ears.

“Enough of your tomfoolery, Pirruchio. I must instruct the boy on how he is to conduct himself before the Queen. As herald, I will announce you and call out your title, Duke, Baron, Earl or whatever. The Queen will indicate her assent by nodding and I will then thump my staff two times. Only then will you enter the room.”

“Herald?” Rimbaud interrupted.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Suppose that I have no title?”

The herald stared at him. “But everyone has a title. Everyone who is anyone. Surely you have some minor title that you use. Barrister or Warden of the Two Towers? Keeper of Codicils or Lord High Commissioner of Tariffs and Excises?’

Rimbaud shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I am only Rimbaud. Or perhaps, Rimbaud the boy.”

“No, no, no.” The herald shook his head with a worried frown. “That won’t do. Haven’t you anything? An uncle who’s an Earl, a cousin who was Countess?”

“No, nothing,” Rimbaud said, his voice very small and apologetic.

“What is a title but words,” the fool intervened. “A grandiloquent charade, a preening of feathers. Well then, let us bestow a title of our own choosing. Something worthy of the occasion.” Pirruchio tapped Rimbaud lightly upon each shoulder. “By the authority vested in me, I dub you Rimbaud, Potentate of Ballyhoo, Protector of Ermine and Unicorns. Who could object to that?”

“That might suffice,” the herald conceded. “It might do very well indeed. Potentate. I believe that conveys the necessary flourish. So it is then. Rimbaud, Potentate of Ballyhoo, Protector of Ermine and Unicorns. We have only to deal with the matter of your entrance then. You might perform the salaam as you are but a boy and not acquainted with the intricacies of court ritual. But this may seem too abbreviated and brusque. It may convey exactly the wrong impression and thus alienate the Queen. The kowtow really would be more suited to one of your station. It establishes just the right mood and makes everything easier and more pleasant. Kowtow or salaam?” The herald’s brow furrowed with the intensity of his indecision. “The obeisance is essential to establishing the Queen’s goodwill.”

“Please? Obeisance? I don’t know what this is,” Rimbaud said.

“Not know? Why it is a manner of showing deference, of exalting the royal presence.” Rimbaud’s expression remained blank. “A ritual of respect, of power and supplication.” Rimbaud could only shake his head. The herald sighed. “Let us say that it is a matter of good manners then. Will that suffice?”

Rimbaud nodded vigorously. Manners he understood. Manners were very important.

“Good. So, here is what you will do. Bow from the waist thusly, a deep, sweeping bow that encompasses grace and humility. Not too quickly but again not too slow. A measured pace, like that of a cat cleaning its paws. The right palm is pressed against the forehead, so. The bow is held to the count of five and then one returns to a standing position.”

“Is that what you called the kowtow?” Rimbaud asked.

“By no means,” the herald replied.

“Kowtow, indeed.” The fool held a finger up into the air . “Why the very idea. You’ve come all this way and you’re still hardly here. It’s shocking, it’s scandalous all this and much more. One would think with good reason you’d never been at court before.”

“But I haven’t been at court before,” Rimbaud stated, abashed. “Never once.”

“Didn’t I just say as much.” The fool doffed his cap, performed a low, elaborate bow, exactly as the herald had described. “There, you see. It’s as simple as that.”

The herald peered down at Rimbaud. “This really won’t do, you know. You can’t be presented at court and not know the difference between a salaam and the kowtow. I should be soundly scolded for permitting it and rightly so. The Queen would be scandalized if she were to find out”

The fool danced over toward Rimbaud once again. He shook a rattle in Rimbaud’s face in a scolding fashion. “The Queen would be slighted and highly upset, the Queen would most certainly be in a pet. Her Majesty’s bloodlines go back fifty years, Her Majesty has no equals or peers. She rules as she pleases and does as she would, whatever she wishes and not what she should. Remember she’s Queen, you’re you and that’s that, forget at your peril, forget where you’re at.”

“I fail to see how you could have come all this way, have traveled so far, and still know so little of life,” the herald sniffed.

“I am only ten years old,” Rimbaud replied, feeling that he must apologize for his age. “Perhaps I will know more when I grow older.”

“Why that’s no excuse,” the herald exclaimed. “I was ten once myself, you know.” Rimbaud looked up at the tall figure of the herald with his bristling gray brows and his bristling gray moustache. He found it hard to believe that the herald was once a young boy such as himself. “Already I had learned the salaam and the kowtow. Already I had drunk tea with lemon and feasted on hot buttered scones. And when I was twelve, I was given a beautiful velvet coat and a staff made of wood with which to rap people on the knuckles.”

Rimbaud had never tasted tea with lemon and had only the vaguest idea what a scone might be. He had never owned a velvet coat. But it wasn’t true what the herald had said, about his not knowing anything. Rimbaud knew a great deal for a boy his age. More than most, in fact. It was just a different kind of knowledge.

“I can hoe a garden and plant the seeds in even rows,” he said. “I can water the tender green shoots and tend to the pumpkins and corn. My tomatoes are the best and the biggest, the ripest and the reddest in all of the south shire.” Surely this was a greater thing than mere tea and scones.

“Well,” the herald seemed to consider this. “Perhaps I spoke too hastily. I did not mean to imply that you are not a worthy young man. The reddest tomatoes, you say? A noble endeavor indeed, deserving of high praise.”

“Well then, herald, shall you take him to see the Queen?” the fool demanded. “Or shall I be forced to do it myself. I often fancied that our roles had somehow been reversed. That I would make a most proper herald. And you, of course, a very proper fool.”

“Indeed!” The herald drew himself up to a great height, stared down at the fool haughtily. “Come along, young Rimbaud. Folow me. I intended all along that you should speak to the Queen.” The herald picked up his staff, led Rimbaud and his unicorn down an immensely long hallway of marble and stone. Enormous mirrors were mounted upon the walls and overhead were great chandeliers of crystal and glass that caught and reflected the light. It was a dazzling display of magnificence and extravagance and caused Rimbaud to be deeply conscious of his own insignificance. He seemed lost amongst so much splendor, reduced almost to nothingness. If not for the fact that his unicorn needed him, he would have turned and fled.

The herald stopped before two huge wooden doors covered with gilt.

“Now, remember what I told you,” he addressed Rimbaud. “Good manners. Speak clearly, concisely and with purpose. Don’t presume too much yet don’t hold yourself of too little account. Make the most of your time. And never, never use the word that when what you really mean is which.”

Rimbaud nodded, his head spinning. He was trying desperately to remember everything the herald had told him, every detail. That which he should do and that which he shouldn’t, and hoping that he didn’t somehow confuse the two.

The herald threw open the doors, strode into the room with his staff held out in front of him and his shoulders back. “Your most august and beneficent Majesty,” he intoned. “ Ruler of the seven realms, highest and mightiest, calm, wise, just and temperate, brightest star in all the firmament, serene and stately . . .” The list of accolades continued for several minutes more only one of which, ‘modest’, stood out amongst the others. Then, “I present Rimbaud, Potentate of Ballyhoo, Protector of Ermine and Unicorns.” The herald thumped his staff twice upon the floor.

Rimbaud entered the hall. He was so nervous that he hardly knew what he was doing. He performed the bow, the salaam, with a fair degree of success. Then he looked up at the throne. He could see hardly anything at all of the Queen herself. Instead his attention was focused on billowing folds of purple mantle trimmed with an elaborate ruff of ermine fur. Over that a heavy gold crown bearing rubies and emeralds and sapphires that filled the room with dazzling light and color. And somewhere within, and beneath, all that, the Queen.

“Majesty, I would not have disturbed you,” Rimbaud stammered, “would not have wished to disturb you, if not for my unicorn. He is sick, you see, and I thought, I was hoping, I would be grateful if there was anything you could do to help him.” There was a long moment of silence and Rimbaud hoped that he had not said something to offend the Queen.

“Step closer, Rimbaud of Ballyhoo,” the Queen said at last. “Here, down by my throne. That I might look at you both.” The Queen’s voice was strong, distinct yet even tempered and sweet to the ears. Rimbaud and T approached the throne together, Rimbaud’s hand resting upon the unicorn’s back. Up close the Queen seemed warmer and not so intimidating, a small woman with pale skin and eyes as blue as Rimbaud’s own.

“And what is your unicorn’s name?” she asked.

“He is Ty’shen, your Majesty. Ty’shen of Ballyho. We have been friends, companions, since I was a very young boy. Almost as far back as I can remember.”

“There are so few unicorns these days,” the Queen lamented. “Not at all as it was in the past. Then, unicorns roamed freely out over the moor. They wandered wherever they chose and no one coveted the gold of their horns. But that was many, many years ago.”

“I would not boast, Majesty. Not for my own sake, I wouldn’t. But I believe Ty’shen to be the finest of all unicorns, the most beautiful, even of those you spoke of, that once roamed the moor.”

The Queen smiled. “Of course you do. No one will deny that he is a most handsome unicorn. Well, let us see if I am as well versed in the lore of unicorns as common report has it. Ty’shen.” The Queen gestured for the unicorn to come to her. Ty’shen hesitated for the barest of instants. Then he mounted the dais, lay his head in the Queen’s lap quite as if it belonged there. The Queen ran her hands over Ty’shen’s head and neck, over his withers and along his flanks. She bent down over him and whispered into the unicorn’s ear.

“I see,” she said. “Yes, yes. And then?” Royalty had always possessed the gift of communicating with unicorns, though how and by what means remained a mystery. “That was most unwise of you. Most unwise. Though not, I fear, without precedent. No, it most definitely was not the first time. But take heed! The consequences might well have been more severe. You should account yourself lucky.” The Queen shook her head, tugged playfully at the unicorn’s ear. “I wouldn’t have it so for the world. That I might do so, that I have that authority, that is another matter. Come, up with you now. Enough. Your bad stomach and your bad conscience are sufficient for me. And, I trust, for you as well.”

The unicorn bounded down the steps from the throne, rushed over and licked Rimbaud’s palm joyfully. Already his eyes had regained some of their old fire, the green an equal match to the emeralds in the Queen’s crown.

“Why, he’s better already,” Rimbaud exclaimed. “I can hardly believe it. I heard so many good things about your Majesty and now I see that all of them are true.”

The Queen smiled. “Not all of them, surely. “But I take what you say in good kind and shall rename you Rimbaud the courtier, for you possess the silken tongue.”

“What sickness was this, Majesty? And is it truly cured?”

“Your unicorn, it seems,” the Queen’s manner became momentarily severe, “has been grazing in the Royal Orchard, down in Ballyhoo.”

Rimbaud’s jaw fell open. “I’m sure he meant no harm, Majesty,” he hastened to apologize.

“As your unicorn relates it, he was chasing a blue and silver butterfly, the most beautiful he had ever seen. And as it disappeared over the wall and into the Orchard he had no choice but to follow it. Once inside of course he found the plums and the pears and the peaches too fragrant and too tempting to resist. Thus, a bad stomach and a bad conscience. Though he did avoid the griffins who guard the Orchard and for that, I think, we can all be grateful.”

Rimbaud shuddered. “He shan’t do it again, Majesty. I promise. It was a mistake. And I’ve seen the same butterfly myself. Truly, it is a thing of great beauty.”

“Undoubtedly,” the Queen said dryly. “A wise unicorn will learn from its mistakes. Let us trust that this one is wise. One thing I am certain that he has learned – what a true friend he has in yourself. Someone who cares for him and will endure hardship for him and be there in a time of need. Such friendships are not easy to come by. They are not to be jeopardized for matters of little moment.” The Queen stood up and now the full regal presence and authority were once again on display.

“Go in peace, Rimbaud of Ballyhoo. And account yourself fortunate. Our mercy will not be so forthcoming nor so generous if we hear of this happening again.”

Rimbaud executed a hasty bow and hurried out of the room with Ty’shen. Queens were great and wise and altogether special but they were not to be trifled with nor their dictates ignored.

Rimbaud decided that he must warn the beadle as well. For no one was so fond of slipping into the Royal Orchard and grabbing a sack full of peaches as was he.

End