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Gotesdene and its surrounding environs
were very different to the Suburbs I decided as I walked along the long
and winding road. There was none of the obsessive order and neatness
that characterises the Suburbs. Rather, the fields on either
side were a quilted hodgepodge of crops with goats, oxen and other animals
working on the land: pulling
ploughs, walking around in circles to grind grain in primitive mills,
gathering crops in their teeth and throwing the produce into the back of
carts. On several occasions, I had to step off the brick road into dried
mud to allow an oxen-pulled wagon to ponderously lumber by. The
After two
or three miles of walking through this rural scenery with my feet getting
increasingly sore, I at last arrived at a village. There was no doubt
that this was the village of Gotesdene, as just outside the fence
barricading it was a painted board supported by two wooden posts which
welcomed me to the village and requested me to drive carefully. Large
ornate metal gates broke the monotony of fencing, featuring the crest of a
rampant goat and ox, and supported by two pillars crowned by
identical statues of rampant elephants bearing arms.
Initially,
I thought there might be some kind of toll required to enter the village
as in front of the gates was a family of goats kneeling down by a wooden
platter. They bleated at me piteously in a dialect I couldn’t understand
at all, but I soon inferred that they were begging for alms: a practice long
discontinued in the Suburbs. I pulled out a groat from my trouser pocket
which I threw into the platter, believing this to be the absolute minimum
that I could decently give. I wasn’t at all prepared for the effusiveness with
which the goat incomprehensibly expressed his gratitude. Although I
could distinguish the occasional English word, I speculated that he was
speaking a totally different language altogether.
I pushed
open the gate, which creaked noisily as it resisted me, and ventured in.
The village comprised a wide space of open land around which there were
numerous wood and mud hovels, and was traversed by a dirt track from which
the slightest breeze blew up clouds of dust. Goats, oxen and others
wandered listlessly amongst the scattered waste and detritus. In the
centre of the patch of common land there were a stocks, a gallows and
a tall gaily coloured pole from which dangled multicoloured strands. There
were also some tall oak trees and a tall stone cross.
A
collection of market stalls was gathered at one end of the common. As I
hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I decided to look for a stall selling
convenience food, such as a hamburger or a pizza. As I approached, I saw
that there was little likelihood of buying a microwaved pizza, a
deep-fried chicken or even chips. The stalls mostly sold agricultural
implements, live chickens and vegetables. Many of these products flowed
off the stalls and onto the ground, where decaying wicker baskets
protected them from the dust and dirt. One stall was conducting
a profitable trade in hay, around which gathered a crowd of
acquisitive ungulates.
I
understood very little of the stall-holders’ cries, but I assumed that
they were referring to their produce and how much a pound of this or an
ounce of that would cost. I soon observed that the cost of living here was
substantially lower than that in the Suburbs. Very little cost less than
a florin or half crown in the Suburbs, whilst most goods in
the Gotesdene market were selling for under a penny. This explained
the gratitude the beggar at the gate had shown for a groat. I thought I
might have a problem finding a stall furnished with sufficient change for
the smallest denomination coin I had on me.
I bought a
pound of apples for a farthing from a vegetable stall and had to resort to
gestures to express what I wanted. I carried the apples loose in my
pockets - as like other buyers I was clearly expected to have brought my
own basket to the market - together with innumerable ha’pennies and
farthings of change. While biting into a small acidic apple, I found
myself being addressed by a voice which despite a rustic accent I was at last
able to understand.
“You don’t
speak Anglo-Saxon, I presume?” asked a relatively small white elephant
standing upright, in very colourful silk clothes swathed by a long red
cloak secured by a large brooch beneath the chin.
“No, I
don’t,” I admitted through a mouthful of apple. “Is that what’s spoken
here?” I was surprised to find an elephant addressing me: especially by a
white one, who I had heard was very rare. I had never spoken to an
elephant, white or otherwise, before. He flapped his large ears using
his trunk to pull his cloak together at the front. He had two
quite short tusks, which nevertheless looked too dangerous to
approach too closely.
“Ay, that
is what they speak hereabouts,” the White Elephant said. “Gotesdene is a
very old-fashioned place. You, as an outsider, must find it
extraordinarily undeveloped.”
“It’s very
different from the Suburbs.”
“Very
antiquated,” the White Elephant continued. “But it is the village for
which I have the honour to serve as mayor. And as so, I feel it to be my duty
to take this underdeveloped little community, however reluctantly, into
the modern age. You sophisticated Suburbanites probably can’t imagine that
villages like ours still exist: no running water, no electricity and mains
gas, no metalled roads, no supermarket or video rental store. But I
shall ensure that Gotesdene will very soon be as modern a village
as any other in the realm. The centuries have passed Gotesdene by for
far too long. I pledge that every home shall have fibreglass cabling, hot
and cold running water and a roof. The roads shall have sensory speed
detectors, traffic lights and tar macadam. Gotesdene shall be abreast of
the world, with television, videophones and computer networking. You
probably find it amazing to discover a place so lacking in the basics
of modern life.”
“I didn’t
expect to find life in Gotesdene so
very different,” I admitted.
The White
Elephant swung his trunk around dramatically, while prudent villagers kept
their distance from its range. “Gotesdene has probably not changed in 1500
years. It is a fossil yet to make the transition into the modern era.
Almost everyone in the village and the surrounding countryside live off
the land, and as they are unable to afford to pay taxes to Her
Maphrodite’s government, they provide work in kind to me, the Lord of this
Manor. This work provides the surplus wealth - agricultural wealth I admit
- which I sell to pay taxes. It’s an arrangement by which we all work
together. But I am resolved that Gotesdene shall diversify. Move into microchip
manufacture, network services, aerospace and more.
“But great
effort is needed to persuade the City to assist. I know that City
financiers and banks are reluctant to invest their capital where there is
so little infrastructure, where so few people have the necessary
technological and management skills and expertise, and where
communications are limited to the speed of an ox-drawn carriage. But this
is just City prejudice. Understandable, perhaps, given the
vast contrast of culture, but I am convinced that the
low-wage opportunities here will eventually persuade the City
institutions otherwise.
“I have my
own wealth, inherited from centuries of White Elephants here in Gotesdene,
and mostly invested in property throughout the realm. I admit it is at
least partly my ancestors’ fault that Gotesdene has remained so primitive,
by repeatedly opposing any modern developments in or around
the village, but the base stupidity of the peasant is to blame
as well.” He snorted dismissively, which through a trunk as long
as his came out almost as a trumpet call. “Look at them!” he
said, waving his trunk about at the villagers, many wearing very ragged
clothes secured precariously by cord. “You’d never see such a mean crowd of
scum in the Suburbs, would you?”
I shook my head.
It is unlikely that a single one of the villagers could stay for very long
in the Suburbs before being arrested on charges of vagrancy.
“White
Elephants such as I have held the estates here from time immemorial,” he
continued. “In that time, we have become increasingly sophisticated. Connoisseurs of art, captains of industry, members of
parliament. It is people such as I who have
selflessly guided and directed the culture in the nation for the good
of the peasant, whose rôle is to support our exalted projects. The long and
grand tradition of my family has given communities like this the
continuity and stability that it needs. It is only now that it is
necessary to force the pace. Make of Gotesdene what it has to be.”
“What plans
do you have?”
“I have such
plans. Such great plans! I will build factories, power stations, mines and
motorways. The primitive waste of this land, dedicated only to inefficient
and outmoded methods of agriculture, will be transformed into a landscape
of concrete and steel. Tower blocks will replace the mud-huts. Airport
runways will crisscross the open fields. A giant shopping mall will
be built where this market now stands. I have a vision of
industrial estates, tower blocks, factories, flyovers and television
aerials! All I need is the investment from the City.”
“Do you
work in business yourself?”
“I own many
companies in the City and abroad. I own a hotel, a chain of restaurants,
several factories and shares in shipping, insurance and defence. But while
Her Maphrodite’s government dithers and flounders, I will never get the
planning permission I need to modernise Gotesdene. Perhaps after
the General Election there will be more decisiveness and
direction. And then Gotesdene will no longer be dismissed as a primitive Anglo-Saxon
theme park, but will be recognised as a modern, thriving community!”
The White
Elephant shook his large ears and I followed him as he strode away from
the market through the dusty streets, past obsequious peasants to the
stone cross in the common land. We sheltered under the shade of the
massive overwhelming oak trees whose bark was protected from vandalism by
vicious spikes forced into the trunk. The cross was
exquisitely ornate depicting an elephant heroically brandishing a sword
in his trunk.
“So, young
man, what finds you in our village so far from the Suburbs?” the White
Elephant asked.
I told him
of my quest for the Truth.
“I believe
I should be flattered by the notion that the Truth abides in Gotesdene,”
laughed the White Elephant. “I know that many have admired the village,
but you are the first to come this way on such a quest. But mayhap in a
community such as this, unpolluted by the vices and vagaries of modern
irreligious heresy, the Truth you are looking for may indeed be found.”
“The Truth
is here! What is it?” I asked enthusiastically.
“The Truth
is balance and order. It is respect for the Lord and the world that He has
graciously created for us. And that essential Truth is manifest in the
elements of Earth, Fire, Air and Water. It is these to which the universe
is essentially reducible.” The White Elephant waved his trunk around
at the village. “Everything here is composed of these Four Elements, myself included. They govern the World physically and
spiritually, proportioned by the mystical qualities of numbers. Numbers
are the Universe’s abstract foundations. The smaller the
Number, the more potent. The number One is the Universe and all in
it. Two is the manifest division between the Spiritual and the Material.
Three is the Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Three is
also the number of times which something need be said to be known as
the Truth. And Four is the number of the Elements.
“From the
Four Elements are derived the Four Humours which govern the Soul of each
individual. Just as a person is the physical union of matter, energy,
water and oxygen so his Soul is governed by different proportions of the
Spiritual Qualities of these Elements. There are, in addition, the Five
Senses, the thrice Six which is the Number of the Beast, the Seven Sins,
the Twelve Houses of the Heavens and the Twenty-Four Hours of
the Day. All in its natural and God-given place in the
Universe.
“The Truth
is but the balance and order in which God has invested the Universe, and
it is the Duty of all to ensure that this balance is undisturbed by
proboscidean, artiodactyl nor human endeavour. Nothing hastens more the
Chaos and Destruction of the End than the rejection and perversion of the
Natural Order by which the Truth is made manifest.”
“How is the
Truth perverted?” I wondered.
“In many ways. By the practice of
perversions that transgress the Natural Order such as Sodomy, Heresy and
Witchcraft. These must be suppressed with extreme prejudice, or, as surely
as Three is the Number of the Lord, the Natural
Order will unravel, power will be wrested by foreign despots, laws will be
disregarded, monsters will yet again roam the Earth and the Heavens will
open!
“The good
people of Gotesdene strive hard to keep Satan at bay,” continued the White
Elephant indicating the stocks and the gallows with a wave of his trunk.
“Here is where transgressors are purged of their sins. And if the Soul is
to be purged from the Body to achieve its Salvation, then that is a
sacrifice worth making. Gotesdene has a long and proud tradition of
suppressing Witchcraft and I speak proudly when I say that no Witch who
is accused is ever found other than guilty and punished
accordingly. Does this not compare well with the pusillanimity of
Justice elsewhere which so frequently permits Witches to wander
free spreading their vice, perversion, magic and heterodoxy?”
“How are
Witches punished?” I wondered, looking nervously at the scaffold.
“Not all
Witches are hanged,” the White Elephant sighed. “For many it is felt that
there is opportunity for redemption, and if it be that their confessions of
guilt are sufficiently sincere and detailed they may suffer only a
whipping or the stocks. This is especially so if they are young and
pretty, because if the exterior is fair then the interior cannot all be
rotten. But occasionally a Witch will join the Homosexual, the Murderer
or the Heretic on the platform with the noose around the neck.
These occasions are a public event, where all can learn from seeing
the ignominious end others come to and will reflect on their
own transgressions. This is not, I believe, how Justice is
conducted in the Suburbs?”
“No,” I
admitted. “It’s a much more complicated procedure - and many of the things
you mention are not illegal at all!”
“When the
Day of Judgement comes,” the White Elephant bellowed, ”it will surely
visit the most ills on those who treat the Natural Order with not so much
contempt as indifference. Much as I admire the progress and order of the
Suburbs, there are many features I find alarming. These are so much in
conflict with the Truth that I marvel not that you should feel the need
to leave the Suburbs to seek the Truth elsewhere. All are
treated equally in the Suburbs: Women as equals with Men, the Poor
as with the Rich, and the Believer as with the Unbeliever. How can
this be right? When God created the Natural Order, He didn’t do
so only that places such as the Suburbs and the City should
disregard it and substitute a New Order of their own invention. When Progress
and Modernity are established in Gotesdene, it will not be to subvert the
Natural Order, but to reinforce it.”
“However,”
continued the White Elephant reflectively, “the Suburbs have but little
sin and vice when compared to the City, where I have been many times and
have been many times appalled. From the virtue and decency of the
“No, not
once,” I admitted.
“Perhaps,
then, there is hope for you yet,” snorted the White Elephant. “In the
City, there is no likelihood that you will ever find the Truth for which
you quest. Indeed, there is complete absence of the Truth. The City is a
Hell of fast-moving traffic on many-laned motorways; buildings that scrape the
very roof of the sky; frantic and hectic activity; ceaseless noise and
light. In all directions the City spreads out, enclosing pockets of green,
whereas Gotesdene is a village enclosed by countless green acres. There is
nothing but concrete and steel; petrol fumes and neon lights; people
coming and people going. Not, as in Gotesdene, merely being: they
restlessly move from one place to another. And so many
of them!”
“The City
is very big, is it?”
“It is
tall. It is wide. It houses many millions. It is the economic, financial,
political, social and cultural capital of this land, and also the nation’s
whorehouse, bordello and opium den. It is also very expensive. In
Gotesdene, the possessor of a guinea is a rich man. He has enough to live
for a long time on one single guinea, which composes two hundred and
fifty-two pennies! A fortune! That is over a thousand farthings! In
the City, a guinea is but what a farthing is here. Perhaps less!
But despite the expense and the hideous environment and the
loathsome depravity, despite all this, many millions choose to live in
and amongst its garbage and degeneracy.”
“You don’t
recommend that I ever visit the City?”
“No. Not if
you value your Soul!” the White Elephant said emphatically. “In the City,
there is all the depravity and decline which will surely hasten the Day of
Judgment. The City is like a cancer infesting this land. The City congests
its inhabitants into smaller and less congenial spaces, spreads pollution
into the air, the street, the water supply and the ether, exhausting
the atmosphere, the soil, the reservoir and the power station.
Worse than its physical despoliation, is its spiritual barrenness and
pollution. It spreads prostitution, pornography, atheism, sexual
perversity and a cult of instant gratification. And this is what is most
despicable in the City and what it represents. Gotesdene will not be so corrupted as it pursues the path of Progress that I
have planned for it. It will forever remain a bastion of virtue, faith
and, yea, the Truth!”
The White
Elephant paused in his tirade and looked about him at the village. His
great claims for it did not seem particularly well illustrated by the
general atmosphere of poverty and decay. A peasant was urinating against a
tree. Several goats were plaintively bleating for alms around a
pottery saucer. One goat had both rear legs missing and one eye. The ground was
dusty and barren, dotted occasionally by piles of ox dung and attendant
flies.
“I have
much business to which I must attend,” the White Elephant announced. “I shall
leave you now. But I hope that as you stay here you will reflect on all
that I have said and focus anew your quest for the Truth.”
With that
he bade me farewell, and walked away from the village green, his cloak
raising a cloud of dust behind him, responding with a gracious wave of his
trunk to the obsequies of the villagers who stood
aside for him.
A passing
goat was selling meat pies which looked quite unappetising, but my hunger
resolved that I off-load some of the farthings I had accumulated for a pie that
was fortunately cool enough for me to eat with my fingers. I sat down at the
base of the stone cross with my feet resting in dried mud and decomposing
faeces. I passively observed the bustle of the village, still slightly
nauseated by the dirt and decay.
While
chewing on a particularly unforgiving piece of unidentifiable meat, I noticed
some men and women wearing unsophisticated flaxen clothes roughly push a woman
towards the common. They headed towards the stocks, shouting and jeering at the
woman as they proceeded. She was punched and kicked and some of her clothes had
been ripped off. She seemed resigned to her misfortune and didn’t struggle, but
from the evidence of the bruises on her face and her bare arms and shoulders,
she’d probably lost all the resistance she’d ever had. The stocks were opened,
her head, hands and legs were pushed through, and then they were clamped shut.
She sat in a very undignified position, with only the
dusty ground on which to rest her bottom. The men forcing her in secured the
stocks with a peg through the hole by the side.
Her
punishment wasn’t over then, as the group of men and women continued jeering at
her, and threw earth and moist cow-pats at her. One or two children even threw
stones - one catching her on the cheek and immediately opened a bloody gash. An
ox passing by did a very good trade in the fruit he was selling, which judging
from the messy way it splattered as it hit her was less than fresh and firm. I
had never seen justice dispensed like this in the Suburbs, where punishment was
generally either monetary or concealed in penal institutions. I felt uneasy
about the unbridled enthusiasm with which this rough justice was dealt.
“Poor
girl!” commented a voice next to me. “Even if she is a witch, I’m certain she
doesn’t deserve what she’s getting.”
I turned my
head away from the action to look straight into the eyes of a horse. At least,
I initially thought it was a horse, judging from his muzzle, but he had a
graceful white body with delicate cloven feet, a long sinuous tail and a single
golden horn rising from his forehead. After encountering so many singular
individuals today, encountering a Unicorn didn’t appear so strange. But I’d
always believed that Unicorns no longer existed.
This
Unicorn was by no means extinct. He shook his golden mane and whinnied
slightly. “It may be she is a witch. But if she is, there’s not a great deal to
show of her sorcery. I’d always thought she was more a veterinary surgeon, from
the evidence of her care for pets and farm workers, but the good people of
Gotesdene have clearly judged her guilty. Not that I’m at all sure what’s wrong
with witchcraft, despite the fact that in my several millennia I’ve not seen
much to convince me that it ever actually works. Still, she’s lucky in a way!
If you’d been here a few days ago, you’d have seen the still decaying corpse of
another convicted witch hanging from the gallows.”
“How dreadful!” I exclaimed. “What happened
to her?”
“Well,
eventually the maggots, or whatever it is that eats decaying bodies, had
loosened her neck sufficiently so that it snapped. Then her head fell off where
it cracked open and rolled towards the oak trees. Her body just dropped down in
a heap where the dogs straightaway pounced on her rancid flesh. It wasn’t a pleasant
sight!”
“I’m sure
it wasn’t,” I agreed, still in awe of the Unicorn whose long tail gracefully
looped round and with great accuracy snapped like a whipcord
at the many flies showing interest in his rump. “Why don’t people in Gotesdene
like witches?”
“To say I
don’t know would be a lie. I’ve lived too long and in too many communities not
to understand how people everywhere feel the need to find victims in their
midst. Communists, Homosexuals, Jews, Cats, Pakistanis, Goats, Cockatrices, -
they’ve all been victimised at one time or another. I suppose I should consider
myself rather lucky that unicorns have never really been disliked by anyone.
People in Gotesdene are very set in their ways, and anyone whose behaviour or
attitude seems a bit odd or unusual means that they will almost certainly be
accused of Sodomy or Witchcraft. And sometimes both at the
same time. Which I suppose is just about feasible.
“But I make
a point of coming to Gotesdene every now and then. I’m very popular with the
villagers. There just doesn’t seem to be anything that I can’t do as far as
they’re concerned. They probably think I can vault tall buildings or stop
speeding express trains. They certainly believe I can do wonders for impotence
and gonorrhoea. Absolute nonsense, of course. But it’s
probably not so unusual to find someone like me in a place like Gotesdene. What
is bizarre is that someone like you should be. Are you from the City?”
“No. The
Suburbs,” I admitted. “Indeed, I’ve never even visited the City!”
“Really,
that does seem curious to me! But
then I’ve never been to the Suburbs, although I’ve been to the City many times.
Very many times. It’s changed so much over the
centuries: you wouldn’t believe! I recall when it wasn’t any bigger than
Gotesdene here. In fact, I can remember when the modern-day Gotesdene villagers
would seem positive sophisticates. In those days, people used to think I could
cure them of laryngitis, leprosy or haemophilia just by touching them with my horn.
It didn’t matter how many people I’d touch with my horn who
didn’t get in the slightest bit better, my reputation didn’t suffer at all.
Often tales of the medical achievements I’d made without the slightest recourse
to surgery or antibiotics preceded me and I was well fêted wherever I went. In
a way, those were good days, but I like to keep a lower profile nowadays. I
don’t like the way some people think they might solve the mystery as to how
I’ve achieved so many miracles by dissecting me. I’d rather remain a mystery
and alive.”
The Unicorn
shook his head sadly and blew agitatedly through his wide nostrils. “I like the
City. If I were you, I’d make a point of visiting it some time. You can’t hope
to understand the world today without seeing the City. It’s the exact opposite
to here. In Gotesdene (bless it!) there really is nothing of any great interest, although I imagine its modernising
mayor might think differently. In the City is literally everything of interest.
The reason people want to escape from the City is not so much for what they are
running towards, but from the tremendous bewilderment they’re running away
from.”
“It sounds
very forbidding.”
“I daresay
it does. And the first time one is there, one is astonished by how very busy it
is. Everyone is rushing around from place to place. The City is alive all day
and all night. In fact it’s a cliché to say the City never sleeps, but it never
does. Quite unlike Gotesdene which you could say could hardly be described as
even fully awake.
“I’m
forever astounded at how the City continues to grow and expand over the
centuries. I’ve often thought: this is it! It can
never get busier, or wealthier, or more crowded, or the buildings any taller.
I’ve often thought that I was privileged to see the City at the pinnacle of its
history, only to see yet again how mistaken I was. But then I have a very
unusual perspective, having lived for such a very long time.”
“How long
have you lived?”
“I’m sure
it’s still considered rude in some cultures to discuss age,” laughed the
Unicorn. He shook his head with a rough snort through his nostrils, while a
couple of oxen passed by chatting and laughing as they went. One of them shyly
signalled to the Unicorn with his tail, and then returned to his conversation.
“I am, as it happens rather more than two thousand years, probably close to
three thousand. Quite a great age by your standards I imagine, but not at all
unusual for Unicorns. I suppose we make up in number of years for what we lack
in number of individuals.”
I was quite
astonished. This degree of longevity was extremely rare in the Suburbs. Indeed,
as I reflected, the Suburbs, despite its apparent timelessness, probably didn’t
exist as such when the Unicorn was born. “You must have seen and done an
astonishing number of things in your life.”
“I have
that,” he laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve been to almost every corner of the
globe at one time or another. I’ve had the luxury of enough time to spend what
you might call a lifetime in rather a few of these places. I’ve been the
companion of royalty: quite a few princesses have felt strangely enamoured
towards me, but I’ve successfully resisted any indecent advances. Perhaps it’s
the Unicorn’s very ability to resist such temptation, that’s kept our numbers
down, but like the manticore and the chimera I have great reasons to suspect
the propriety of some of my ancestors.” He glanced down at the cloven hoof at
the end of his slender deer-like legs. “I really am such a curious mixture of
things. It’s difficult to imagine how anyone could ever have conceived of
someone like me!”
“What
places have you visited?” I wondered, hoping that perhaps he might give me some
insight as to where I might find the Truth.
“Oh, so
many places! Islands inhabited by moas, dodos and
æpyornises. Plains full of quaggas and aurochs. Forests of
giant lemurs, pygmy elephants and ground sloths. Seas full of great
whales, giant auks and dugongs. Countries where people are sacrificed to the
sun, nations which randomly enslave more than a tenth of their own people and
work them until they die, and nations dedicated entirely to the pursuit of
pleasure. I much prefer the last ones. I’ve been the guest of chancellors,
viziers, cæsars, walis and prime ministers. I’ve met some of the most famous
people in all history. In fact, I’ve had one of the most rich
and fulfilling lives you can imagine!”
“How do you
manage to afford all this?”
“It’s
amazing how much a small investment can accumulate over a few centuries, let
alone a few millennia. I’ve always been very careful to invest wisely, although
I’ve lost a several fortunes in my time! The cumulative gain on capital over
that time, with quite a respectable long term growth rate, particularly
accelerated over recent centuries, has made me altogether immoderately rich.”
The Unicorn
turned his head round to look sympathetically at the witch in the stocks.
Nobody was throwing anything at her now, but the face, arms and legs protruding
through the stocks were covered in a mess of blood, vegetables and rotten
fruit. Her head was dangling to one side, eyes bruised and
swollen, and her hair tangled in the mess adhering to it. The Unicorn
turned his head back to me, raising his eyebrows sadly while slowly shaking his
head to one side.
“Wherever I
go,” he said resignedly, “there is always cruelty and injustice. As you can
see, Gotesdene is no different!
“So, tell
me about the Suburbs,” asked the Unicorn, concentrating his gaze at me. “It’s
very different from here, isn’t it?”
“Very much
so,” I agreed. “People live in much nicer houses, wear much better made clothes
and the streets are much cleaner. There are wastepaper bins on alternate
lampposts where people throw their litter, so there isn’t nearly as much filth.
There are electric lighting, motor cars and no goats and oxen wandering
around.”
“It sounds
almost sterile...”
“Yes, it’s
very clean and tidy,” I agreed.
“I can see
that can be viewed as a great asset,” mused the
Unicorn. “I’ve heard that it doesn’t contain quite the variety and spread of
individuals as even places like this. And it also has no witches, I suppose?”
“None that I’ve ever heard of. And no
Unicorns or White Elephants either!”
“So, why
then have you left a place of such great material comfort and apparent
orderliness for a place like this?”
I then told
the Unicorn of my search for the Truth, which had only so far led me by train
to the
“I can
assure you that if the Truth exists in Gotesdene, it’s eluded me!” the Unicorn
laughed. “Did you seriously think you might find it here?”
“I was sure
I couldn’t find it in the Suburbs. The White Elephant said that the Truth was
revealed in numerology and the four elements.”
“You’ve
spoken to the mayor, have you? I imagine he would
think that the Truth was something that could be reduced to a simple set of
axioms. It seems to me that if that were the case, then such views would never
have been modified and certainly never discarded, as they mostly have been, in
favour of science and logic. I’d have thought that the Truth would be more
obviously self-evident than that!”
“Do you
know where I might find the Truth?”
“Goodness
me!” laughed the Unicorn shaking his muzzle from side to side, his long horn
narrowly avoiding grazing me. “I may have lived a long time and gained a great
deal of wisdom in that time. I may have done many things, met many people and
seen many places. But I am not one who has ever found the Truth. If I had, I
daresay I might truly possess all the healing powers attributed to me. No! The
Truth is as much a mystery to me as it quite evidently is to you. But you
aren’t the first person I’ve ever met on a quest for the Truth, but known by
completely different names.”
“Have any
of these people ever found the Truth, do you know?”
“Well, many
of them have found something, and sometimes it’s been what they were looking
for, but I don’t believe that what they’d found constitutes what you might call
the Truth. Quite often they’ve had to slay dragons, fight monsters and do some
quite gruesome things to get whatever it was, but the rewards of their quest
never seem to have changed the world appreciably for the better. However, don’t
be too downhearted. There’s no particular reason, I imagine, why you need not
be successful where others have failed.”
“Do you
have any advice as to where I should look?”
The Unicorn
raised his muzzle and looked up at the mid-afternoon sun and the oak-leaves
rustling in the light breeze. He then lowered his head, kicked a cloven foot on
the dry earth raising a small cloud of orange dust, and whinnied again. “Not in
Gotesdene. In fact, I’d advise you to leave Gotesdene before nightfall. There’s
no hostelry of any description where you would be welcomed to stay and it’s
quite likely that one of the villagers might get the idea that because you’re a
stranger to the village, you must therefore be a witch...”
“They
wouldn’t think that, would they?”
“Even if
they didn’t, they may not be particularly sympathetic to someone who dresses
and behaves so very unlike themselves. If I were you, I’d look for a different
place to stay for the night.”
“But where
could I go?” I wondered, having rather hoped that I could stay at a motel or
bed-and-breakfast in the village.
“There are
other towns and villages around here. I don’t know how far you’d have to walk,
but I’m sure you’ll find one soon. Some are likely to be a great deal more to
your taste than this Anglo‑Saxon relic. There’s a religious community
near here. I don’t know anything about it, but monks have been famous for their
hospitality throughout history.”
The Unicorn
looked towards the distance and saw a gathering of people around the White
Elephant near the market stalls. “I think my presence may be required,” he
commented. He raised a hoof and gently pawed my leg. He wished me luck in my
quest and then strode unhurriedly towards the White Elephant, his leonine tail
raised high above his head. As he passed by the villagers, they bowed their
heads deferentially to him, which he acknowledged with a nod of his head and a
gesture of his tail.
I lingered
by the stone cross and pondered the Unicorn’s advice. As my eyes wandered about
the village and focused on the unfortunate and now unconscious figure of the
witch, I decided that although his wisdom might not encompass the Truth, his
advice to leave should not be disregarded.
I stood up
and strode cautiously across the common land and through the village gates. The
road outside wound off in one direction towards the station and in the other
towards unfamiliar destinations listed by a wooden signpost. I had some
difficulty deciphering the names from the peculiar runic characters. It was
probably not going to take me any nearer to the Truth to go back where I’d come
from, so I decided to advance in the opposite direction. I threw the last of my
farthings at some very grateful peasants and while they squabbled over them, I
headed off alongside the unenclosed fields towards the sun’s afternoon aurora.
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