There have been several requests for a story featuring Una and Walter. This is for Excel Aunt and krisknowsthis (and apologies to Astrakelly for the mood).


June, 1911


Una and the Redcrosse Knight


Walter Blythe approached the dyke of the old Methodist graveyard carrying a book and a sheaf of papers.

"Hello, Una!" he called to the slender, black-haired girl seated cross-legged on Hezekiah Pollock's tombstone. "You're just the person I was looking for!"

Una Meredith looked up from her own book at this greeting, her dark blue eyes gone quite round. "Me?" she squeaked.

Walter hopped over the top of the dyke, wending his way through the old gravestones until he had reached the place where she sat. "Yes, you," he said, smiling as he took his place beside her. "Unless there's someone else named Una in Glen St. Mary."

"I've never even heard of another Una, let alone met one," Una murmured.

"Well, I certainly have," said Walter, tapping the crimson-covered volume in his lap. "That's what I wanted to show you."

Walter had been hard at work on an essay for half the term and had thought of Una all through the writing of it. Professor Griswold had been suitably impressed with the end result and had even nominated Walter's paper for one of the end-of-year prizes in the English department.

Walter opened the book to its title page and passed it to Una with a smile.

"The Faerie Queene, by Edmund Spenser," she read in a shy, sweet voice.

"Have you ever read this?" Walter asked, with the enthusiasm he reserved for discussing literature of a particular vintage and sensibility.

Una only shook her head.

"It's an epic poem," Walter explained, "published in 1590. It's all knights and ladies and allegorical dragons. Spenser dedicated it to the glory of Queen Elizabeth."

Una turned several pages reverently, fingers brushing the margins where Walter's penciled notes indicated rhythm and meter, inference and metaphor. She paused at an intricate woodcut illustration showing a knight and a lady lounging together in a leafy clearing.

"That's the Redcrosse Knight," Walter said, pointing to the warrior whose brave shield and emblem were displayed in the lower right-hand corner. "And that is Lady Una."

"Lady Una?" Una echoed.

"Yes. We studied Spenser this term in our English literature course. We had to write about symbolism in The Faerie Queene for our final essay and I thought you might be interested to see what I wrote."

Walter handed Una the papers he carried and pointed to the title on the cover sheet.

"Una and the Redcrosse Knight, by Walter Blythe," she read.

Walter leaned over and began pointing out some of the main points. "It all starts with her name. Una. Representing unity, wholeness, and Truth-with-a-capital-T. It's also a play on an Irish name, Oona, which means lamb. And Lady Una has a lamb at her side — it represents Christ and tenderness and mercy. There's also a part where she gentles a lion. It's an allusion to Isaiah."

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion . . ." Una quoted.*

"Exactly," Walter smiled. "The lion becomes her faithful companion and mauls anyone who tries to do her harm when she gets separated from the Redcrosse knight."

"They get separated?"

"Yes, but never fear. They have all sorts of adventures with Arthur and Merlin, and there's a magnificent battle where the knight battles a dragon that has captured Una's family."

"And you wrote an essay about it?" Una asked. "Did you . . . get good marks?"

Walter laughed. "Yes, very good marks! But it's funny — I wasn't even thinking of my grades while I was writing it. It was such a pleasure that it didn't feel like work. And no matter what the marks, I thought you'd be glad to know a bit about your name. Have you ever wondered where your parents got it?"

"I have," Una admitted shyly, "but I've never asked. Jerry is named for our grandfather; Faith is faith of course; Carl is named for a philosopher Father admires. And I . . ."

Walter did not fill the silence of her hesitation.

"I wonder," Una said softly, "whether my mother knew The Faerie Queene."

"She might have," Walter nodded. "Could you ask your father?"

Una blushed. "I don't think so. I wouldn't want to make him sad, speaking of Mother."

Walter considered for a moment. "You may be right. It might hurt him to speak of her. But I think it might also hurt never to speak of someone you loved and lost."

Even as he said it, a poem blossomed in Walter's mind. An unspoken, unspeakable love. A name like a magic spell, with the power to break and the power to heal, as in the ancient sagas . . .

Una looked down at the page under her hand. "I can hardly understand the words," she said. "They're a bit . . . different, aren't they?"

"Yes," Walter conceded. "This edition has the old 16th-century spellings. But if you read it aloud, it's easy enough to understand. Here, I'll show you."

Walter cleared his throat and read a stanza from the third canto, leaning over Una's shoulder to see:

The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,
When every creature shrowded is in sleepe;
Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight,
And at her feet the Lyon watch doth keepe:
Instead of rest, she does lament, and weepe
For the late losse of her deare loved knight,
And sighes, and grones, and evermore does steepe
Her tender breast in bitter teares all night,
All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.

When he had finished, Walter looked down and was surprised to see a tear clinging to Una's dark lashes.

"Are you alright, Una?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she sniffed. "It's just . . . very beautiful."

Walter nodded. "Una, would you like to have this book — to keep?"

"Yes — if you can give it to me," Una said quietly.**

"I'd be happy to," Walter smiled. "I don't think the Lowbridge scholars will be quite ready for Spenser. And here, the essay, too. I copied it over for you."

"You did? Why?"

Walter shrugged. "I just thought you might like to have it."

"Thank you," said Una. It was all she said, but there was something in her voice which repaid Walter for his thoughtful gesture.**

He hopped down from the tombstone and made an exaggerated bow to the modest damsel seated there. "At your service, Lady Una."

Smiling, Walter took his leave to seek out a quiet corner of Rainbow Valley in which to write his poem of magic names. He did not pause to glance back toward the pale figure, alone among the graves.


*Isaiah 11:6, KJV

**Rilla of Ingleside, Chapter 23: "And So, Goodnight"