“I trust you—chiefly because I must,” replied Sir Jasper. “Do not disgrace yourself, or you will disgrace me. Observe that I treat you as an equal.”
“I do, and am flattered accordingly,” replied the other. “Fear nothing: I shall be there. And now draw off your steeds, and give me room to spread my wings. I thank you.”
He rose upon his four feet, towered above them, resembling, if anything, a cyclopean sofa, and slowly opened his pinions. They creaked a little and he sighed.
“Rheumatism,” he said, then sprang aloft with a roar, like a sixty-knot gale of wind, soared away and vanished under the stars.
“And that’s the last you’ll see of him,” prophesied the squire, relief and bitterness strangely mingled in his remark.
“Think better of the fellow,” urged Sir Jasper; but George refused to be comforted.
“You have spurned the gifts of Fortune,” he answered, “and can hope for no more of her favours.”
III
VIGIL
DURING THE long ride back to Pongley, George Pipkin preserved a very unfavourable attitude toward his master.
“When new ideas clash with old,” he said, “when age falls back upon experience and youth advances, armed, as usual, with mistaken opinions, then comes the tug-of-war. But there is no place in knight-errantry for these ingenuous ideals, and to pit your mistaken standards of dragon warfare against my proven knowledge was the height of folly, as you will live to learn.”
Sir Jasper let him run on, but at length some word from George stung the hero into retort.
“Has this silver-shafted lance been blessed by three bishops and an archbishop, or has it not, Pipkin?” he asked, shaking his majestic spear.
“What of it?” replied the other.
“It has; and that being so, is it a weapon to thrust into anybody while he sleeps? I ask you?”
“The mistake you are making is to treat an atrocious reptile and enemy of man as though he were on the same footing as yourself,” replied Pipkin. “Your rules of conduct are all thrown upside down, just because this particular dragon, by some gift of necromancy, can talk and pretend to be a decent member of society. You know perfectly well that he is not. You have his disgusting record. He has devoured men, women and children. He has cast a cloud of horror and dismay upon this neighbourhood for years, and no doubt, before he came here, he carried on after the same fashion somewhere else. A dragon is a dragon. They are all the misbegotten spawn of hell, and we are told to bruise their heads and warned that they shall bruise our heels. By the will of God you had him at your mercy; he was given to you that you might destroy him; but you lost your senses and showed a lamentable confusion of thought, a mistaken code, both of honour and duty, whereof he took full advantage. Now one of two things must happen. Either he won’t come to Rainbarrow, or else he will. The betting is all Lombard Street to a crab apple that he doesn’t; but if he does, then you may be very sure he knows a great deal more about Rainbarrow than we do, and will not stand your onset unless he has secret advantages that the conflict must too soon reveal.”
“‘A good thumping,’” mused Sir Jasper. “That is un-knightly language, George.”
“Bluff,” replied the squire. “He spoke only to pour scorn upon your Order. And now you yourself may cheapen knighthood, which is already at a low rate of discount for various reasons. Fight to-morrow, if you get the chance, as you never fought before; and for the sake of mankind and your own name, let no false ruth or other nonsense stay your steel. A dragon is like a mad dog. We do not encounter such a beast with punctilio, or the courtesies of the tourney. Get him down and out by the swiftest and most sanguinary means within your power. And trust me to help you if half a chance offers.”
“You lack imagination,” answered the younger and more enlightened adventurer. “You do not apparently see, or feel, George, that we have met a being by many degrees removed from the conventional dragon of history and experience. This beast, had he been created on a more economical plan and less material devoted to his prodigious carcase, might have been amenable to human discipline and even culture. He has a kind face. He is very old. I would even go so far as to say that, of course under other conditions, he might have left the world better than he found it.”
“He has left the world lonelier at any rate,” replied Pipkin sourly, “but so long as he does leave the world, between six and seven to-morrow morning, I care not. You may set his virtues on his tombstone; but first look to it there shall be a funeral.”
George proceeded to expatiate on the technique of fray with dragons and gave Sir Jasper many a valuable hint; yet there was none the less a cloud between them when they drew rein and entered the village. For the knight resented the squire’s attitude to their common enemy; while George much feared that the morrow might bring either disgrace from a sceptical country-side, should the dragon play false, or some exhibition of ill-timed clemency, resulting in Sir Jasper’s own destruction if the monster did appear.
Nor could their supper serve to calm the agitated nerves of either; for the men and even more the women of Pongley showed a disinclination to believe the extraordinary story they brought back with them from the Red Rocks. A base fellow or two went so far as to sneer and hint that the Portreeve’s hospitality was being abused; but Jacob Pratt, with admirable courtesy, silenced the whisperers.
“It will be time to display our feelings to-morrow,” he said, “if Rainbarrow is drawn blank. To-night we are not justified in doubting Sir Jasper’s word, or the Lavender Dragon’s promise. Many strange things happen in the world, and I still hope to see the blood of our foe leap in a ruddy cataract down the steep of the hills after breakfast.”
When supper was ended, Sir Jasper got him to the little fane of St. Cormoran, a Yorkshire martyr of old time; and there, with his silver lance and helmet laid before the altar, he kept vigil before battle until the barn cocks crew. Then, at the first shiver of light, when a glimmer as of old ivory widened about the morning star, the spectrum of St. Cormoran himself appeared to Sir Jasper, and the knight beheld the vision of a dignified ancient, clad in grey robe and cowl, and having a snow white beard that descended beneath the rope of his girdle.
The watcher expected some word of cheer and hope, but received no more than practical advice.
“Get off to bed,” said the saint. “Snatch a couple of good hours’ slumber while there is time, and make a light breakfast. Remarkable experiences await you to-day, and to enter upon them short of sleep is not piety but fool-hardiness.”
With that the ghost vanished, and Sir Jasper, whose eyes indeed had long threatened to close, returned to the dwelling of the Portreeve, threw off his garments and was soon unconscious.
Anon George Pipkin aroused him, and whether he would or no, his master partook of a meagre meal as St. Cormoran directed, for there was not time to do otherwise. Already the entire population of Pongley-in-the-Marsh was streaming towards Rainbarrow, where that flat but elevated table of land rose dimly against the morning, and when Sir Jasper and his squire galloped onto the plateau, they were the last to arrive.
The Lavender Dragon, however, had not yet made his appearance, though it now wanted but five minutes of six o’clock.
IV
THE DRAGON KEEPS HIS WORD
ABOUT AN open space, flanked with a forest on one side and sloping by abrupt declivities of thorn and furze upon the other, the inhabitants of Pongley were assembled. The elders of the hamlet stood grouped together, while the lesser folk surrounded the plateau and made an audience for the approaching struggle. Above a thousand souls were gathered there, and they greeted the knight and his squire somewhat coldly as they trotted out upon the arena.
Of the Lavender Dragon as yet appeared no hint, though, from time to time, this or that spectator, pointing to the air, cried that he was on the wing. But while many a delicate cloud, feathered with morning gold, swept westerly upon the wind, not one resolved itself into the foe.
At si
x o’clock, concealing a growing concern behind the bars of his helmet, Sir Jasper took the field, and the great piebald steed galloped, caracoled and curveted handsomely. He made a noble picture, but the public was not there for horsemanship; the sense of the company turned against him; hard words flew on Rainbarrow and the knight began to experience a moral chill under his armour. What if indeed he stood convicted of an awful error? Among all those present one only, George Pipkin, knew that his mistake was venial and centred in a blind trust, where trust had been folly; but the others would accuse him, and his squire also, of something far worse than credulity. Indeed, the few who had accepted his narrative now scorned themselves for doing so, and even the Portreeve’s patience began to break down.
Sir Jasper, with his back to the woods, drew rein and considered how best to make his peace with a gathering body of opinion very unfavourable. He was just about to doff his helm and address them, when the Portreeve and others approached and Jacob Pratt spoke uncomfortable words.
“Sir Knight,” he said, “if knight indeed you are, it is now apparent that you have played upon the goodwill and trust of well-meaning and kindly folk. You have lied to us and fooled us, and you are either a coward or——”
Suddenly a chorus of loud cries stopped the speaker’s mouth and frenzied excitement broke out upon every face.
“Look to yourself! He is there—he is upon you!” screamed the people, while children shouted and ran to their parents, dogs barked and bristled, a fragrant scent permeated the morning breeze. In another moment the immense and roseal beak of the Lavender Dragon poked suddenly from the coppice, and before Sir Jasper could defend himself, or George Pipkin aid him, the monster bad picked up both knight and charger as cleanly, firmly and gently as a trained retriever grasps a fallen bird.
Sir Jasper and his terrified steed struggled to escape, but the dragon lifted his head and they were now thirty feet above the herbage. Then, as the populace fled before him, the gorgeous but unsportsmanlike foe waddled hugely out upon the turf and spread his wings. They flashed, as though they had been gigantic Oriental umbrellas of state, and blinded the beholders; while in another moment the ancient saurian began to rise. Pipkin, with a wild oath, charged and swung Sir Jasper’s mace, which he carried until the knight should have need of it; but he did not get to close quarters for, with a swift but sure flick of the tail, his opponent swept squire and steed to the ground in utmost confusion and, before they could return to attack, the Lavender Dragon was on the wing. A few stones and quarterstaves rattled harmlessly against his purple stomach and fell back upon the heads of those who had thrown them; and then the great beast soared upward among the lights of the morning and soon dwindled to a little star amongst the streaming cirri in the blue.
All was over, and the baffled Pipkin, flinging himself again upon the earth, buried his brown face in the sward and wept like a child.
The Portreeve himself sought to comfort George.
“There is only one bright side to this unhappy incident,” declared Jacob Pratt. “Your master has been proved a man of his word and a knight without fear or reproach. Had his skill in arms been equal to his nobility of character—however, let that pass. He is not the first hero who has perished in a good cause. We will cherish his memory while regretting his inefficiency. And so home to breakfast, remembering always that God knows best.”
But George was not prepared to take this terrible misfortune lying down. Indeed, he rose immediately, dashed the tears from his eyes and declared that in his opinion all was not quite lost.
“I know better concerning the accursed thing than you do,” he replied, “and there is more in this rape of a rare knight than meets the eye. The dragon is a traitor, as might have been expected, for never was dragon known who did not fight foul and aid his clumsy and brute strength with cunning tactics and treacherous strategy. But Sir Jasper is not dead. The brute picked up him and his horse with a great deal of care. Neither one nor the other was injured, save morally, and I doubt not they have been conveyed to some secret holt and haunt of the creature, there to be kept alive for its own purposes. It may torture him, starve him and torment him in a thousand ways to make a dragon’s holiday; but one thing is certain: it will never fight him. The wretch is no fool, and very well knows that, put to test of open battle against a man of such incomparable powers as my master can display, it would soon be swept to destruction.”
“And what do you propose to do?” inquired the Portreeve.
“I propose to make my way through the dark Woods of Blore, to reach the entrance to the Lavender Dragon’s domain, to demand entrance, on pain of a punitive expedition, and learn the fate of Sir Jasper though my own life pay forfeit.”
All Pongley cheered the squire’s determination, and with one accord the people crowded about George, clasped his hand and wished him well.
As the assembly proceeded from Rainbarrow homeward, Pipkin explained that existence without Sir Jasper held scant attraction for him.
“I am not one of those fortunate men,” he said, “who is a hero to his wife. My home, to be frank, promises no welcome worth mentioning. A saddle suits me better than my chair in the ingle nook, and I prefer the sound of the winter wind to the voice of my spouse at the best of times. For that matter, they have much in common. In any case, did I return, my own man, with this appalling story, there would be few flags flying for me, I assure you. Therefore, give me a day’s provender and I will set forth to the woods and save Sir Jasper, or perish with him.”
An hour later the old campaigner galloped off upon his self-appointed task; but he did not depart before uttering a promise to return and relate the facts concerning his master, if it should presently be within his power to do so.
V
THE DRAGON EXPLAINS
AT AN elevation of about a quarter of a mile, the Lavender Dragon pursued his aerial way. Beneath him rustic sons of the morning went forth to their labours and the pastoral life of the plains proceeded. Ahead, in a gloomy band against the western sky, extended the vast woodlands of Blore. Hither came the flying monster on leisurely wings, which flapped with a sound not unmusical, and created that aeolian humming heard by those who have stood beneath telegraph wires in a high wind. The stout horse and his rider in no way encumbered him. An owl thinks less of a fat mouse than the Lavender Dragon thought of the two tons he was now conveying through the air at the rate of forty miles an hour.
But Sir Jasper remained not silent under these indignities.
“False wretch!” he cried. “Is it thus you keep your oath? Was it for this you shut your untruthful eyes at the name of our Creator and swore that you would meet me in a life and death combat upon the crest of Rainbarrow? Accursed above all other dragons shall you be, and infamous in history while man is left upon the earth to read it! Little should I have imagined that dragon could do worse than dragon has already done; but you—you are the vilest, basest progeny of an infamous breed. Your poisonous blood is upon your own head. You are lost; and if I doubted for a moment the outcome of our encounter, I doubt no more. Your fate is sealed, and whether my lance or another’s drive you out of life, die you shall at the hand of outraged man, and that probably sooner than you imagine!”
But the Lavender Dragon answered never a word and Sir Jasper, when his natural wrath was a little cooled, found reason assert itself.
It was clear that if his enemy replied, he must open his jaws to do so, in which event the knight suddenly perceived what would happen to him and his charger: they must fall to earth and be miserably and unromantically destroyed. But both were destined for another fate, and retreating into the tumultuous cavern of his own thoughts, Sir Jasper began to consider what might be expected to happen next. He felt tolerably sure that the dragon dared not now encounter him in fair fight; but would it presently be possible to force a battle? He hoped so, yet felt little certainty. The saurian had proved as artful as he was old, and his victim doubted not that, when again they came to earth, it must be
under conditions where little opportunity offered to his right arm and silver lance. He was wrong again, however, for after flying above the black pines of Blore for a league or thereabout, the dragon abated his speed and hovered over a clearing, where the little blossoms of wood strawberry, cyclamen and lady’s slipper made a jewelly carpet amid the silver pillars of the forest. Gently the monster volplaned down into this sequestered glen and opened his jaws to liberate the captives.
“Compose yourself,” said the Lavender Dragon as soon as his mouth was free to speak. “Tidy your attire, doff your helm, suffer your charger to crop a little of this excellent pasture and listen to me. You are naturally annoyed; I have put you into a position destructive of knightly dignity; I have struck confusion into those exalted ideals by which you rule your conduct; but one story is only good until we have heard the other. I know exactly how you are feeling and I am well aware that my dragon’s blood is about the only thing that you suppose can wash out the extraordinary affront this day has put upon you. Sir Jasper, you shall have it—a pint, a quart, a flagon, a tierce, a barrel—but not until you have listened to what I am about to relate.
“I heard your remarks while we were on the wing,” he continued, “and I sympathise fully with your fury and indignation. You could hardly have said less; but in one particular your memory failed you and you were unjust to me. I never asserted that I would fight you on Rainbarrow. I distinctly swore that I would ‘meet’ you there. I am a truthful dragon and I chose my words and kept my oath. But let this pass. It is enough that I promise you full and complete satisfaction at a future date. Indeed, if you are still in a mind to it, to-day, before the sun goes down, you shall seek to destroy me without any unfair conditions whatsoever. A squire shall be furnished, and if your attractive war horse is rendered less formidable and agile than usual by the events of the morning, you may have your choice of a dozen other splendid chargers as fine as he, all fresh and ready for the field.”
The Lavender Dragon Page 3
