THE LAVENDER DRAGON
THE LAVENDER
DRAGON
BY
EDEN PHILLPOTTS
AUTHOR OF
“EVANDER,” “PAN AND THE TWINS,” “PIXIES’ PLOT,” ETC.
[Illustration]
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS LTD.
ST. MARTIN’S STREET
1923
Printed in Great Britain at _The Mayflower Press, Plymouth_.
William Brendon & Son, Ltd.
TO
ADAM GOWANS WHYTE
IN FRIENDSHIP
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PONGLEY-IN-THE-MARSH 1
II. THE APPOINTMENT FOR RAINBARROW 21
III. VIGIL 39
IV. THE DRAGON KEEPS HIS WORD 46
V. THE DRAGON EXPLAINS 54
VI. THE DRAGON GOES ON EXPLAINING 81
VII. GREAT NEWS FOR GEORGE PIPKIN 105
VIII. THREE SONGS AND A STORY 124
IX. ANOTHER DRAGON GIVES A LOUDER ROAR 150
X. FROM JOY TO WOE 162
XI. THE PASSING 178
XII. BUTTERFLIES 194
I
_PONGLEY-IN-THE-MARSH_
Nigh about the middle of the Dark Ages, when ignorance, greed and
superstition largely ruled the world, pretty much in fact as do
these forces at present, a knight and his squire proceeded to their
destination under the setting sun. Sir Jasper de Pomeroy, descendant
of that distinguished man who assisted William the Conqueror, and
received for his service fair hundreds in the County of Devon, was a
youth who favoured his English mother and betrayed little of the Norman
in his appearance or composition. He conformed to a style formerly
regarded as noble and now considered somewhat fatuous. His architecture
befitted the times and was Gothic, supple and exquisite. The knight’s
hair flashed golden in the evening sunshine; his eyes were large,
prominent and very blue; his complexion, though warmed to ruddiness by
outdoor life, had naturally been pink and white. He wore a heavy amber
moustache, which often caught in the mouthpiece of his helmet and gave
him a painful tweak. His nose had a lofty bridge and his brow was high
but wanted breadth. The purest ideals, combined with a profound lack of
humour, characterised Sir Jasper’s quality. He resembled an admirable
mother; and his father, a man of average ability and more than average
selfishness, had bluntly told the young fellow that he possessed a
heart of gold and a brain of clay. Weighing the criticism without
resentment, Sir Jasper, determined on his career, took all the proper
vows, and dedicated himself to the service of knight errantry.
He now approached the conclusion of his first circuit, and, up to the
present, nothing of any note had challenged his knightly courage, or
offered an obstacle to his uneventful progress. His squire, George
Pipkin, was a plain dealer of large experience. He had filled similar
appointments on former occasions, seen life and felt it, for he
chanced to be unhappily married. A grizzled, lean Yorkshireman of fifty
was George, and since Sir Jasper enjoyed great wealth and entertained
the highest opinion of his supporter, the squire felt well satisfied
of his present employ. The better was he pleased, because their
expedition, now drawing to its close, had encountered no hardships and
proceeded with reasonable comfort, smiled upon by good weather, devoid
of any adventure whatsoever.
Sir Jasper rode a magnificent stallion with large chestnut markings
on a white ground. In the Middle Ages a circus was not known, and
therefore your pie-bald horse awakened no anticipation of merriment.
Nor, in any case, had the knight been a man to find amusement in the
colour of his steed. As for George Pipkin, he bestrode an elderly roan,
as tough and wiry and experienced as himself.
The elder was talking as they traversed rough tracks of moorland, which
ceased suddenly at an edge of limestone crags. Beneath these boundaries
there subtended fertile plains, ran a river, and stood an attractive
hamlet with gabled roof-trees and white-washed walls.
“What makes life picturesque,” declared the squire, “are the people who
prefer their own experience to that of others--such men as yourself,
Sir Jasper. But those who trust tradition and the accumulated wisdom of
the race, go farther, are generally more satisfactory and invariably
more prosperous members of society. They are safe and therefore rather
dull to watch; while the adventurer, who casts loose for good or
ill, is nearly always entertaining. Not that his experiences will be
novel, or probably outside our own; but the freshness and charm of the
spectacle he presents lie in the fact that familiar, old things are
happening to a new spirit, unarmed against them with the trite weapons
of precaution. Such a young man’s retort to the primitive tests of
love, danger, temptation and so forth cannot be foretold. Hence every
one of his adventures has the charm of novelty.”
“Do not imagine, George, that I flout tradition,” answered the younger.
“My grandfather was a famous knight without fear or reproach. Indeed,
my father devotes such leisure as he allows himself from the business
of money-making and enjoyment of luxury, to writing a full and punctual
account of Sir Hugo de Pomeroy’s attractive career.”
“Yes, he does; and that is the difference between you and your parent,”
answered Pipkin. “He sees no charm in a suit of steel and the life that
you have adopted. He feels it far more convenient to write of another’s
devotion to high causes than seek high causes himself; while you, on
the contrary, would emulate your famous ancestor.”
Sir Jasper sighed.
“Would that I might,” he replied. “The world has changed since his
romantic day. The times are tame, George. The giants are dead and
the dragons have fled; not a robber baron to chastise; not a village
to rescue out of tyranny; not a maiden in need of succour from her
oppressors.”
“We never know our greatest blessings,” replied Pipkin. “Many a knight
has rued the day when he rescued a fair damsel. I need not repeat
the story of a former master, Hildebrand of the Iron Forehead. You
recollect particulars of his married life. When he passed to glory,
under the scimitars of a thousand Saracens, there was a smile of pure
happiness on his forbidding features. As for my own career, had I not
wedded his lady’s serving maid, I should be a home-staying man at this
moment.”
“Be sure that your wife will welcome you with awakened affection when
you see her again, next September,” said Sir Jasper kindly; but George
Pipkin shook his head.
“For the most part,” he answered,“marriage is like following the ocean.
What married man, or mariner, would not change his state if he could
do so? But they plunge into wedlock, or go down to the sea in ships,
as the case may be, and only regret it once, and that is for ever
afterwards.”
They had now reached the declivities, and Sir Jasper smiled at the
scene of rural peace and beauty extended in the valley beneath them.
George drew a roll of paper from his wallet and consulted a rough map,
made by the innkeeper with whom they had lodged on the previous night.
“This will be Pongley-in-the-Marsh,” he said. “A populous hamlet
apparently and good, no doubt, for comfortable quarters.”
“A place without a care as far as one may judge,” declared Sir Jasper,
surveying the smiling thorpe. “Still we will proceed, as ever, with
enthusiasm to inspire and hope to guide.”
The sun flamed upon his splendid figure and flashed along his armour
and crested helm, so that it seemed a shooting-star descended the
bridle-path into the valley. Indeed, an object so conspicuous
could not be missed even by peasant eyes, and when, half an hour
later, the knight and his companion approached the outskirts of
Pongley-in-the-Marsh, he perceived some concourse of the folk.
George Pipkin frowned, for his experienced eyes feared a deputation,
and a deputation usually meant labour at no distant date.
Some fifty people, of rustic and humble pattern, approached Sir Jasper,
and at the head of the company marched a majestic, old man who bore a
staff of office. He wore homespun garments, but was decorated with a
chain round his neck and a badge upon his breast. His long, white hair
curled about his stooping shoulders, and he appeared a little nervous,
for his mouth worked tremulously.
“Welcome to Pongley-in-the-Marsh, most noble knight,” he said. “We are
your servants, Sire, one and all, and beg that you will accept such
simple but ample hospitality as we can offer, and such comfort as we
know. The best we have is yours to command.”
Sir Jasper felt gratified, for the country folk were not wont to
receive him thus, and George Pipkin stepped forward to rehearse in a
loud voice his master’s style and title.
“Sir Jasper de Pomeroy,” he concluded, “rides the world to right all
wrong, redress all grievance and place his sword and his lance at the
service of the humblest sufferer, be he noble or simple. Therefore, if
there are any among you who smart undeservedly, or endure evil within
the power of a doughty knight to defeat, let him speak, that Sir Jasper
of the Silver Lance may judge whether his cause be such as to claim
right, as well as might, and unchain his unconquerable puissance upon
the side of God and man.”
The ancient Portreeve of Pongley bowed to the earth, and the company
behind him did the like. A rabblement of urchins were driven back, and
a mongrel dog, who dared to sniff at the heels of Sir Jasper’s pie-bald
steed, received a kick and howled unmelodiously. When silence had been
restored, the old man spoke.
“Never have we heard a more gracious message, or welcomed a rarer
knight,” he declared. “My name, Sir Jasper de Pomeroy, is Jacob Pratt,
and I am master here by accordant vote of my friends and neighbours.
You come to us at a moment when trouble and concern are heavy in
the land, and when, despite the promise of good harvest and other
propitious signs, we are cast into deep tribulation. For years we have
suffered from a melancholy scourge, and but a week ago, after periods
of peace, the evil broke forth again and our inveterate enemy has
struck in the tenderest quarter and robbed us of the fairest maiden
who ever brightened Pongley-in-the-Marsh with her radiant presence. In
a word, Sir Knight, there is a dragon of formidable proportions and
utmost malevolence, who abides in an impenetrable lair but a league and
a half from this unhappy hamlet. From time to time he breaks upon us in
our most secure hours and snatches from our midst now one citizen and
now another. Not only men, but women and orphan children he devours;
and such is his incredible cunning, that though our trained bands have
often marched against him, he evades their sallies and is never faced
save by unarmed and helpless persons. He flies through the air on
immense pinions, but at a height invariably beyond bow-shot; nor would
any cloth-yard shaft pierce the monster--of that be sure. Only once
within my memory has an errant knight ever before visited Pongley; but
nothing came of it; and we pray on our bended knees that you may have
a stouter courage and better appetite to rid us of this cruel tyrant
than had he.”
Sir Jasper’s eyes sparkled as he turned to Pipkin.
“My vade-mecum, George,” he said, and on receiving a little,
well-thumbed volume, he turned to the index and looked up “Dragons.”
“These misbegotten monsters are few,” he told them. “I find here not
above six or seven right, authentic dragons left in the land of the
living, and of these four flourish abroad--two in Italy, one in France,
and one in the Holy Land. We still appear to have ‘a great Worm’ in the
Peak and--yes, ‘The Lavender Dragon’ of Yorkshire!”
“The Lavender Dragon! The Lavender Dragon!” cried the inhabitants of
Pongley in melancholy chorus.
“He is our accursed foe, Sir Jasper,” explained Jacob Pratt. “He dwells
some ten miles distant, amidst the impenetrable Woods of Blore, and
from Caytor Fell good eyes may see a huge wall that circles his domain
and strange, barbaric buildings of enormous size erected therein. For
the monster is no cave-dweller, or laidly wretch, who lives beneath
the earth. To such a measure of understanding has he attained, that
he dares to assume human manners, lives in a castle and hides his
iniquities behind cyclopean masonry. In fact, he is a dragon with a
brain--the most perilous combination of mind and matter it is possible
to imagine. For his intelligence only lends power to his ferocity,
and though he may dwell in a castle and ape his betters, he does
not scruple to destroy the sons and daughters of mankind and behave
otherwise after the horrible custom of his own species.”
“My perambulation draws to a close,” replied Sir Jasper, “and it is a
source of the keenest satisfaction to me that Providence has seen fit
to guide my charger’s steps to this secluded spot. We will sup with
you, Jacob Pratt, and accept the best that your means afford; and at
the dawn of another day, having heard particulars, we will set forth
into the marches of the Lavender Dragon and draw not rein until either
he, or ourselves, have returned to the merciful Father of us all.”
Upon which welcome assurance, Sir Jasper and his squire proceeded among
a joyful gathering into the village. After supper and before he retired
for the night, the fearless lad sat by a fire of peat and listened to
his host’s discourse, while George, in an adjoining chamber, overhauled
the hero’s armour, his sword and his famous Silver Lance, all grown a
little rusty from long dis-use.
The Portreeve perceived that he had to do with a brave and stalwart
hero; but he threw no shadow on the immense difficulties of the
enterprise.
“A high soul and a trusty spear are only the first essentials,” he
ventured to say. “Craft must be met with craft, your honour, and
cunning with cunning. He is a dragon of great age and vast experience.
It is vain to suppose that no knight until now has tackled the ruffian;
and as he still flourishes like the green bay tree, we are to fear that
he has triumphed on previous occasions, when justice demanded another
issue to the conflict. Too well we know, in this hard world, that might
is often allowed to conquer right--doubtless for heavenly purposes by
us not understood.”
Sir Jasper nodded.
“It is idle to blink facts,” he confessed. “One hears of our knightly
triumphs, but the troubadours seldom sing those unhappy failures which
tact conceals, though knowledge cannot deny. The dragon you say lies
hidden upon the path of solitary individuals and spirits them away?”
“We have reason to believe that he devours them in situ,” answered
Jacob Pratt. “So far as we can judge, the monster consumes them as we
eat a radish, for not a fragment of mortality, not a garment, not a
cap, not a tag, or shoestring, ever remains to tell the tale. Dusk is
his happy hunting hour, and such as wander in the gloaming of dawn or
night take their lives into their hands. Sometimes a scream is heard
and the hurtle of his infernal wings and the scent of lavender, which
always accompanies his progress by land and air. Then that lonely
soul is gone for ever. He has a strange art to choose the widow, or
the widower, and such as lack for friends or substance. As I have
told you, an orphan possesses a horrible fascination for him, and
children he cannot resist even in the noon of day. For many years he
was but an evil legend; but of late his activities increase. Within my
experience, as Portreeve of Pongley, he has snapped Thomas Fagg, the
woodman; Nicol Prance, the thatcher; old John Cobbley, a swine-herd;
and Hugh Hobanob, the baker’s man. Of females we have lost Avisa Snell
and her child--devoured together; Mary Fern, a good girl, who lost her
man in the wars; Betsy Snow, a widow; Jenifer Mardle, another widow;
and, only last week, Lilian Lovenot, the belle of the village and the
noblest, worthiest, loveliest maiden that ever gladdened the eyes of
her fellow creatures. Her parents are both dead, or I should say her
foster parents, for there is a mystery attaching to her birth, and we
have never believed that such a homely pair as Peter and Nancy Lovenot
could have begotten so distinguished a child as Lilian. But now she,
too, has been snatched away, and as for the children, both boys and
girls that he has laid his claws upon, their numbers can hardly be
remembered. Thus our cup of grief is full, and you will guess with what
gratitude we learn that you will destroy this abomination, or perish in
the attempt.”
Sir Jasper pulled his great moustache, drank another stoup of metheglin
and looked thoughtfully at the fire.
“What manner of knight was he of whom you spoke when first we met?” he
inquired.
“One Sir Rollo Malherbe,” replied the Portreeve; “but----”
“Enough,” said George Pipkin, who had joined them for a drink; “if
that gallant gentleman indeed learned that a formidable dragon was
wasting your quarters, it is certain that he put no great tax upon the
hospitality of Pongley-in-the-Marsh.”
“He stayed but four and twenty hours,” admitted Jacob Pratt. “On the
morrow of his arrival he set forth, conducted by our valiant young
men, and beheld the Lavender Dragon roaming at will along the Valley of
Red Rocks, a favourite haunt nigh the Woods of Blore. One glance, at a
distance of half a mile, proved enough for Sir Rollo. He remembered him
of a fire-drake which he had undertaken to slay somewhere in the South
Riding, many leagues distant, and, saying that he must keep faith, but
would return at an early date, spurred his charger and was never seen
again.”
“Your fire-drake, or hippogriff, is found but six to ten feet long,”
mused Sir Jasper, “whereas your right dragon may number six hundred
feet--or more.”
“Our enemy is computed to be perhaps five and thirty rods from beak
to tail,” said the Portreeve’s right-hand man--a little, plump fellow
with a cane-coloured beard and fat, pock-marked cheeks. “He is of a
coerulean blue colour, having a rich rosy sheen in direct sunlight; and
when he spreads his pinions they are as a flower-garden for beauty,
being all shades of emerald and azure, purple and gold. In truth a
lovelier beast God never made; yet within this fair and glittering
carcase there hides the heart of a crocodile and the brain of a demon.”
“It would seem that I have my work cut out for me,” said Sir Jasper
grimly.
“Fear nothing, noble knight. All Pongley will be upon its knees at the
first moment of onset.”
From the adjacent chamber came the hum of a hone, where George was
putting an edge to his master’s battle-axe.
He rejoined them presently, and mentioned one or two occasions whereon
he had witnessed successful strife with dragons now defunct. But he was
not in a sanguine mood and presently suggested that Sir Jasper should
retire.
“What would you wish for breakfast?” inquired the Portreeve.
“Red meat, wheaten bread and honey,” replied Pipkin, “and plenty of
mead. If we can engage the pest before noon, so much the better; if
not, then we must eat again before doing so. Ere the sun goes west,
a dragon, being largely nocturnal, is somnolent; but, as the day
advances, he attains to his full energy, and he is at his worst and
deadliest about the hour of dusk.”
“Take this for your comfort,” said Pratt’s right-hand man. “He is
undoubtedly a very old reptile, and though far from infirm--be under no
false hope as to that--cannot fairly be called a dragon in his prime.
Youth will be served, as we all know.”
Thereupon both heroes retired and, despite the tremendous ordeal now
before him, Sir Jasper, having said his orisons and committed himself
and his fortunes to the Creator, prepared to sleep as soundly as usual.
“Though few knights but hold a lady in their hearts, to clear their
eyes and strengthen their sword-arms, yet for my part, I still believe
it better to do one’s work without such glorious and distracting
obligations,” he reflected. “Some day, no doubt, I shall love and seek
to prolong our line, now depending upon me for its continuation; but
plenty of time, plenty of time; and if, meanwhile, destiny wills that I
fall with my face to a foe who shall overtax my powers, then no heart
is broken save my own.”
He slept, and the moon sailed over slumbering Pongley, while from the
reed ronds round about arose the croak of a myriad frogs, and in the
black Forest of Blore owls shouted their hollow laughter.
II
_THE APPOINTMENT FOR RAINBARROW_
Having made a meal worthy of the occasion, Sir Jasper and his squire,
declining the assistance offered, set forth in a grey summer morning to
reconnoitre the haunts of the enemy and, if possible, encounter him.
Chance willed that they discovered signs within three miles of the
hamlet, for immense impressions of the Lavender Dragon’s feet suddenly
stared up from a marshy bottom, and while George dismounted and
measured these vast tridents stamped into the damp soil, out of willow
brakes not above a quarter of a mile distant, the mighty creature
himself sprang into the air. The sun had now broken through the mists
of morning and his roseal beam struck upon the outstretched pinions of
the dragon so that they appeared to be wrought of precious stones.
They flapped with slow and solemn strokes and propelled the radiant
body of the monster at speed not swifter than a heron’s flight. Slowly,
lazily he rose, until he shrank to the size of a little morning cloud,
then diminished until he appeared no greater than a golden pheasant
speeding to the comfort of the distant forest.
Sir Jasper’s blue eyes were rolling and his tanned cheek flushed with
excitement.
“Can such things be!” he cried.
“Evidently,” answered George Pipkin, but without enthusiasm.
“Did you observe that he was carrying a human being between his
gigantic jaws?”
“I did, Sir Jasper. A big man he bore away; yet the unhappy wretch
looked no larger than a hawthorn berry in the beak of a blackbird. But
it is true: he is an old--a very old dragon. His flight proclaimed him.”
“Old in sin--if indeed a dragon can sin,” answered Sir Jasper.
They proceeded to the spot whence the monster had risen and found
a clearing in a withy bed. The air was fragrant with the scent of
lavender and willow wrens made music. The evidences of a victim did
not lack, for beside a bundle of withy wands, freshly cut, they saw a
frail, wherein the vanished swain had brought his mid-day meal, and a
jerkin of leather, which he had evidently thrown off while at work. A
dog also, that had fled before the onset of the dragon, slunk out of
the willows and crept to them with his tail between his shaking legs.
Instantly knight and squire set their horses’ heads in the direction of
the monster’s flight, and George expressed a hope that the event of the
morning, while unfortunate enough for the day labourer, might yet prove
satisfactory from the view-point of their own hopes.
“He has now gone to devour his prey,” said Pipkin, “and following the
meal, after the manner of all such reptiles, he will seek to slumber.
His scent is strong and happily not unpleasant. We may presently get
upon it and then, tethering our horses, if fortune be with us, creep
to him and destroy him under well-directed blows at the junction of
the left wing and the shoulder. Only so will such an enormous creature
succumb to us. Open fighting would be impossible. His head is adamant
and his tail unapproachable, so long as he shall be wide awake. Indeed,
though many a knight has ignored the fact to his detriment, the danger
centre and point of highest peril is a dragon’s tail; and while engaged
with his beak and claws, not a few daring spirits have received their
quietus from the back blow, which sweeps a man off his horse, stuns
him, and renders him impotent and easy game.”
“Should you regard this as a large dragon?” asked the younger.
“Quite the largest I have ever seen, or wish to see,” replied his
squire.
“Let us talk of other things for a while,” responded Sir Jasper. “I
am disagreeably conscious of having eaten a little too much of the
excellent cold beef we enjoyed for breakfast.”
“A groaning table often makes a groaning stomach,” admitted George;
“but think nothing of it. We shall not be called upon to exert
ourselves for some hours at the earliest.” Indeed Pipkin was right, and
ere they reached the Woods of Blore, Sir Jasper was hungry again. They
had brought with them another ample meal, and having discussed it, made
cautious sallies round about the forest in search of scent. To the east
lay the Red Rocks, a favourite resting place of the dragon; but the sun
had long passed the meridian before they found themselves within sight
of this rugged and sequestered gorge. For many miles along the confines
of the great wood they had ridden and admired the grandeur of such
timber as neither remembered to have seen. Gigantic conifers towered
above them, with stems that seemed fashioned of bright, pure silver;
and overhead their boughs were dark as night, throwing down a dense
shadow upon the flower-lit turf beneath.
It was evening before they reached the Valley of the Red Rocks, and
the peaks and pinnacles of this impressive spot already glowed as
though red hot under a fine sunset. The place was arid, yet beautiful,
and the boulders and crags burned in wondrous and dazzling hues of
orange and scarlet, amethyst and rose. It seemed that gems studded
these precipices and ragged scarps, for they flashed with rainbow
colours and answered the signals of the sinking sun. No herb or shrub
appeared to adorn the region, yet, as they proceeded, suddenly beneath
them extended a wondrous patch of pale, purple inflorescence and the
fragrance of lavender rose to their nostrils.
George started with suspicion, and Sir Jasper inhaled the warning
odour. Their steeds also sniffed the scent and pawed the earth.
“It comes from an extensive patch of natural flowers yonder,” declared
the knight, but Pipkin better appreciated the situation.
“Murrain on your flowers,” he whispered. “It is the dragon himself!”
And, looking again, both recognised, in the mass of colour spread
beneath them, the outlines of the slumbering saurian.
“It is as I hoped,” said George. “He is sleeping the sleep of
repletion, and we have fortunately come up the wind to him.”
They made a detour and presently approached the monster. Taking cover
behind great boulders strewed upon the valley bottom, they brought
their horses nearer and still nearer, then drew up, dismounted and
took stock of the insensible giant. He slept profoundly, and his great
sides rose and fell three feet at every breath. From his open nostrils
rumbled a not unmusical snoring, somewhat suggestive of the French
horn, and round about him wild creatures gambolled without fear. Half a
dozen rabbits leapt and danced between his huge front paws, lizards ran
over him and birds hopped along the serrated summit of his vast back,
lofty as the ridge-tiles of a mansion. There were indications of great
age about him, for though of a sweet and wholesome appearance, he was
thin and the elaborate architecture of massy ribs that supported his
circumference appeared through his integument and coat of mail. His
wings were furled, and his enormous eyes covered by heavy and wrinkled
lids. Pipkin, in the greatest excitement, directed Sir Jasper how to
proceed.
“Lose not a moment,” he said, “but draw off to the left, mount your
charger, then couch your lance and let him have it, striking where the
pinion lies over the shoulder. With weight of man and horse behind the
blow, you shall reach his heart and destroy him instantly.”
Then, to his indignation and confusion, the knight made chilling answer.
“Not so, friend,” he replied. “It shall never be said that Sir Jasper
de Pomeroy slew a sleeping foe. No glory attaches to the act of an
assassin.”
“Odds bodikins!” hissed George. “This is a _dragon_, and when was
it ever heard that a dragon demanded to be treated with the rules
of chivalry? Would he have wakened you had the case been reversed?
Providence has given the tormentor into your hands, and to ask him to
fight fair is little better than self-destruction. He couldn’t even if
he wanted to.”
Sir Jasper was, however, obdurate.
“No created thing shall perish in his sleep by hand of mine,” he
answered. Then he struck his mailed glove upon his shield, lifted his
voice and raised such a volume of sound among the echoing cliffs that
the Lavender Dragon awoke. Like curtains his eye-lids ascended and
revealed two enormous eyes, glorious as fire opals and large as the
rose windows in some great cathedral.
“Bless my life!” cried the dragon in good, nervous English. “What have
we here?”
“Death, vile reptile!” shouted Sir Jasper, and laying his lance in rest
and drawing down his beevor, he spurred his pie-bald war-horse forward.
But the mighty lizard heaved himself on to his feet and so placed his
assailant at a great disadvantage. Now horse and man came only to the
monster’s knees.
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” he said, lifting one gigantic paw. “Let us
understand one another. I appreciate your courtesy in rousing me before
you laid on. It was done like a true knight and indicates a courage
probably only equalled by your mastery of arms. But I, too, am not
devoid of fine feeling in these matters. The sun has already set, and
as our encounter is likely to be of some duration, I must point out
that, in the gloaming, I shall enjoy unfair advantage that I am loath
to take. For I can see in the dark by the light of my own eye-balls--a
gift denied to you. We may or may not be evenly matched by daylight,
but, with the oncoming of darkness, there can be no question that you
would suffer a severe handicap, and this must not be.”
Struck dumb to hear a primeval dragon speak after so gentlemanly a
fashion, the knight and squire reined in their horses and stared upward
with open mouths upon the enemy.
“I am perfectly willing to encounter you, if in your judgment the
greatest good to the greatest number will be gained thereby,” continued
the huge creature quietly, “but you, who have proved yourself the
flower of chivalry, must not suffer greater disabilities than myself. I
am an old dragon now and I never fought for pleasure even in my palmy
days; but I still possess prodigious physical powers, and should
little like to exercise them, save under conditions as fair to my
opponent as myself.”
“This is a dark scheme to evade his doom,” whispered George Pipkin.
“Parley not a moment, but advance upon him. He doesn’t want to fight!
The man from the withy bed may have upset him.”
Sir Jasper, however, hesitated to take this course, and the enemy again
addressed them.
“If I may suggest,” he said, “let us meet on Rainbarrow an hour after
sunrise to-morrow. There you shall find a smooth, broad plateau whereon
you and your squire will be able to manœuvre your gallant steeds; and
the spot also affords an ample theatre for your friends to sustain and
support you.”
“You would seem to be a reasonable adversary,” replied Sir Jasper in
doubtful tones. “As for me, my purpose has ever been to play the game
with every foe, and I like to believe an enemy is inspired by similar
principles; but it is beyond belief that a foul, pestiferous and
man-eating dragon should thus seek, even in the jaws of death, to make
an honest bargain.”
“Why?” asked the monster. “Why suppose that I am acting contrary to my
steadfast ideals in this affair?”
“Your ‘ideals,’ foul cockatrice!” cried George. “Have we not this
morning seen you fly away with an innocent peasant from the withy beds?
Are you not engaged in digesting him at this moment?”
“What credentials and evidence of good faith can you possibly put
before me?” continued Sir Jasper. “Consider my position in this
matter as well as your own. If I return to the inhabitants of
Pongley-in-the-Marsh and inform them that you are engaged to meet me
at sunrise on Rainbarrow, what are they likely to say about it? Surely
they will flout me and drive me forth with scorn, judging me such
another as Sir Rollo Manherbe, who aforetime came among them, learned
particulars of your dimensions and recollected an engagement elsewhere.
The natives of this district are no fools--indeed, no Yorkshireman is
ever a fool. You see my predicament if I return with what must seem a
fable to the Portreeve of Pongley and his neighbours.”
The Lavender Dragon lifted an enormous paw to his low but broad
forehead.
“A genuine difficulty,” he admitted, “though I might summon
witnesses--but no. You must, I fear, trust me to keep my word. I
attach the utmost importance to truth-telling. Your squire will report
the same tale and, if need be, you may exaggerate a trifle without
overstepping strict veracity. Behold how night spreads her purple
mantle upon the gorge, robbing the rocks and crags of their ruddy
splendour; observe how my eyes now shine like glowing meteors and cast
a ray of brilliance down the glen. They were far brighter once. But
tell the Pongley people how you surprised me on the edge of twilight
and that the day was too far spent for our encounter. Do not hesitate
to assure them that you credit me; even indicate that I showed a
measure of reason, little to have been expected from such a being.
Inform Pongley that I shall be upon Rainbarrow at the appointed time,
and pray, pray believe me yourself when I tell you so.”
Sir Jasper looked up at the huge head from which these words proceeded,
in a sonorous but educated voice.
Then the dragon, tired of standing, sat down.
“Do you understand the nature of an oath?” inquired the knight.
“I do,” replied the monster. “I am not unfamiliar with humanity and
have had relations with them quite other than those recorded, to my
disfavour, by Pongley and more important places. I appreciate the
significance of an oath and am perfectly willing to take one, if that
will content you.”
“You are no ordinary dragon,” declared Sir Jasper. “Such as I have
already heard about, conducted themselves in very different fashion,
fought with abandon, spewed fire, hit below the belt and pursued
their defensive and offensive operations without self-control, civil
conversation, or any sense of honour. They have risen from the slime,
they have been horrible, formidable and utterly repulsive in every
way. Mankind is accustomed to believe that the only possible dragon
is a dead one; yet here you sit, within reach of my unconquerable
lance, and discourse as fluently and grammatically as myself. Even
an oath appears to be within your experience. You are courteous,
self-contained, intelligent. Your natural weapons are terrific, and no
doubt you know exceedingly well how to use them; but, as you confess,
you are no longer young, and, if I mistake not, your hinder claws show
evidences of gout.”
“Once it was acute,” explained the Lavender Dragon. “Now alas! it
threatens to become chronic. With acute gout, one throws it off and
has good times between the attacks; but once the ailment assumes a
chronic form, we are forced much to modify our activities. Do not
think, however, that I advance these facts as a reason for evading
your attack. Far from it. I am still in the possession of very great
activity and may give you at least a run for your money.”
Like lamps fed by a rainbow the Lavender Dragon’s eyes burned steadily
above them.
“It is as though we talked to a lighthouse,” murmured George Pipkin.
“In the name of your Maker, then--your Maker and my own--you swear to
be on Rainbarrow to-morrow morning, wet or fine,” said Sir Jasper; and
the dragon lowered his prodigious head with becoming reverence and shut
his eyes. The action plunged the party into darkness.
“I will--so help me,” declared the great creature. It was a strange
interview, even for the Dark Ages, and Sir Jasper began to believe that
all must be a dream from which he would presently awaken.
“Have you ever fought with a belted knight before?” inquired the
squire, and the dragon confessed that he had.
“Once, and once only,” he admitted.
“And seeing that you still live, I suppose--?”
The Lavender Dragon indicated a slight scar among the blue scales on
his off fore leg.
“He pricked me and no more. I was younger and far more agile of body
in those days than at present. The battle lasted exactly thirty-five
seconds.”
“You slew him?”
“No. I gave him a good thumping and told him not to do it again. He
never did.”
“His name?” inquired George briefly.
“Sir Claude Pontifex Fortescue,” replied the dragon.
“What befell him?” asked Sir Jasper. “He was before my time, and it
is many a long year since he was at court, or in company. There is,
however, still some speculation among his own generation as to what
became of Sir Claude.”
“Little need to inquire farther,” growled George Pipkin. “A knight
who has been thumped by a dragon, and told not to do it again, would
scarcely show his face in the society of his peers.”
“That’s another story--too long to tell you now,” declared the huge
creature. “Until to-morrow, then, on Rainbarrow?”
“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 unknightly 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 foolhardiness.”
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 on to 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 six 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 had 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.”