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 æolian
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 that 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.”
“I fall on at once without further parley,” declared Sir Jasper. “I am
a man of deeds, not words, and nothing you can possibly say will wipe
this stain off my scutcheon. Only your own base heart’s blood may do
it.”
“To fight before I have spoken would not suit me,” answered the other
in a calm but resolute voice. “Sit here, cool your fiery forehead with
a dock leaf and listen a little longer. Do not imagine that you are in
my hands. On the contrary, I am in yours. I, too, believe that deeds
speak louder than words, as I hope to show you by noonday. But, first
I insist upon it that you listen to me, and I give you my word, as a
lover of truth, that you shall not listen in vain.”
With ill grace the young man flung himself upon the turf, and for a
moment there was no sound but the steady cropping of his philosophic
horse, whose custom was to gather his few rose buds when and where
he might. Then the Lavender Dragon, assuming a recumbent attitude,
proceeded in this curious fashion.
“Even as the world itself was hatched from the Mundane Egg made by
our Creator, as the Phœnicians and Egyptians rightly maintain, so all
primitive orders of living things likewise emerged to life in that
manner. Dragons are among the most ancient of created beings, and they
have unfortunately, though not, I fear, undeservedly, personified
evil from the earliest times of man. Nowadays we dragons stand as the
symbol of Sin in general and paganism in particular. Satan has been
termed the Great Dragon; it is declared that the saints shall trample
the dragon under their feet. Mankind has also confused the dragon
with chieftainship; hence Pen-dragons--leaders, or kings, created in
times of peril. Since Apollo destroyed Python there has reigned enmity
between my species and all gods and men who stood for righteousness;
and therefore you will judge of my personal astonishment when I came
to years of understanding and found myself, not only on the side of
the angels from the first, but also entirely opposed to the principles
and practice of my own race. In fact a dragon with a conscience--a
freak of our common Mother, a caprice of Nature! My great-uncle was the
celebrated Dragon of Wantley, in this county; and when he found that I
entertained opinions subversive of our family interests and desired,
if possible, to heal the breach established in primal time between our
kindred and the children of men, he disowned me with fury, beat me
cruelly, for I was then a mere dracunculus, and cast me out. My parents
were already dead, and I wandered friendless for some three centuries.
Then my great-uncle perished under the sword and spear of More of More
Hall, a very notable knight, and elsewhere, at other times and seasons,
our dwindling race was decimated by yours as history records.
“Among famous dragon-slayers--of whom St. George, that beheaded the
far-famed Green Dragon of Syria, stands first--are numbered St. Philip,
the Apostle, who accounted for the terror of Phrygia; St. Martha, who
with unexampled courage, destroyed Terasque, the Scourge of Aix; St.
Florent, who slew an ancestor of my own upon the Loire; while St. Cado
and St. Maudel of Brittany, and St. Keyne of Cornwall also played havoc
with our clan. St. Michael and St. Margaret, Pope Sylvester and the
Archbishop of Dol, Denatus and St. Clement of Metz--all these eminent
persons succeeded against us; and La Gorgouille, a very formidable and
gigantic dragon, responsible for much evil on the banks of Seine, fell
at an advanced age to the gallant St. Romain of Rouen.
“Thus we have gone down fighting to the last, and now, as I think, not
above half a dozen of us shall be found in civilisation, though a few
still remain beyond its borders concealed amid the sandy antres of
Africa and the frozen forests of the North. For my part, all endeavours
to make the world of men perceive that I desired their friendship
failed. Nor do I blame anybody. Centuries of antagonism, suspicion and
hatred, cannot be destroyed by an individual no matter how great his
goodwill. I went my way, found the Woods of Blore, established my seat
therein and anon encountered a lady dragon, orphaned under the usual
circumstances, and alone and friendless as myself.
“We loved at first sight and contracted an alliance; but hardly had
I erected a noble home and built for my wife a fortified palace and
castle worthy of her, when she left me--I hope and believe for a
better world. She shared my opinions and was of a tender and gentle
disposition. She threw herself into my pursuits, learned the human
language of the country, which I had been at pains to master, and
strove unavailingly to create some golden bridge of understanding by
which we could approach man in friendship for our common advantage.
But, needless to say, she failed, and it was as a result of wounds, won
in a frantic but futile attempt to charm a body of Crossbow men upon
the march, that she lost her beautiful life.
“Anon you shall see her grave in the centre of our public park at
Dragonsville. For to my city I am about to convey you, Sir Jasper; and
if, after you have inspected it, consulted those who inhabit it, and
heard and seen such as bestow upon me their affection and regard--if I
say, after that experience, you still desire to fight with me and lay
me low, upon my honour you shall be granted every opportunity to do so.
“What remains to be said you must learn at a later time; but now, if
you are rested, we will proceed and be at home for luncheon. I am a
grass-eater like your noble charger, and doubtless some fine bales of
sweet clover hay await us both; but for you is already served such a
banquet as we are happy to prepare for a noble and welcome guest.”
“They are then expecting us?” inquired the knight, and the Lavender
Dragon admitted that it was so.
“I confess to my little plot,” he said. “I was quite determined
that you should enjoy wider knowledge of me and my ways before you
attempted, perhaps successfully, to destroy me. A thing once done
cannot be undone, Sir Jasper, and if by chance, in future time, you
had learned the truth, I am bold to believe that remorse might have
darkened your soul and unavailing regrets cast a shadow on your
unstained career.”
With that the dragon, tenderly picking up his new acquaintance and the
piebald horse, ascended once more into the empyrean. They proceeded for
a matter of twenty miles over the bosky gloom of the forest and then
the scene changed, a fair and sun-kissed vale opened beneath them and,
girdled by a mighty wall, Sir Jasper perceived what men of a later time
would have described as a remarkably large and distinguished garden
city, watered by a sparkling river.
Wide, open spaces, adorned with lakes and fountains, noble trees and
blazing passages of flower colour spread between human dwellings. These
stood in the shape of a star whose points extended to all quarters of
the compass. The houses were solidly built of stone, and their roofs,
of red and sunbaked tiles, seen from this elevation, presented a design
of considerable charm. In the midst rose a gigantic castle of barbaric
architecture--a place so hugely planned, with doors so vast and towers
so lofty, that the Lavender Dragon himself might move and dwell with
comfort and elegance therein. It was his home, and upon an immense
terrace before the southern front he now descended.
Nor was there none to welcome him. To the amazement of Sir Jasper, half
a hundred stalwart men, in the livery of the Lavender Dragon, greeted
the monster as he alighted. Their faces shone with well-being and they
crowded about him, cheered him, saluted the visitor with courtesy and
friendship and led away his agitated horse. Others took his spear and
sword; while an old and kindly retainer begged that he would follow
him, where he might rest, refresh, doff his armour and presently
partake of the banquet already prepared in his honour.
“I will see you anon,” said the Lavender Dragon. “This is Nicholas
Warrender, my seneschal. You will be happy with him and a company of
our comrades until the afternoon. For the moment I want my dinner
before all else.”
The dragon led the way into his castle and settled himself with a
mighty sigh before six huge trusses of sweet-smelling hay in his own
dining-room--a chamber about twice as large as the cathedral of St.
Paul. But Nicholas Warrender proceeding with Sir Jasper, conveyed him
to an apartment, huge enough, yet not uncomfortably spacious, and there
left him, to make his toilet and choose from half a hundred comely
garments what he would best like to put on.
Arrayed at length in a doublet of grey velvet with amber slashings,
comfortable grey hose and a collar of delicate lawn, the knight struck
a bell upon his table and Nicholas returned. He led the dragon’s
guest into an apartment where some two hundred men and women already
awaited him, and the seneschal introduced Sir Jasper to a dozen of
the party, who welcomed him with much friendship and good cheer. They
were for the most part elderly; but age sat lightly about them and
the guest could not fail to note that in their faces one saw no lines
of care, no haggard tell-tale stamp of sorrow hidden, or tribulation
concealed. Here was happiness--not simulation of the thing, proper
to all well-bred and tactful companies meeting together about some
common business of council or entertainment--but the genuine emotion;
and furthermore he felt almost embarrassed by the manner of their
greeting, for their one concern was his own comfort and pleasure.
They vied with each other in warmth of welcome; they revealed nothing
concerning themselves, but displayed only an altruistic regard for his
satisfaction in every particular.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “would you kill me with kindness?”
“Kindness never kills,” declared Nicholas Warrender. “Kindness, Sir
Knight, is the small change of a good heart, given to all who extend a
hand for it, and as gladly to be received as given. Kindness, in fact,
makes our wheels go round, and if it became a human habit----However,
we are not here to preach, but eat. These lampreys come from our own
river and are worthy of your attention.”
After the meal Sir Jasper was introduced to a great number of men and
women; and others of a younger generation also entered, that they might
see and speak with him. If the elders were cheerful with the light
of contentment upon their faces, how much more did the same radiance
illuminate the young! Maids and boys appeared equally joyous. They
greeted the guest with an ingenuous delight and respect, which Sir
Jasper was well qualified to appreciate, and in the shy friendship
of these young people he swiftly found an exquisite pleasure. They,
too, according to their ages and predilections, offered him what they
themselves most appreciated. The girls begged him to come and dance
with them, or hear them sing; the boys, heedless that he had just dined
after a trying journey, hoped that he would join their games and suffer
them to teach him new and ravishing pastimes.
Then happened a strange thing, for among those introduced to his
notice, Sir Jasper heard many names not unfamiliar.
“This,” said the seneschal, “is Thomas Fagg, the woodcutter, and our
friend with the dusty face is good Master Hobanob, who helps to bake
our bread. Here stands Nicol Prance, once on a time a master-thatcher,
but in Dragonsville the houses are all tiled, so he has learned
a new trade. This is our oldest inhabitant--of course after L.D.
himself--Johnny Cobley, aged ninety-five, once a swine-herd, now
enjoying his old age and the object of our special care. Here you see
Mistress Avisa Snell, and Ann, her daughter, promised in marriage to
Billy Greg, the keeper of the fountains. This pretty maid is Mary Fern,
who lost her man in the wars and was just going--silly soul--to take
her beautiful and useful life, when L.D. found her and brought her
amongst us. Betsy Snow and Jenifer Mardell are towers of strength when
good plain sewing is to be done; and here is our last arrival before
your honoured self. Come forward, Abram Archer, and salute Sir Jasper.”
The withy-cutter, last seen in the jaws of the dragon, stepped from the
throng. He looked still a little dazed, as a man who has just emerged
from a dream; but he was laughing and evidently well pleased to find
himself among so many old friends in this flourishing settlement.
“I bring these good people to your notice,” proceeded Nicholas
Warrender, “because they are all Pongley-in-the-Marsh folk, and you may
by chance have heard their names.”
“I heard that they had all been devoured by the Lavender Dragon,”
answered Sir Jasper, and his remark awakened hearty merriment.
“We come here to eat, not to be eaten,” said Hugh Hobanob; “for what is
Dragonsville but a glorified Pongley after all?”
“A Pongley where there is happiness rather than anxiety, health instead
of sickness, abundance in place of scarcity,” added the seneschal.
“Here we work, but never for ourselves. Note that. Perceive, for
instance, our gardens. I will show them to you.”
The company stepped into the air and many walked beside Sir Jasper as
he accompanied his guide.
“We are great gardeners,” continued the seneschal. “Yet nobody ever
does a day’s work in his own. Everybody applies his best energies and
skill to the garden of somebody else. To cultivate your garden is
very good, and we are well advised to do so, but how much better to
cultivate the garden of your neighbour! It is, in fact, one of our
greatest delights to create horticultural surprises for our friends.”
“Surely confusion might arise and disappointment, since tastes differ
on this subject as on every other,” suggested the knight.
“Confusion does arise,” admitted Nicholas. “Thus he who hoped for
radishes may find a superfluity of turnips in his garth; while the
lover of kale is snowed under with endive, or spring onions. But what
of it? Nothing results save cheerful laughter, and never was a better
joke than when Jane Blee, who is devoted to the carrot and parsnip,
discovered her garden patch obliterated under tansy and alkanet. Even
L.D., who sees a joke with utmost difficulty, laughed long at Jane.
But what did she do? Why, seek the gardens of her neighbours and help
herself to all that she desired. For our good things are in common
and our chief delight is to give of our best where it will be most
appreciated. This principle runs through all our rule of living. It
actuates old and young; it is the mainspring of Dragonsville: hence the
brightness of our faces and the heartiness of our laughter.”
“And what is the underlying impulse of this curious vagary?” inquired
the visitor. “How call you this spirit, which accounts for your well
doing and well being?”
“For particulars you must listen to L.D.,” replied the grey-beard.
“And when I say ‘L.D.,’ think it no term of undue familiarity, or
disrespect. Thus we all speak of the Lavender Dragon, both behind and
before his face. It was his own idea, for we were desirous of a more
respectable and sonorous title. Indeed we offered him a crown once, and
on that occasion he did indeed laugh--so riotously that he blew down
a score of houses and devastated several acres of his own favourite
food--I mean kidney beans. But he declined the diadem; he would not
even accept the office of President. ‘I am,’ said our dragon, ‘just
‘L.D.’ to all of you, no more, no less. Your friend, so long as you
will permit it, your well-wisher and your companion in this arduous
business of living out the years of our lives with dignity, energy and
common advantage.’”
“And tell me of Lilian Lovenot,” begged Sir Jasper. “She, too, was a
Pongley maiden, and I assure you that her disappearance caused much
bitter feeling, for she was loved and cherished and held the pride and
top flower of all the hamlet.”
The seneschal’s face fell.
“It may be so. L.D. rarely errs; but it is true that once, or, perhaps
twice, he has brought among us those who showed an inclination to
return whence they came. His rule, however, is to seek out only the
lonely, the sad, the failures, the care-worn and life-stained people,
or the young who are unwanted and unloved--all such as have only heard
of happiness.”
“Hence his predilection for orphans no doubt,” murmured Sir Jasper.