Tells all about him
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In those days of shifting fortunes, of turbulence and rapine, of
knights-errant and minstrels seeking for adventure and love, and of
solitary pilgrims and bodies of pious men wandering over Europe to
proclaim that the duty of all was to arise and quell the pagan
defilers of the Holy Shrine, good men and bad men, undoubted saints
and unmistakable sinners, drifted forward and back through every
country, came by night and by day to every household, and lived their
lives in that unbounded and perilous freedom that put them at one
moment upon the top limit of their ambition or their delight, and
plunged them into violent and bloody death almost ere the moment was
gone. It was a time when "fatten at thy neighbour's expense" was the
one commandment observed by many who outwardly maintained a profound
respect for the original ten; and any man whose wit taught him how
this commandment could be obeyed with the greatest profit and the
least danger was in high standing among his fellows.
Hence it was that Francis Almoign, Knight of the Voracious Stomach,
cumbered with no domestic ties worthy of mention, a tall slim fellow
who knew the appropriate hour to slit a throat or to wheedle a maid,
came to be Grand Marshal of the Guild of Go-as-you-Please.
This secret band, under its Grand Marshal, roved over Europe and
thrived mightily. Each member was as stout hearted a villain as you
could see. Sometimes their doings came to light, and they were forced
to hasten across the borders of an outraged territory into new
pastures. Yet they fared well in the main, for they could fight and
drink and sing; and many a fair one smiled upon them, in spite of
their perfectly outrageous morals.
So, one day, they came into the neighbourhood of Oyster-le-Main, where
much confusion reigned among the good monks. Sir Godfrey Disseisin
over at Wantley had let Richard Lion Heart depart for the Holy Wars
without him. "Like father like son," the people muttered in their
discontent. "Sure, the Church will gravely punish this second
offence." To all these whisperings of rumour the Grand Marshal of the
Guild paid fast attention; for he was a man who laid his plans deeply,
and much in advance of the event. He saw the country was fat and the
neighbours foolish. He took note of the handsome tithes that came in
to Oyster-le-Main for the support of the monks. He saw all these
things, and set himself to thinking.
Upon a stormy afternoon, when the light was nearly gone out of the
sky, a band of venerable pilgrims stood at the great gates of the
Monastery. Their garments were tattered, their shoes were in sad
disrepair. They had walked (they said) all the way from Jerusalem.
Might they find shelter for the night? The tale they told, and the
mere sight of their trembling old beards, would have melted hearts far
harder than those which beat in the breasts of the monks of
Oyster-le-Main. But above all, these pilgrims brought with them as
convincing proofs of their journey a collection of relics and
talismans (such as are to be met with only in Eastern countries) of
great wonder and virtue. With singular generosity, which they
explained had been taught them by the Arabs, they presented many of
these treasures to the delighted inmates of the Monastery, who
hastened to their respective cells,--this one reverently cherishing a
tuft of hair from the tail of one of Daniel's lions; another handling
with deep fervour a strip of the coat of many colours once worn by the
excellent Joseph. But the most extraordinary relic among them all was
the skin of a huge lizard beast, the like of which none in England had
ever seen. This, the Pilgrims told their hosts, was no less a thing
than a crocodile from the Nile, the renowned river of Moses. It had
been pressed upon them, as they were departing from the City of
Damascus, by a friend, a blameless chiropodist, whose name was Omar
Khayyam. He it was who eked out a pious groat by tending the feet of
all outward and inward bound pilgrims. Seated at the entrance of his
humble booth, with the foot of some holy man in his lap, he would
speak words of kindness and wisdom as he reduced the inflammation. One
of his quaintest sayings was, "If the Pope has bid thee wear hair next
thy bare skin, my son, why, clap a wig over thy shaven scalp." So the
monks in proper pity and kindness, when they had shut the great gates
as night came down, made their pilgrim guests welcome to bide at
Oyster-le-Main as long as they pleased. The solemn bell for retiring
rolled forth in the darkness with a single deep clang, and the sound
went far and wide over the neighbouring district. Those peasants who
were still awake in their scattered cottages, crossed themselves as
they thought, "The holy men at Oyster-le-Main are just now going to
their rest."
And thus the world outside grew still, and the thick walls of the
Monastery loomed up against the stars.
Deep in the midnight, many a choking cry rang fearfully through the
stony halls, but came not to the outer air; and the waning moon shone
faintly down upon the enclosure of the garden, where worked a band of
silent grave-diggers, clad in black armour, and with blood-red hands.
The good country folk, who came at early morning with their presents
of poultry and milk, little guessed what sheep's clothing the gray
cowls and gowns of Oyster-le-Main had become in a single night, nor
what impious lips those were which now muttered blessings over their
bent heads.
The following night, hideous sounds were heard in the fields, and
those who dared to open their shutters to see what the matter was,
beheld a huge lizard beast, with fiery breath and accompanied by
rattling thunder, raging over the soil, which he hardly seemed to
touch!
In this manner did the dreaded Dragon of Wantley make his appearance,
and in this manner did Sir Francis Almoign, Knight of the Voracious
Stomach, stand in the shoes of that Father Anselm whom he had put so
comfortably out of the way under the flower-beds in the Monastery
garden,--and never a soul in the world except his companions in orgy
to know the difference. He even came to be welcome at Sir Godfrey's
table; for after the Dragon's appearance, the Baron grew civil to all
members of the Church. By day this versatile sinner, the Grand
Marshal, would walk in the sight of the world with staid step, clothed
in gray, his hood concealing his fierce, unchurchly eyes; by night,
inside the crocodile skin, he visited what places he chose, unhindered
by the terrified dwellers, and after him came his followers of the
Guild to steal the plunder and bear it back inside the walls of
Oyster-le-Main. Never in all their adventures had these superb
miscreants been in better plight; but now the trouble had begun, as
you are going to hear. We return to Hubert and the company.
"Hubert and all of you," said Father Anselm, or rather Sir Francis,
the Grand Marshal, as we know him to be, "they say that whom the gods
desire to destroy, him do they first make drunk with wine."
"The application! the application!" they shouted in hoarse and
mirthful chorus, for they were certainly near that state favourable to
destruction by the gods. One black fellow with a sliding gait ran into
the closet and brought a sheet of thin iron, and a strange torch-like
tube, which he lighted at the fire and blew into from the other end. A
plume of spitting flame immediately shot far into the air.
[Illustration: Hubert Looketh out of ye Window]
"Before thy sermon proceeds, old Dragon," he said, puffing unsteady
but solemn breaths between his words, "wrap up in lightning and
thunder that we may be--may be--lieve what you say." Then he shook the
iron till it gave forth a frightful shattering sound. The Grand
Marshal said not a word. With three long steps he stood towering in
front of the man and dealt him a side blow under the ear with his
steel fist. He fell instantly, folding together like something
boneless, and lay along the floor for a moment quite still, except
that some piece in his armour made a light rattling as though there
were muscles that quivered beneath it. Then he raised himself slowly
to a bench where his brothers sat waiting, soberly enough. Only young
Hubert grinned aside to his neighbour, who, perceiving it, kept his
eyes fixed as far from that youth as possible.
"Thy turn next, if art not careful, Hubert," said Sir Francis very
quietly, as he seated himself.
"Wonder of saints!" Hubert thought secretly, not moving at all, "how
could he have seen that?"
"'Tis no small piece of good fortune," continued the Grand Marshal,
"that some one among us can put aside his slavish appetites, and keep
a clear eye on the watch against misadventure. Here is my news. That
hotch-pot of lies we set going among the people has fallen foul of
us. The daughter of Sir Godfrey has heard our legend, and last week
told her sire that to-night she would follow it out to the letter, and
meet the Dragon of Wantley alone in single combat."
"Has she never loved any man?" asked one.
"She fulfils every condition."
"Who told her?"
"That most consummate of fools, the Mistletoe," said the Grand
Marshal.
"What did Sir Godfrey do upon that?" inquired Hubert.
"He locked up his girl and chained the Governess to a rock, where she
has remained in deadly terror ever since, but kept fat for me to
devour her. Me!" and Sir Francis permitted himself to smile, though
not very broadly.
"How if Sir Dragon had found the maid chained instead of the ancient
widow?" Hubert said, venturing to tread a little nearer to familiarity
on the strength of the amusement which played across the Grand
Master's face.
"Ah, Hubert boy," he replied, "I see it is not in the Spring only,
but in Autumn and Summer and Winter as well, that thy fancy turns to
thoughts of love. Did the calendar year but contain a fifth season, in
that also wouldst thou be making honey-dew faces at somebody."
But young Hubert only grinned, and closed his flashing eyes a little,
in satisfaction at the character which had been given him.
"Time presses," Sir Francis said. "By noon we shall receive an
important visit. There has been a great sensation at Wantley. The
country folk are aroused; the farmers have discovered that the secret
of our legend has been revealed to Miss Elaine. Not one of the clowns
would have dared reveal it himself, but all rejoice in the bottom of
their hearts that she knows it, and chooses to risk battle with the
Dragon. Their honest Saxon minds perceive the thrift of such an
arrangement. Therefore there is general anxiety and disturbance to
know if Sir Godfrey will permit the conflict. The loss of his
Malvoisie tried him sorely,--but he remains a father."
"That's kind in him," said Hubert.
Sir Francis turned a cold eye on Hubert. "As befits a clean-blooded
man," he proceeded, "I have risen at the dawn and left you wine-pots
in your thick sleep. From the wood's edge over by Wantley I've watched
the Baron come eagerly to an upper window in his white night-shift.
And when he looks out on Mistletoe and sees she is not devoured, he
bursts into a rage that can be plainly seen from a distance. These six
mornings I laughed so loud at this spectacle, that I almost feared
discovery. Next, the Baron visits his daughter, only to find her food
untasted and herself silent. I fear she is less of a fool than the
rest. But now his paternal heart smites him, and he has let her out.
Also the Governess is free."
"Such a girl as that would not flinch from meeting our Dragon," said
Hubert; "aye, or from seeking him."
"She must never meet the Dragon," Sir Francis declared. "What could I
do shut up in the crocodile, and she with a sword, of course?"
They were gloomily silent.
"I could not devour her properly as a dragon should. Nor could I carry
her away," pursued Sir Francis.
Here Hubert, who had gone to the window, returned hastily, exclaiming,
"They are coming!"
"Who are coming?" asked several.
"The Baron, his daughter, the Governess, and all Wantley at their
backs, to ask our pious advice," said the Grand Marshal. "Quick, into
your gowns, one and all! Be monks outside, though you stay men
underneath." For a while the hall was filled with jostling gray
figures entangled in the thick folds of the gowns, into which the
arms, legs, and heads had been thrust regardless of direction; the
armour clashed invisible underneath as the hot and choked members of
the Guild plunged about like wild animals sewed into sacks, in their
struggles to reappear in decent monastic attire. The winged crocodile
was kicked into the closet, after it were hurled the thunder machine
and the lightning torch, and after them clattered the cups and the
silver rundlet. Barely had Hubert turned the key, when knocking at the
far-off gate was heard.
"Go down quickly, Hubert," said the Grand Marshal, "and lead them all
here."
Presently the procession of laity, gravely escorted by Hubert, began
to file into the now barren-looking room, while the monks stood with
hands folded, and sang loudly what sounded to the uninstructed ears of
each listener like a Latin hymn.
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