In which the Hero makes his first
Appearance & is at Once locked up.
[Illustration: FATHER ANSELM SIR GODFREY]
With the respect that was due to holy men, Sir Godfrey removed his
helmet, and stood waiting in a decent attitude of attention to the
hymn, although he did not understand a single word of it. The long
deliberate Latin words rolled out very grand to his ear, and, to tell
you the truth, it is just as well his scholarship was faulty, for this
is the English of those same words:
"It is my intention
To die in a tavern,
With wine in the neighbourhood,
Close by my thirsty mouth;
That angels in chorus
May sing, when they reach me,--
'Let Bacchus be merciful
Unto this wine-bibber.'"
But so devoutly did the monks dwell upon the syllables, so earnestly
were the arms of each one folded against his breast, that you would
never have suspected any unclerical sentiments were being expressed.
The proximity of so many petticoats and kirtles caused considerable
restlessness to Hubert; but he felt the burning eye of the Grand
Marshal fixed upon him, and sang away with all his might.
Sir Godfrey began to grow impatient.
"Hem!" he said, moving his foot slightly.
This proceeding, however, was without result. The pious chant
continued to resound, and the monks paid not the least attention to
their visitors, but stood up together in a double line, vociferating
Latin with as much zest as ever.
"Mort d'aieul!" growled Sir Godfrey, shifting his other foot, and not
so gingerly this second time.
By chance the singing stopped upon the same instant, so that the
Baron's remark and the noise his foot had made sounded all over the
room. This disconcerted him; for he felt his standing with the Church
to be weak, and he rolled his eyes from one side to the other,
watching for any effect his disturbance might have made. But, with the
breeding of a true man of the world, the Grand Marshal merely
observed, "Benedicite, my son!"
"Good-morning, Father," returned Sir Godfrey.
"And what would you with me?" pursued the so-called Father Anselm.
"Speak, my son."
"Well, the fact is----" the Baron began, marching forward; but he
encountered the eye of the Abbot, where shone a cold surprise at this
over-familiar fashion of speech; so he checked himself, and, in as
restrained a voice as he could command, told his story. How his
daughter had determined to meet the Dragon, and so save Wantley; how
nothing that a parent could say had influenced her intentions in the
least; and now he placed the entire matter in the hands of the Church.
"Which would have been more becoming if you had done it at the first,"
said Father Anselm, reprovingly. Then he turned to Miss Elaine, who
all this while had been looking out of the window with the utmost
indifference.
"How is this, my daughter?" he said gravely, in his deep voice.
"Oh, the dear blessed man!" whispered Mistletoe, admiringly, to
herself.
"It is as you hear, Father," said Miss Elaine, keeping her eyes away.
"And why do you think that such a peril upon your part would do away
with this Dragon?"
"Says not the legend so?" she replied.
"And what may the legend be, my daughter?"
With some surprise that so well informed a person as Father Anselm
should be ignorant of this prominent topic of the day, Sir Godfrey
here broke in and narrated the legend to him with many vigourous
comments.
"Ah, yes," said the Father, smiling gently when the story was done; "I
do now remember that some such child's tale was in the mouths of the
common folk once; but methought the nonsense was dead long since."
"The nonsense, Father!" exclaimed Elaine.
"Of a surety, my child. Dost suppose that Holy Church were so unjust
as to visit the sins of thy knightly relatives upon the head of any
weak woman, who is not in the order of creation designed for personal
conflict with men, let alone dragons?"
"Bravo, Dragon!" thought Hubert, as he listened to this wily talk of
his chief.
But the words "weak woman" had touched the pride of Miss Elaine. "I
know nothing of weak women," she said, very stately; "but I do know
that I am strong enough to meet this Dragon, and, moreover, firmly
intend to do so this very night."
"Peace, my daughter," said the monk; "and listen to the voice of thy
mother the Church speaking through the humblest of her servants. This
legend of thine holds not a single grain of truth. 'Tis a conceit of
the common herd, set afoot by some ingenious fellow who may have
thought he was doing a great thing in devising such fantastic mixture.
True it is that the Monster is a visitation to punish the impiety of
certain members of thy family. True it is that he will not depart till
a member of that family perform a certain act. But it is to be a male
descendant."
Now Sir Godfrey's boy Roland was being instructed in knightly arts
and conduct away from home.
"Who told you that?" inquired the Baron, as the thought of his
precious wine-cellar came into his head.
"On last Christmas Eve I had a vision," replied Father Anselm. "Thy
grandfather, the brave youth who by journeying to the Holy War averted
this curse until thine own conduct caused it to descend upon us,
appeared to me in shining armour. 'Anselm,' he said, and raised his
right arm, 'the Dragon is a grievous burden on the people. I can see
that from where I am. Now, Anselm, when the fitting hour shall come,
and my great-grandson's years be mature enough to have made a man of
him, let him go to the next Holy War that is proclaimed, and on the
very night of his departure the curse will be removed and our family
forgiven. More than this, Anselm, if any male descendant from me
direct shall at any time attend a Crusade when it is declared, the
country will be free forever.' So saying, he dissolved out of my sight
in a silver gleaming mist." Here Father Anselm paused, and from under
his hood watched with a trifle of anxiety the effect of his speech.
There was a short silence, and then Sir Godfrey said, "Am I to
understand this thing hangs on the event of another Crusade?"
The Abbot bowed.
"Meanwhile, till that event happen, the Dragon can rage unchecked?"
The Abbot bowed again.
"Will there be another Crusade along pretty soon?" Sir Godfrey
pursued.
"These things lie not in human knowledge," replied Father Anselm. He
little dreamed what news the morrow's sun would see.
"Oh, my sheep!" groaned many a poor farmer.
"Oh, my Burgundy!" groaned Sir Godfrey.
"In that case," exclaimed Elaine, her cheeks pink with excitement, "I
shall try the virtue of the legend, at any rate."
"Most impious, my daughter, most impious will such conduct be in the
sight of Mother Church," said Father Anselm.
"Hear me, all people!" shouted Sir Godfrey, foreseeing that before
the next Crusade came every drop of wine in his cellar would be
swallowed by the Dragon; "hear me proclaim and solemnly promise:
legend true or legend false, my daughter shall not face this risk. But
if her heart go with it, her hand shall be given to that man who by
night or light brings me this Dragon, alive or dead!"
[Illustration: Geoffrey replyeth with deplorable Flippancy to Father
Anselm.]
"A useless promise, Sir Godfrey!" said Father Anselm, shrugging his
shoulders. "We dare not discredit the word of thy respected
grandsire."
"My respected grandsire be----"
"_What?_" said the Abbot.
"Became a credit to his family," said the Baron, quite mildly; "and I
slight no word of his. But he did not contradict this legend in the
vision, I think."
"No, he did not, papa," Miss Elaine put in. "He only mentioned
another way of getting rid of this horrible Dragon. Now, papa,
whatever you may say about--about my heart and hand," she continued
firmly, "I am going to meet the Monster alone myself, to-night."
"That you shall not," said Sir Godfrey.
"A hundred times no!" said a new voice from the crowd. "I will meet
him myself!"
All turned and saw a knight pushing his way through the people.
"Who are you?" inquired the Baron.
The stranger bowed haughtily; and Elaine watched him remove his
helmet, and reveal underneath it the countenance of a young man who
turned to her, and----
Why, what's this, Elaine? Why does everything seem to swim and grow
misty as his eye meets yours? And why does he look at you so, and
deeply flush to the very rim of his curly hair? And as his glance
grows steadier and more intent upon your eyes that keep stealing over
at him, can you imagine why his hand trembles on the hilt of his
sword? Don't you remember what the legend said?
"Who are you?" the Baron repeated, impatiently.
"I am Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers," answered the young man.
"And what," asked Father Anselm, with a certain irony in his voice,
"does Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers, so far away from his papa
in this inclement weather?"
The knight surveyed the monk for a moment, and then said, "As thou art
not my particular Father Confessor, stick to those matters which
concern thee."
This reply did not please any man present, for it seemed to savour of
disrespect. But Elaine lost no chance of watching the youth, who now
stood alone in the middle of the hall. Sir Francis detected this, and
smiled with a sly smile.
"Will some person inquire of this polite young man," he said, "what he
wishes with us?"
"Show me where this Dragon of Wantley comes," said Geoffrey, "for I
intend to slay him to-night."
"Indeed, sir," fluttered Elaine, stepping towards him a little, "I
hope--that is, I beg you'll do no such dangerous thing as that for my
sake."
"For your sake?" Father Anselm broke in. "For your sake? And why so?
What should Elaine, daughter of Sir Godfrey Disseisin, care for the
carcase of Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers?"
But Elaine, finding nothing to answer, turned rosy pink instead.
"That rules you out!" exclaimed the Father, in triumph. "Your legend
demands a maid who never has cared for any man."
"Pooh!" said Geoffrey, "leave it to me."
"Seize him!" shouted Sir Godfrey in a rage. "He had ruled out my
daughter." Consistency had never been one of the Baron's strong
points.
"Seize him!" said Father Anselm. "He outrages Mother Church."
The vassals closed up behind young Geoffrey, who was pinioned in a
second. He struggled with them till the veins stood out in his
forehead in blue knots; but, after all, one young man of twenty is not
much among a band of stout yeomen; and they all fell in a heap on the
floor, pulling and tugging at Geoffrey, who had blacked several eyes,
and done in a general way as much damage as he possibly could under
the circumstances.
But Elaine noticed one singular occurrence. Not a monk had moved to
seize the young man, except one, who rushed forward, and was stopped,
as though struck to stone, by Father Anselm's saying to him in a
terrible undertone, "Hubert!"
Simply that word, spoken quickly; but not before this Hubert had
brushed against her so that she was aware that there was something
very hard and metallic underneath his gray gown. She betrayed no sign
of knowledge or surprise on her face, however, but affected to be
absorbed wholly in the fortunes of young Geoffrey, whom she saw
collared and summarily put into a cage-like prison whose front was
thick iron bars, and whose depth was in the vast outer wall of the
Monastery, with a little window at the rear, covered with snow. The
spring-lock of the gate shut upon him.
"And now," said Father Anselm, as the Monastery bell sounded once
more, "if our guests will follow us, the mid-day meal awaits us below.
We will deal with this hot-head later," he added, pointing to the
prisoner.
So they slowly went out, leaving Geoffrey alone with his thoughts.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: ELAINE]