Leaues much Room for guessing about Ch. X
[Illustration]
As they proceeded towards the bear-pit, having some distance to go,
good-humour and benevolence began to rise up in the heart of Sir
Godfrey.
"This is a great thing!" he said to Miss Elaine. "Ha! an important and
joyful occurrence. The news of it will fly far."
"Yes," the young lady replied, but without enthusiasm. "The cattle
will be safe now."
"The cattle, child! my Burgundy! Think of that!"
"Yes, papa."
"The people will come," continued the Baron, "from all sides
to-morrow--why, it's to-morrow now!" he cried. "From all sides they
will come to my house to see my Dragon. And I shall permit them to see
him. They shall see him cooked alive, if they wish. It is a very
proper curiosity. The brute had a wide reputation."
To hear himself spoken of in the past tense, as we speak of the dead,
was not pleasant to Sir Francis, walking behind Geoffrey on all fours.
"I shall send for Father Anselm and his monks," the Baron went on.
Hearing this Geoffrey started.
"What need have we of them, sir?" he inquired. To send for Father
Anselm! It was getting worse and worse.
"Need of Father Anselm?" repeated Sir Godfrey. "Of course I shall need
him. I want the parson to tell me how he came to change his mind and
let you out."
"Oh, to be sure," said Geoffrey, mechanically. His thoughts were
reeling helplessly together, with no one thing uppermost.
"Not that I disapprove it. I have changed my own mind upon occasions.
But 'twas sudden, after his bundle of sagacity about Crusades and
visions of my ancestor and what not over there in the morning. Ha! ha!
These clericals are no more consistent than another person. I'll
never let the Father forget this." And the Baron chuckled. "Besides,"
he said, "'tis suitable that these monks should be present at the
burning. This Dragon was a curse, and curses are somewhat of a church
matter."
"True," said Geoffrey, for lack of a better reply.
"Why, bless my soul!" shouted the Baron, suddenly wheeling round to
Elaine at his side, so that the cowslip wine splashed out of the
bucket he carried, "it's my girl's wedding-day too! I had clean
forgot. Bless my soul!"
"Y--yes, papa," faltered Elaine.
"And you, young fellow!" her father called out to Geoffrey with lusty
heartiness. "You're a lucky rogue, sir."
"Yes, sir," said Geoffrey, but not gayly. He was wondering how it felt
to be going mad. Amid his whirling thoughts burned the one longing to
hide Elaine safe in his arms and tell her it would all come right
somehow. A silence fell on the group as they walked. Even to the
Baron, who was not a close observer, the present reticence of these
two newly-betrothed lovers was apparent. He looked from one to the
other, but in the face of neither could he see beaming any of the soft
transports which he considered were traditionally appropriate to the
hour. "Umph!" he exclaimed; "it was never like this in my day." Then
his thoughts went back some forty years, and his eyes mellowed from
within.
"We'll cook the Dragon first," continued the old gentleman, "and then,
sir, you and my girl shall be married. Ha! ha! a great day for
Wantley!" The Baron swung his bucket, and another jet of its contents
slid out. He was growing more and more delighted with himself and his
daughter and her lover and everybody in the world. "And you're a stout
rogue, too, sir," he said. "Built near as well as an Englishman, I
think. And that's an excellent thing in a husband."
The Baron continued to talk, now and then almost falling in the snow,
but not permitting such slight mishaps to interrupt his discourse,
which was addressed to nobody and had a general nature, touching upon
dragons, marriages, Crusades, and Burgundy. Could he have seen
Geoffrey's more and more woe-begone and distracted expression, he
would have concluded his future son-in-law was suffering from some
sudden and momentous bodily ill.
The young man drew near the Dragon. "What shall we do?" he said in a
whisper. "Can I steal the keys of the pit? Can we say the Dragon
escaped?" The words came in nervous haste, wholly unlike the bold
deliberateness with which the youth usually spoke. It was plain he was
at the end of his wits.
"Why, what ails thee?" inquired Sir Francis in a calm and unmoved
voice. "This is a simple matter."
His tone was so quiet that Geoffrey stared in amazement.
"But yonder pit!" he said. "We are ruined!"
"Not at all," Sir Francis replied. "Truly thou art a deep thinker!
First a woman and now thine enemy has to assist thy distress."
He put so much hatred and scorn into his tones that Geoffrey flamed
up. "Take care!" he muttered angrily.
"That's right!" the prisoner said, laughing dryly. "Draw thy sword
and split our secret open. It will be a fine wedding-day thou'lt have
then. Our way out of this is plain enough. Did not the Baron say that
Father Anselm was to be present at the burning? He shall be present."
"Yes," said the youth. "But how to get out of the pit? And how can
there be a dragon to burn if thou art to be Father Anselm? And
how----" he stopped.
"I am full of pity for thy brains," said Sir Francis.
"Here's the pit!" said the voice of Sir Godfrey. "Bring him along."
"Hark!" said Sir Francis to Geoffrey. "Thou must go to Oyster-le-Main
with a message. Darest thou go alone?"
"If I dare?" retorted Geoffrey, proudly.
"It is well. Come to the pit when the Baron is safe in the house."
Now they were at the iron door. Here the ground was on a level with
the bottom of the pit, but sloped steeply up to the top of its walls
elsewhere, so that one could look down inside. The Baron unlocked the
door and entered with his cowslip wine, which (not being a very
potent decoction) began to be covered with threads of ice as soon as
it was set down. The night was growing more bitter as its frosty hours
wore on; for the storm was departed, and the wind fallen to silence,
and the immense sky clean and cold with the shivering glitter of the
stars.
Then Geoffrey led the Dragon into the pit. This was a rude and
desolate hole, and its furniture of that extreme simplicity common to
bear-pits in those barbarous times. From the middle of the stone floor
rose the trunk of a tree, ragged with lopped boughs and at its top
forking into sundry limbs possible to sit among. An iron trough was
there near a heap of stale greasy straw, and both were shapeless white
lumps beneath the snow. The chiselled and cemented walls rose round in
a circle and showed no crevice for the nails of either man or bear to
climb by. Many times had Orlando Crumb and Furioso Bun observed this
with sadness, and now Sir Francis observed it also. He took into his
chest a big swallow of air, and drove it out again between his teeth
with a weary hissing.
"I will return at once," Geoffrey whispered as he was leaving.
Then the door was shut to, and Sir Francis heard the lock grinding as
the key was turned. Then he heard the Baron speaking to Geoffrey.
"I shall take this key away," he said; "there's no telling what
wandering fool might let the monster out. And now there's but little
time before dawn. Elaine, child, go to your bed. This excitement has
plainly tired you. I cannot have my girl look like that when she's a
bride to-day. And you too, sir," he added, surveying Geoffrey, "look a
trifle out of sorts. Well, I am not surprised. A dragon is no joke.
Come to my study." And he took Geoffrey's arm.
"Oh, no!" said the youth. "I cannot. I--I must change my dress."
"Pooh, sir! I shall send to the tavern for your kit. Come to my study.
You are pale. We'll have a little something hot. Aha! Something hot!"
"But I think----" Geoffrey began.
"Tush!" said the Baron. "You shall help me with the wedding
invitations."
[Illustration: Sir Francis decideth to go down agayne]
"Sir!" said Geoffrey haughtily, "I know nothing of writing and such
low habits."
"Why no more do I, of course," replied Sir Godfrey; "nor would I
suspect you or any good gentleman of the practice, though I have made
my mark upon an indenture in the presence of witnesses."
"A man may do that with propriety," assented the youth. "But I cannot
come with you now, sir. 'Tis not possible."
"But I say that you shall!" cried the Baron in high good-humour. "I
can mull Malvoisie famously, and will presently do so for you. 'Tis to
help me seal the invitations that I want you. My Chaplain shall write
them. Come."
He locked Geoffrey's arm in his own, and strode quickly forward.
Feeling himself dragged away, Geoffrey turned his head despairingly
back towards the pit.
"Oh, he's safe enough in there," said Sir Godfrey. "No need to watch
him."
Sir Francis had listened to this conversation with rising dismay. And
now he quickly threw off the crocodile hide and climbed up the tree as
the bears had often done before him. It came almost to a level with
the wall's rim, but the radius was too great a distance for jumping.
"I should break my leg," he said, and came down the tree again, as the
bears had likewise often descended.
The others were now inside the house. Elaine with a sinking heart
retired to her room, and her father after summoning the Rev. Hucbald
took Geoffrey into his study. The Chaplain followed with a bunch of
goose-quills and a large ink-horn, and seated himself at a table,
while the Baron mixed some savoury stuff, going down his private
staircase into the buttery to get the spice and honey necessary.
"Here's to the health of all, and luck to-day," said the Baron; and
Geoffrey would have been quite happy if an earthquake had come and
altered all plans for the morning. Still he went through the form of
clinking goblets. But his heart ached, and his eyes grew hot as he sat
dismal and lonely away from his girl.
"Whom shall we ask to the wedding?" queried the Rev. Hucbald, rubbing
his hands and looking at the pitcher in which Sir Godfrey had mixed
the beverage.
"Ask the whole county," said Sir Godfrey. "The more the merrier. My
boy Roland will be here to-morrow. He'll find his sister has got ahead
of him. Have some," he added, holding the pitcher to the Rev. Hucbald.
"I do believe I will take just a little sip," returned the divine.
"Thanks! ah--most delicious, Baron! A marriage on Christmas Day," he
added, "is--ahem!--highly irregular. But under the unusual, indeed the
truly remarkable, circumstances, I make no doubt that the Pope----"
"Drat him!" said Sir Godfrey; at which the Chaplain smiled
reproachfully, and shook a long transparent taper finger at his
patron in a very playful manner, saying, "Baron! now, Baron!"
"My boy Roland's learning to be a knight over at my uncle Mortmain's,"
continued Sir Godfrey, pouring Geoffrey another goblet. "You'll like
him."
But Geoffrey's thoughts were breeding more anxiety in him every
moment.
"I'll get the sealing-wax," observed the Baron, and went to a cabinet.
"This room is stifling," cried Geoffrey. "I shall burst soon, I
think."
"It's my mulled Malvoisie you're not accustomed to," Sir Godfrey said,
as he rummaged in the cabinet. "Open the window and get some fresh
air, my lad. Now where the deuce is my family seal?"
As Geoffrey opened the window, a soft piece of snow flew through the
air and dropped lightly on his foot. He looked quickly and perceived a
man's shadow jutting into the moonlight from an angle in the wall.
Immediately he plunged out through the casement, which was not very
high.
"Merciful powers!" said the Rev. Hucbald, letting fall his quill and
spoiling the first invitation, "what an impulsive young man! Why, he
has run clean round the corner."
"'Tis all my Malvoisie," said the Baron, hugely delighted, and
hurrying to the window. "Come back when you're sober!" he shouted
after Geoffrey with much mirth. Then he shut the window.
"These French heads never can weather English brews," he remarked to
the Chaplain. "But I'll train the boy in time. He is a rare good lad.
Now, to work."
Out in the snow, Geoffrey with his sword drawn came upon Hubert.
"Thou mayest sheathe that knife," said the latter.
"And be thy quarry?" retorted Geoffrey.
"I have come too late for that!" Hubert answered.
"Thou hast been to the bear-pit, then?"
"Oh, aye!"
"There's big quarry there!" observed Geoffrey, tauntingly. "Quite a
royal bird."
"So royal the male hawk could not bring it down by himself, I hear,"
Hubert replied. "Nay, there's no use in waxing wroth, friend! My
death now would clap thee in a tighter puzzle than thou art in
already--and I should be able to laugh down at thee from a better
world," he added, mimicking the priestly cadence, and looking at
Geoffrey half fierce and half laughing.
He was but an apprentice at robbery and violence, and in the bottom of
his heart, where some honesty still was, he liked Geoffrey well. "Time
presses," he continued. "I must go. One thing thou must do. Let not
that pit be opened till the monks of Oyster-le-Main come here. We
shall come before noon."
"I do not understand," said Geoffrey.
[Illustration: Brother Hvbert goeth back to Oyster-le-Main for ye
last Time]
"That's unimportant," answered Hubert. "Only play thy part. 'Tis a
simple thing to keep a door shut. Fail, and the whole of us are
undone. Farewell."
"Nay, this is some foul trick," Geoffrey declared, and laid his hand
on Hubert.
But the other shook his head sadly. "Dost suppose," he said, "that we
should have abstained from any trick that's known to the accumulated
wisdom of man? Our sport is up."
"'Tis true," Geoffrey said, musingly, "we hold all of you in the
hollow of one hand."
"Thou canst make a present of us to the hangman in twenty minutes if
thou choosest," said Hubert.
"Though 'twould put me in quite as evil case."
"Ho! what's the loss of a woman compared with death?" Hubert
exclaimed.
"Thou'lt know some day," the young knight said, eying Hubert with a
certain pity; "that is, if ever thou art lucky to love truly."
"And is it so much as that?" murmured Hubert wistfully. "'Twas good
fortune for thee and thy sweetheart I did not return to look for my
master while he was being taken to the pit," he continued; "we could
have stopped all your mouths till the Day of Judgment at least."
"Wouldst thou have slain a girl?" asked Geoffrey, stepping back.
"Not I, indeed! But for my master I would not be so sure. And he says
I'll come as far as that in time," added the apprentice with a shade
of bitterness.
"Thou art a singular villain," said Geoffrey, "and wonderfully frank
spoken."
"And so thou'rt to be married?" Hubert said gently.
"By this next noon, if all goes well!" exclaimed the lover with
ardour.
"Heigho!" sighed Hubert, turning to go, "'twill be a merry Christmas
for somebody."
"Give me thy hand," cried Geoffrey, feeling universally hearty.
"No," replied the freebooter; "what meaning would there be in that? I
would sever thy jugular vein in a moment if that would mend the broken
fortunes of my chief. Farewell, however. Good luck attend thee."
The eyes of both young men met, and without unkindness in them.
"But I am satisfied with my calling," Hubert asserted, repudiating
some thought that he imagined was lurking in Geoffrey's look. "Quite
content! It's very dull to be respectable. Look! the dawn will
discover us."
"But this plan?" cried Geoffrey, hastening after him; "I know
nothing."
"Thou needest know nothing. Keep the door of the pit shut. Farewell."
And Geoffrey found himself watching the black form of Hubert dwindle
against the white rises of the ground. He walked towards the tavern in
miserable uncertainty, for the brief gust of elation had passed from
his heart. Then he returned irresolute, and looked into the pit. There
was Sir Francis, dressed in the crocodile.
"Come in, come in, young fellow! Ha! ha! how's thy head?" The Baron
was at the window, calling out and beckoning with vigour.
Geoffrey returned to the study. There was no help for it.
"We have written fifty-nine already!" said the Rev. Hucbald.
But the youth cast a dull eye upon the growing heap, and sealed them
very badly. What pleasure was it to send out invitations to his own
wedding that might never be coming off?
As for Hubert out in the night, he walked slowly through the wide
white country. And as he went across the cold fields and saw how the
stars were paling out, and cast long looks at the moon setting across
the smooth snow, the lad's eyes filled so that the moon twinkled and
shot rays askew in his sight. He thought how the good times of
Oyster-le-Main were ended, and he thought of Miss Elaine so far beyond
the reach of such as he, and it seemed to him that he was outside the
comfortable world.
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