The Dragon of Wantley Part 5

"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 G.o.dfrey'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 G.o.dfrey 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 G.o.dfrey 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 G.o.dfrey.

"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 G.o.dfrey, 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!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Geoffrey replyeth with deplorable Flippancy to Father Anselm.]

"A useless promise, Sir G.o.dfrey!" 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 G.o.dfrey.

"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 G.o.dfrey 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 G.o.dfrey 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 va.s.sals 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 circ.u.mstances.

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.