Part 18 (2/2)
”Pooh! That's the first sign of a Frenchman I've seen in you. Take the keys, sir.”
The crackle of the kindling f.a.gots came to Geoffrey's ears. He saw the forty men with chains that were to haul the Dragon into the fire.
”But there's Father Anselm yet to come,” he protested. ”Surely we wait for him.”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”I'll wait for n.o.body. He with his Crusades and rubbis.h.!.+ Haven't I got this Dragon, and there's no Crusade?--Ah, Cousin Modus, glad you could come over. Just in time. The sherry's to your left. Yes, it's a very fine day. Yes, yes, this is Geoffrey my girl's to marry and all that.--What do I care about Father Anselm?” the old gentleman resumed testily, when his cousin Modus had shuffled off. ”Come, sir.”
He gave the keys into Geoffrey's unwilling hand, and ordered silence proclaimed.
”Hearken, good friends!” said he, and all talk and going to and fro ceased. The tenantry stood down in the court-yard, a ma.s.s of motionless russet and yellow, every face watching the Baron. The gentry swarmed noiselessly out upon the steps behind him, their handsome dresses bright against the Manor walls. There was a short pause. Old Gaffer Piers made a slight disturbance falling over with his cup of ale, but was quickly set on his feet by his neighbours. The sun blazed down, and the growling of the Dragon came from the pit.
”Yonder noise,” pursued Sir G.o.dfrey, ”speaks more to the point than I could. I'll give you no speech.” All loudly cheered at this.
”Don't you think,” whispered the Rev. Hucbald in the Baron's ear, ”that a little something serious should be said on such an occasion? I should like our brethren to be reminded----”
”Fudge!” said the Baron. ”For thirteen years,” he continued, raising his voice again, ”this Dragon has been speaking for himself. You all know and I know how that has been. And now we are going to speak for ourselves. And when he is on top of that fire he'll know how that is.
Geoffrey, open the pit and get him out.”
Again there was a cheer, but a short one, for the spell of expectancy was on all. The young man descended into the court, and the air seemed to turn to a wavering mist as he looked up at the Manor windows seeking to spy Elaine's face at one of them. Was this to be the end?
Could he kiss her one last good-by if disaster was in store for them after all? Alas! no glimpse of her was to be seen as he moved along, hardly aware of his own steps, and the keys jingling lightly as he moved. Through the crowd he pa.s.sed, and a whispering ran in his wake followed by deeper silence than before. He reached the edge of the people and crossed the open s.p.a.ce beyond, pa.s.sing the leaping blaze of the f.a.gots, and so drew near the iron door of the pit. The key went slowly into the lock. All shrank with dismay at the roar which rent the air. Geoffrey paused with his hand gripping the key, and there came a sound of solemn singing over the fields.
”The monks!” murmured a few under their breath; and silence fell again, each listening.
Men's voices it was, and their chanting rose by one sudden step to a high note that was held for a moment, and then sank again, mellow like the harmony of horns in a wood. Then over the ridge from Oyster-le-Main the length of a slow procession began to grow. The gray gowns hung to the earth straight with scarce any waving as the men walked. The heavy hoods reached over each face so there was no telling its features. None in the court-yard spoke at all, as the brooding figures pa.s.sed in under the gateway and proceeded to the door of the bear-pit, singing always. Howlings that seemed born of terror now rose from the imprisoned monster; and many thought, ”evidently the evil beast cannot endure the sound of holy words.”
Elaine in her white dress now gazed from an upper window, seeing her lover with his enemies drawing continually closer around him.
Perhaps it was well for him that his death alone would not have served to lock their secret up again; that the white maiden in the window is ready to speak the word and direct instant vengeance on them and their dragon if any ill befall that young man who stands by the iron door.
The song of the monks ended. Sir G.o.dfrey on the steps was wondering why Father Anselm did not stand out from the rest of the gray people and explain his wishes. ”Though he shall not interrupt the sport, whatever he says,” thought the Baron, and cast on the group of holy men a less hospitable eye than had beamed on his other guests.
Geoffrey over at the iron door, surrounded by the motionless figures, scanned each hood narrowly and soon met the familiar eyes of Hubert.
Hubert's gown, he noticed, bulged out in a manner ungainly and mysterious. ”Open the door,” whispered that youth. At once Geoffrey began to turn the key. And at its grinding all held their breath, and a quivering silence hung over the court. The hasty drops pattered down from the eaves from the snow that was melting on the roof. Then some strip of metal inside the lock sprung suddenly, making a sharp song, and ceased. The crowd of monks pressed closer together as the iron door swung open.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DRAGON MAKETH HIS LAST APPEARANCE]
What did Geoffrey see? None but the monks could tell. Instantly a single roar more terrible than any burst out, and the huge horrible black head and jaws of the monster reared into the view of Sir G.o.dfrey and his guests. One instant the fearful vision in the door-way swayed with a stiff strange movement over the knot of monks that surrounded it, then sank out of sight among them. There was a sound of jerking and fierce clanking of chains, mingled with loud chanting of pious sentences. Then a plume of spitting flame flared upward with a mighty roar, and the gray figures scattered right and left. There along the ground lay the monster, shrivelled, twisted in dismal coils, and dead.
Close beside his black body towered Father Anselm, smoothing the folds of his gray gown. Geoffrey was sheathing his sword and looking at Hubert, whose dress bulged out no longer, but fitted him as usual.
”We have been vouchsafed a miracle,” said Father Anselm quietly, to the gaping spectators.
”There'll be no burning,” said Geoffrey, pointing to the shrunken skin. But though he spoke so coolly, and repelled all besieging disturbance from the fortress of his calm visage and bearing, as a bold and haughty youth should do, yet he could scarcely hold his finger steady as it pointed to the blackened carcase. Then all at once his eyes met those of Elaine where she watched from her window, and relief and joy rushed through him. He stretched his arms towards her, not caring who saw, and the look she sent him with a smile drove all surrounding things to an immeasurable distance away.
”Here indeed,” Father Anselm repeated, ”is a miracle. Lo, the empty sh.e.l.l! The snake hath shed his skin.”
”This is very disappointing,” said Sir G.o.dfrey, bewildered. ”Is there no dragon to roast?”
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