Читать книгу St. George and the Witches - J. W. Dunne - Страница 4

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“The information I am going to give you,” began the King, “I had direct from my own astrologer royal, Sir Marmaduke Melchior, who is probably the most learned man in the whole country of Libya. Fire-breathing dragons, he told me, are rare for the simple reason that they come from volcanoes. Each of these burning mountains has within its glowing heart one fire-dragon. Now, when a volcano becomes burnt out, or ‘extinct,’ its dragon leaves it. The creature’s preliminary stirrings start, occasionally, a serious earthquake. Thereafter it emerges and seeks for a hotter place. Of course, it never finds one, and it dies in about a fortnight; but, during that period, it does, usually, an immense amount of damage. The dragon which wanted Cleodolinda came from a volcano in the country belonging to my sister, Queen Sophia—a country which borders mine on the east. This mountain ceased to erupt about two years ago; and, eighteen months later, there was a violent earthquake which tore great fissures in the countryside. A few days ago the dragon came out and made directly for my country. Sir Marmaduke, looking from the high tower of his observatory, saw the beast arrive.

“And now, here is another thing. Your discovery, St. George, that an armor of scales gives security against attack from the front, but none against assault from behind, is not really new. It is a piece of knowledge with which my hunters and the Princess here and I myself have long been acquainted. We employ it as a matter of course in all our dragon drives.”

“Dragon what?” inquired the puzzled St. George.

“Dragon drives,” repeated the King. “Do you not drive dragons in England?”

“We have no dragons there,” answered the Knight. “But would you kindly explain, sire, what is a ‘drive.’”

“There is a large wood near here,” said the King, “which is simply teeming with a small variety of dragon. The beasts are about as large as crocodiles; and, though they are not fire-breathers, they have armor of brazen scales, and very serviceable teeth and claws. They possess no poison stings; but, on the other hand, they are magnificent fliers, and can carry off oxen with ease. We compel them to fly from the forest over a line of archers standing upon the sward just beyond the edge of the trees. Our bowmen do not make the mistake of shooting at the creatures when these first appear flying toward them above the treetops. Arrows shot thus would simply glance harmlessly from the scales. No, the archer waits until the dragon has passed overhead, and then wheels round and shoots at the beast from behind. I tell you,” he went on with rising enthusiasm, “that there is no finer sight to be seen during a sportsman’s career than is afforded by one of these smitten dragons towering up, up into the sky until it is scarcely more than a tiny dot, and then somersaulting over and over, growing rapidly larger as it falls down, down to strike the earth with a clang such as fifty forges could not imitate.”

“But how do you make the beasts fly?” asked St. George.

“With elephants,” replied the King. “We have a line of these animals stretching right across the forest. Each carries a mahout (specially imported from India) and a man whom we call the ‘beater’—because he beats upon a large gong as the line advances. The mahout blows upon a horn. The sight of this moving wave of elephants is most impressive, and the noise is quite terrific. Our dragons cannot stand elephants—claws and teeth make no impression upon those thick hides, and the mighty legs would crush any creature they trod upon. But here is an idea. Shall we have a dragon drive tomorrow, and then you, St. George, can see the sport for yourself? More, you can take your stand with the archers, for I hear that you English are skilled beyond all other men in the use of the bow.”

“Splendid!” cried the Princess, clapping her hands, “and I, also, will take my bow and have a place among the shooters.”

“Now, now, Cleodolinda!” cried her father, “you know well that children, when they attend, must ride upon the elephants. The other post is too dangerous for them.”

“I would have you to know, my father,” replied the Princess, holding her head very high, “that I am no longer a child. I am a married woman. Moreover, you will agree that the wife of the bravest knight in Christendom should be the last woman to regard her personal safety as a matter for great concern.”

“But can you shoot straight enough, my dear?” asked the anxious King.

The Princess extracted a lump of sugar from a little bowl on the table before her and presented the morsel to her father. Then she moved to the wall of the boudoir, upon which there hung a small silver-mounted bow and a quiver of arrows. “Do you, sire,” she said, “stand at the far end of the room, holding the sugar between your fingers. I will undertake to shoot that target away without injury to yourself.” She selected an arrow as she spoke.

“No, no!” cried the King. “I will take your word for your skill, my pet.” He looked across at St. George, and both men, the old and the young, raised their eyebrows and grinned feebly. It was as if they had said, with one accord, “Oh, these women!”

“Very well, then,” sighed the King, “that is settled. Tomorrow at midday, let it be; for these dragons do not fly well until they have been warmed by the sun. And now I must leave you to your rest.” He rose and kissed the Princess’ fingers. “Your tea, my dear, is excellent beyond words; but I will take no more, for I suspect that it might unsteady me for the shooting. So, good night to you both.”

There was a pleasant bustle in the castle courtyard throughout the following morning, and St. George watched the proceedings with interest. The captain of the archers brought him a bow, and this proved to be so much less powerful than the English weapon that the Knight thought it advisable to put in an hour’s practice at the archery butts. The arrival of the elephants drew him from that amusement. He had encountered elephants before—in the enemy’s ranks during some of his campaigns—but he had never seen specimens so magnificent as were these which the King of Silene had collected. There were forty of them, all giants of their kind, and from their towering shoulders great scarlet saddlecloths drooped nearly to the ground. The cloths were fringed with hundreds of little bells; and bells, again, hung from bands encircling each elephant’s legs; for the aim was to make the animals’ progress as noisy as possible. The grinning Indians perched upon the mighty necks carried horns of a curious, twisted shape. These, when blown, produced a sound not unlike the trumpeting of an elephant; and, when this happened, the great beasts would elevate their trunks and trumpet in reply. The gong beaters sat in small howdahs; and each carried, besides his metal disc and hammer, a heavy, spiked mace with which to strike at any dragon which might have the temerity to turn and attack the driving line. But this last, St. George was told, happened very rarely. He was amused to see that the enormous animals devoured greedily the little cakes which the Princess Cleodolinda offered to each: indeed, this docility of creatures which he had known only as raging war monsters struck him as most surprising.

Cleodolinda was enthralled by St. George’s description of the advance of an elephant line-of-battle, and marveled greatly that any army could defend itself against such an attack. St. George explained.

“You see,” he said, “the creatures are not brave individually. They need the support of their fellows in the line. When their riders are shot with arrows, the elephants, lacking guidance, can maintain that line no longer. It bends and divides, and then breaks up into single elephants rushing in every direction. These desire merely to escape from the battle; and the men of their own side, who try to drive them back to the attack, become the only sufferers.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by a clarion call from the castle, summoning all to a hasty meal. The sun was now high in the heavens, and there was no time to be wasted. Even the King, a notable trencherman, contented himself on this occasion with half a ham and two flagons of wine. St. George ate and drank even more sparingly; while Cleodolinda, who was wildly excited, could barely force herself to nibble the wing of a chicken. And so, with very little delay, they gathered again in the courtyard, and the procession set out for Dragon Wood.

Here the party divided. The elephant line filed away along the western border of the trees, while the others continued along the southern edge until they came to the eastern side. From this, rolling grassland descended gently to a valley, the bottom of which was out of sight. Beyond, the ground rose again, but the character of the country had changed. It had become a forbidding-looking territory of crags and rock-strewn plateau separated by gorges in which pine and thorn struggled for mastery. St. George, shading his eyes with his hand, saw that this desolate land swept away northward in a series of ridges until it ended in sunlit mist. In the immediate foreground there towered, faint and ethereal against the pale-blue sky, a shining conical peak.

“Queen Sophia’s land,” said the King’s voice in his ear. “And yonder is the extinct volcano.”

“It ceased to erupt two years ago, I think you said, sire.”

“Yes,” answered the King, “but it caused most of that desolation first. The earthquake six months back did the rest.”

A horn sounded remotely—a single, interrogative note from the other side of the forest.

“Ah!” cried the King. “That is to ask if we are ready. Come quickly. This way.”

They strung out along the eastern border of the forest, standing fifty yards apart, and about forty paces back from the trees. Then the King blew a single blast upon his own horn.

The note had scarcely died away when, at the distant side of the forest, there broke out an indescribable tumult, faint at first, but growing rapidly louder. St. George, listening intently, could distinguish the trumpeting of the elephants and the clanging of the gongs, mingled with shrill cries of “Hi! yah! Hi! yah!” But the little bells were too far away to be heard.

“Look! look!” cried the Princess suddenly. She was standing nearest to him on his right.

St. George raised his head. Threading its way through the distant, green treetops, and traveling at an incredible speed, there was coming toward them something which looked like a streak of golden light. As it reached the forest edge, it soared upward and revealed itself as an immense, lizardlike creature with long, gleaming body and broad, burnished wings. It shot over the head of the captain of the archers; and he, spinning round, let fly an arrow in pursuit. The shaft struck the creature in the lower ribs, burying itself to the feathers; and the dragon, somersaulting in the air, pitched headlong to the earth. It fell with a mingled crash and clang, and moved no more.

“Oh! good shot, Walter!” cried the Princess. The captain looked round and smiled.

Ding dong, ding dong. “Hi! yah!” Toot toot. Clang clang clang, came from the advancing line; and then, suddenly, the noise was drowned by a full-throated roar that echoed and re-echoed among the tree trunks.

“Dragon forward! Dragon for-r-ward!” shrieked the beaters. St. George saw another gleam approaching through the treetops. It sailed over him, and he turned and let drive. But, accustomed to the greater speed of the English cloth-yard arrow, he misjudged his distance allowance and shot too far behind. Thereupon, the Princess and Walter let fly simultaneously—and their arrows crossed in the dragon’s heart.

The next chance came to Cleodolinda, and she brought down her quarry very neatly. She was wild with delight, for this was a dragon she had killed entirely by herself—the first of which she could make that boast. Then a monster flew roaring over St. George, and this time he did not miss. The driving line was nearer now, and the tinkling of a thousand little bells made a background to the harsh clangor of the gongs, the shrill trumpeting of the elephants, the yells of the mahouts and the thunderous roars of startled dragons. Some of these last flew forward in silence, but most of them protested to the full power of their lungs. Soon, thirty golden bodies lay stretched on the grass behind the bowmen; and, of these victims, six had fallen to English archery. Cleodolinda had five to her credit, not counting the one she had shared with Walter. The King missed unfailingly, but this did not seem to affect his enjoyment in the least. He was at the end of the line, and a little crowd of peasants had collected there. They shouted respectful but contradictory advice . . . “Too far forward, your Majesty” . . . “Too far behind!” He tried to take it all.

The elephant line was approaching the edge of the wood, and the din had become deafening. Then, suddenly, there came a change in the uproar. The trumpeting of the elephants increased; but the bells stopped ringing, the gongs ceased to beat, and, in place of yells of encouragement, shouts of warning were hurled to and fro along the evidently halted line. . . . “What’s that?” . . . “Look out, Abdullah!” . . . “There it goes!” . . . “Mind! Hamid, mind! It’s in front of you!” . . . “Danger! Danger!” The dragons had become completely silent.

Then came a long wail, “Oh, my elephant! my elephant! my Hannibal!” Then a mingled shriek of rage from the mahouts. “Ride her down! Ride her down!” The bells broke out again, and the crashing of the elephants’ feet could be heard anew; but these were drowned in an awful, ear-splitting howl.

“W-a-a-h hoo! W-a-a-h hoo! W-a-a-h hoo hoo hoo hoo h-o-o-o!”

“Danger forward! Danger! Mind! Mind!” screamed the beaters. Something was coming, thud, thud, thud, through the wood; and, as it approached, it howled like a lost soul.

The next moment, St. George saw a most extraordinary sight. Bounding through the air, in great, flying leaps of forty yards or more, there came an old woman—a hideous hag who showed long yellow tusks as she snarled over her shoulder at the angry mahouts behind. Her skinny arms were held high over her head, and in each of her clenched fists she grasped a handful of leaves. She saw St. George, and swerved toward him, hissing like a snake.

St. George had faced many unexpected dangers, and was quick to perceive the important point in any new situation. He realized promptly that the leaves must be this hag’s weapons; and, as she bounded, yelling anew, over his head, he sprang forward and threw himself flat on his face. The leaves pattered to the ground behind him. Then he rose on one knee, turned, and loosed an arrow after the disgusting creature. It struck her squarely between the shoulder blades—and rebounded, shattered to fragments. She laughed shrilly, and continued her course, speeding down the slope in leaps which no wild animal could have accomplished. As she fled, she broke out again into her dreadful howling, shrieking as if fiends were tearing her piecemeal. She was lost to view in the dip of the valley; but the howls continued, and, presently, they sighted her again, bounding up the opposite slope until, at last, she disappeared in one of the wooded gullies of Queen Sophia’s land. Then her yelling ceased.

“A witch!” breathed Cleodolinda. She had run forward to St. George’s side and was looking rather white.

“Of course,” said the King. He, also, had run forward, but appeared to be more angry than alarmed. “The point is,” he went on, “what is she doing here? We have not had a witch in my country for sixty years.”

“Ah!” cried an old peasant, who had appeared unobserved, “you may well ask that. It were from Queen Sophy’s land she come, and it were I as seed her coming. Five months ago it were. She come, and she settled in that there wood among all they dragons. And on nights when the moon’s on the wane she comes to the edge of the trees there, and she howls like a mad dog. And whenever she does that, something bad happens to we poor farmers. ‘Howling Harriet,’ we calls her; and what I says is: She oughter be stopped by law.”

“But why was I not told of this before?” cried the angry King.

“Eh, it don’t do no good to tell tales of witches,” said the old man, shaking his head.

“Well, you are telling them now,” snapped the King.

“Why, bless my soul, so I be,” cried the other, in evident dismay. He turned and hobbled off.

“Howling Harriet!” said the King. “A pretty creature. I wonder if Sophia knows she is there.”

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” cried a voice. The King turned and saw a kneeling mahout. “My elephant,” sobbed the man. Tears were streaming down his face, and he appeared incapable of further speech. But he pointed toward the wood.

“Come on,” said the King shortly. He entered the trees, followed by the remainder of the party.

The elephant line had halted; but the great beasts, though uneasy, appeared to have suffered no injury. The King’s attention, however, was caught immediately by a group of mahouts and beaters clustered about something white behind the line, and he ran swiftly toward the spot.

There, towering among the trees, stood a magnificent elephant sculptured in purest white marble. It held one foot raised, as if to trample upon something venomous; its trunk was curled up and back as if trumpeting in wrath; and its whole expression bore token to a noble indignation, as if the beast were looking upon something unspeakably vile. The King gazed in admiration for a moment, and then horror spread slowly over his countenance.

“Heavens!” he gasped, “it is Hannibal! . . . My favorite elephant,” he added, for the benefit of St. George. He turned to the weeping mahout. “How did this happen?”

“The noble beast was about to trample upon the witch,” sobbed the man, “when she (may jackals howl on her grandmother’s grave) cast a handful of leaves upon him, and this—this calamity followed in the twinkling of an eye.”

The King laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder. “Hannibal shall stand in my courtyard,” he said. “He shall stand upon a pedestal of marble bearing in letters of pure gold the story of how he died doing his duty in battle with an evil thing.” He turned, frowning, to St. George. “But that woman, Howling Harriet, seems to be really dangerous. Queen Sophia should be warned at once.”

“Yes,” said the Knight, ruefully, “I suppose that a creature with an unpierceable hide, who can spring at you from forty yards distance and turn you immediately into a monument, may be called without exaggeration ‘dangerous.’ In fact,” he added, “I do not see for the moment how there can be any defense against her at all.”

“She may have an unpierceable skin without possessing a set of unbreakable bones,” answered the King. “I should judge that she can be crushed. See how she fled from the elephants. I should like greatly to test her skull with a heavy mace.”

“A pleasant fancy,” agreed St. George, “but she is too agile for that, and her flung leaves would make stone of the mace wielder while he was trying to get within striking distance.”

Walter stepped forward. “Will you permit me, sire,” he begged, “to carry a warning to your Majesty’s sister?”

“No,” said the King, sharply, “I shall go myself. I must talk this matter over with the Queen. Her court magician must be utterly worthless to have allowed her land to become the refuge of a hag like that.”

“She is watching us now!” cried one of the archers. “I saw her move.”

“What of it?” said the King. “I am not proposing to cross the border here, but at the river bridge ten miles to the south.”

“But suppose—” Walter hesitated. “Suppose she guesses at your Majesty’s intention and lies in wait for you there. It would be useless to flee: she can travel faster than any deer.”

“Suppose! suppose! suppose!” cried the King angrily. “I tell you that I am going. But you mean well, I know, Walter; and I shall travel with the greatest secrecy. More, you shall come with me.”

“And I also, I trust, sire?” asked St. George.

“Of course, my dear fellow,” replied the King. “I and, I am sure, my sister also will be delighted to have your assistance.”

The Princess Cleodolinda bit her lip, but she said nothing. She knew that there are times when it is useless for a mere woman to talk to a lot of men.