The following night, hideous sounds were heard in the fields, and those who dared to open their shutters to see what the matter was, beheld a huge lizard beast, with fiery breath and accompanied by rattling thunder, raging over the soil, which he hardly seemed to touch!
In this manner did the dreaded Dragon of Wantley make his appearance, and in this manner did Sir Francis Almoign, Knight of the Voracious Stomach, stand in the shoes of that Father Anselm whom he had put so comfortably out of the way under the flower-beds in the Monastery garden,—and never a soul in the world except his companions in orgy to know the difference. He even came to be welcome at Sir Godfrey’s table; for after the Dragon’s appearance, the Baron grew civil to all members of the Church. By day this versatile sinner, the Grand Marshal, would walk in the sight of the world with staid step, clothed in gray, his hood concealing his fierce, unchurchly eyes; by night, inside the crocodile skin, he visited what places he chose, unhindered by the terrified dwellers, and after him came his followers of the Guild to steal the plunder and bear it back inside the walls of Oyster-le-Main. Never in all their adventures had these superb miscreants been in better plight; but now the trouble had begun, as you are going to hear. We return to Hubert and the company.
“Hubert and all of you,” said Father Anselm, or rather Sir Francis, the Grand Marshal, as we know him to be, “they say that whom the gods desire to destroy, him do they first make drunk with wine.”
“The application! the application!” they shouted in hoarse and mirthful chorus, for they were certainly near that state favourable to destruction by the gods. One black fellow with a sliding gait ran into the closet and brought a sheet of thin iron, and a strange torch-like tube, which he lighted at the fire and blew into from the other end. A plume of spitting flame immediately shot far into the air.
“Before thy sermon proceeds, old Dragon,” he said, puffing unsteady but solemn breaths between his words, “wrap up in lightning and thunder that we may be—may be—lieve what you say.” Then he shook the iron till it gave forth a frightful shattering sound. The Grand Marshal said not a word. With three long steps he stood towering in front of the man and dealt him a side blow under the ear with his steel fist. He fell instantly, folding together like something boneless, and lay along the floor for a moment quite still, except that some piece in his armour made a light rattling as though there were muscles that quivered beneath it. Then he raised himself slowly to a bench where his brothers sat waiting, soberly enough. Only young Hubert grinned aside to his neighbour, who, perceiving it, kept his eyes fixed as far from that youth as possible.
“Thy turn next, if art not careful, Hubert,” said Sir Francis very quietly, as he seated himself.
“Wonder of saints!” Hubert thought secretly, not moving at all, “how could he have seen that?”
“’Tis no small piece of good fortune,” continued the Grand Marshal, “that some one among us can put aside his slavish appetites, and keep a clear eye on the watch against misadventure. Here is my news. That hotch-pot of lies we set going among the people has fallen foul of us. The daughter of Sir Godfrey has heard our legend, and last week told her sire that to-night she would follow it out to the letter, and meet the Dragon of Wantley alone in single combat.”