A black mass moved into sight, and from it came spoutings of fire that showed dark, jagged wings heavily flapping. It walked a little and stopped; then walked again. Geoffrey could see a great snout and head rocking and turning. Dismal and unspeakable sounds proceeded from the creature as it made towards the cellar-door. After it had got close and leaned against the panels in a toppling, swaying fashion, came a noise of creaking and fumbling, and then the door rolled aside upon its hinges. Next, the blurred white ridge towards Oyster-le-Main was darkened with moving specks that came steadily near; and man by man of the Guild reached the open door crouching, whispered a word or two, and crept inside. They made no sound that could be heard above the hissing of the downward flakes and the wind that moaned always, but louder sometimes. Only Elaine, with her ear to the cold iron key-hole of the passage-door, could mark the clink of armour, and shivered as she stood in the dark. And now the cellar is full,—but not of gray gowns. The candle flames show little glistening sparks in the black coats of mail, and the sight of themselves cased in steel, and each bearing an empty keg, stirred a laughter among them. Then the kegs were set down without noise on the earthy floor among the bins. The Dragon was standing on his crooked scaly hind-legs; and to see the grim, changeless jaw and eyes brought a dead feeling around the heart. But the two bungling fore-paws moved upwards, shaking like a machine, and out of a slit in the hide came two white hands that lifted to one side the brown knarled mask of the crocodile. There was the black head of Sir Francis Almoign. “’Tis hot in there,” he said; and with two fingers he slung the drops of sweat from his forehead.
“Wet thy whistle before we begin,” said Hubert, filling a jug for him. Sir Francis took it in both hands, and then clutched it tightly as a sudden singing was set up out in the night.
“Come, take a wife,
Come, take a wife,
Ere thou learnest age’s treasons!”
The tune came clear and jolly, cutting through the muffled noises of the tempest.
“Blood and death!” muttered Hubert.
Each figure had sprung into a stiff position of listening.
“Quit thy roving;
Shalt by loving
Not wax lean in stormy seasons.
Ho! ho! oh,—ho!
Not wax lean in——”
Here the strain snapped off short. Then a whining voice said, “Oh, I have fallen again! A curse on these roots. Lucifer fell only once, and ’twas enough for him. I have looked on the wine when it was red, and my dame Jeanie will know it soon, oh, soon! But my sober curse on these roots.”
“That’s nothing,” said Hubert. “There’s a band of Christmas singers has strolled into these parts to chant carols. One of them has stopped too long at the tavern.”