Wister Owen
The Dragon of Wantley: His Tale

CHAPTER VIII.
Contains a Dilemma with two simply egregious Horns

“Run instantly into the house,” said Geoffrey to Elaine, and he dragged out his sword.

But she stared at him, and nothing further.

“Or no. Stay here and see me kill him,” the boy added, pridefully.

“Kill him!” said she, in amazement. “Do you suppose that papa, with all his experience, couldn’t tell it was an imitation dragon? And you talk of strategy! I have thought much about to-night, – and, Geoffrey, you must do just the thing that I bid you, and nothing else. Promise.”

“I think we’ll hear first what your wisdom is,” said he, shaking his head like the sage youth that he was.

“Promise!” she repeated, “else I go away at once, and leave you. Now! One – two – thrrr – ”

“I promise!” he shouted.

“’Sh! Papa’s window is just round the tower. Now, sir, you must go over yonder within those trees.”

“Where?”

“There where the snow has dipped the branches low down. And leave me alone in the cellar with the Dragon.”

“With the Dragon? Alone? I did not know you counted me a lunatic,” replied Geoffrey. Then, after a look over the fields where the storm was swirling, he gave attention to the point of his sword.

“Where’s your promise?” said she. “Will you break your word so soon?”

A big gust of wind flung the snow sharp against their faces.

“Did you expect – ” began the young knight, and then said some words that I suppose gentlemen in those old times were more prone to use before ladies than they are to-day. Which shows the optimists are right.

Then, still distant, but not so distant, came another roar.

“Geoffrey!” Elaine said, laying a hand upon his arm; “indeed, you must hear me now, and make no delay with contrary notions. There is no danger for me. Look. He will first be by himself to clear the way of watchers. No one peeps out of windows when the Dragon’s howling. Next, the rest will come and all go into papa’s cellar for the wine. But we must get these others away, and that’s for you.” She paused.

“Well? Well?” he said.

“It will go thus: the passage shall hide me, and the door of it be shut. You’ll watch over by the trees, and when you see all have come inside here, make some sort of noise at the edge of the wood.”

“What sort of noise?”

“Oh, – not as if you suspected. Seem to be passing by. Play you are a villager going home late. When they hear that, they’ll run away for fear of their secret. The Dragon will surely stay behind.”

“Why will he stay behind? Why will they run away?”

“Dear Geoffrey, don’t you see that if these men were to be seen in company with the Dragon by one who till now knew them as monks, where would their living be gone to? Of course, they will get themselves out of sight, and the Dragon will remain as a sort of human scarecrow. Then I’ll come out from the passage-door.”

“One would almost think you desired that villain to kill you,” said Geoffrey. “No, indeed. I’ll not consent to that part.”

“How shall he kill me here?” Elaine replied. “Do you not see the Dragon of Wantley would have to carry a maiden away? He would not dare to put me to the sword. When I come, I shall speak three words to him. Before there is time for him to think what to do, you will hear me say (for you must have now run up from the wood) ‘the legend has come true!’ Then, when I tell him that, do you walk in ready with your sword to keep him polite. Oh, indeed,” said the lady, with her eyes sparkling on Geoffrey, “we must keep his manners good for him. For I think he’s one of those persons who might turn out very rude in a trying situation.”

All this was far from pleasing to young Geoffrey. But Elaine showed him how no other way was to be found by which Sir Francis could be trapped red-handed and distant from help. While the knight was bending his brows down with trying to set his thoughts into some order that should work out a better device, a glare shone over the next hill against the falling flakes.

“Quick!” said Elaine.

She withdrew into the cellar on the instant, and the great door closed between them. Geoffrey stood looking at it very anxiously, and then walked backwards, keeping close to the walls, and so round the tower and into the court, whence he turned and ploughed as fast as he could through the deep drifts till he was inside the trees. “If they spy my steps,” he thought, “it will seem as though some one of the house had gone in there to secure the door.”

Once more the glare flashed against the swiftly-descending curtains of the storm. Slowly it approached, sometimes illuminating a tree-trunk for a moment, then suddenly gleaming on the white mounds where rocks lay deeply cloaked.

“He is pretty slow,” said Geoffrey, shifting the leg he was leaning on.

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.”

“Do I see a light?” said the voice. “Help! Give me a light, and let me go home.

 
“Quit thy roving;
Shalt by loving – ”
 

“Shall I open his throat, that he may sing the next verse in heaven?” Hubert inquired.

“No, fool!” said Sir Francis. “Who knows if his brother sots are not behind him to wake the house? This is too dangerous to-night. Away with you, every one. Stoop low till ye are well among the fields, and then to Oyster-le-Main! I’ll be Dragon for a while, and follow after.”

Quickly catching up his keg, each man left the cellar like a shadow. Geoffrey, from the edge of the wood, saw them come out and dissolve away into the night. With the tube of the torch at his lips, Sir Francis blew a blast of fire out at the door, then covered his head once more with the grinning crocodile. He roared twice, and heard something creak behind him, so turned to see what had made it. There was Miss Elaine on the passage-steps. Her lips moved to speak, but for a short instant fear put a silence upon her that she found no voice to break. He, with a notion she was there for the sake of the legend, waved his great paws and trundled towards where she was standing.

“Do not forget to roar, sir,” said the young lady, managing her voice so there was scarce any tremble to be heard in it.

At this the Dragon stood still.

“You perceive,” she said to him, “after all, a dragon, like a mouse, comes to the trap.”

“Not quite yet,” cried Sir Francis, in a terrible voice, and rushed upon her, meaning death.

“The legend has come true!” she loudly said.

A gleaming shaft of steel whistled across the sight of Sir Francis.

“Halt there!” thundered Geoffrey, leaping between the two, and posing his sword for a lunge.

“My hour has come,” Sir Francis thought. For he was cased in the stiff hide, and could do nothing in defence.

“Now shalt thou lick the earth with thy lying tongue,” said Geoffrey.

A sneer came through the gaping teeth of the crocodile.

“Valiant, indeed!” the voice said. “Very valiant and knightly, oh son of Bertram of Poictiers! Frenchmen know when to be bold. Ha! ha!”

“Crawl out of that nut, thou maggot,” answered Geoffrey, “and taste thy doom.”

Here was a chance, the gift of a fool. The two white hands appeared and shifted the mask aside, letting them see a cunning hope on his face.

“Do not go further, sir,” said Elaine. “It is for the good of us all that you abide where you are. As I shall explain.”

“What is this, Elaine?” said Geoffrey.

“Your promise!” she answered, lifting a finger at him.

There was a dry crack from the crocodile’s hide.

“Villain!” cried Geoffrey, seizing the half-extricated body by the throat. “Thy false skin is honester than thyself, and warned us. Back inside!”

The robber’s eyes shrivelled to the size of a snake’s, as, with no tenderness, the youth grappled with him still entangled, and with hands, feet, and knees drove him into his shell as a hasty traveller tramples his effects into a packing-case.

“See,” said Elaine, “how pleasantly we two have you at our disposal. Shall the neighbours be called to have a sight of the Dragon?”

“What do you want with me?” said Sir Francis, quietly. For he was a philosopher.

“In the first place,” answered Geoffrey, “know that thou art caught. And if I shall spare thee this night, it may well be they’ll set thy carcase swinging on the gallows-tree to-morrow morning, – or, being Christmas, the day after.”

“I can see my case without thy help,” Sir Francis replied. “What next?”

At this, Elaine came to Geoffrey and they whispered together.

“Thy trade is done for,” said the youth, at length. “There’ll be no more monks of Oyster-le-Main, and no more Dragon of Wantley. But thou and the other curs may live, if ye so choose.”

“Through what do I buy my choice?”

“Through a further exhibition of thine art. Thou must play Dragon to-night once again for the last time. This, that I may show thee captive to Sir Godfrey Disseisin.”

“And in chains, I think,” added Elaine. “There is one behind the post.” It had belonged in the bear-pit during the lives of Orlando Crumb and Furioso Bun, two bears trapped expressly for the Baron near Roncevaux.

“After which?” inquired Sir Francis.

“Thou shalt go free, and I will claim this lady’s hand from her father, who promised her to any man that brought the Dragon to him dead or alive.”

“Papa shall be kept at a distance from you,” said Elaine, “and will never suspect in this dimness, if you roar at him thoroughly.”

“Then,” continued Geoffrey, “I shall lead thee away as my spoil, and the people shall see the lizard-skin after a little while. But thou must journey far from Wantley, and never show face again.”

“And go from Oyster-le-Main and the tithings?” exclaimed Sir Francis. “My house and my sustenance?”

“Sustain thyself elsewhere,” said Geoffrey; “I care not how.”

“No!” said Sir Francis. “I’ll not do this.”

“Then we call Sir Godfrey. The Baron will not love thee very much, seeing how well he loves his Burgundy thou hast drank. Thou gavest him sermons on cold spring-water. He’ll remember that. I think thou’lt be soon hanging. So choose.”

The Knight of the Voracious Stomach was silent.

“This is a pretty scheme thou hast,” he presently said. “And not thine own. She has taught thee this wit, I’ll be bound. Mated to her, thou’lt prosper, I fear.”

“Come, thy choice,” said Geoffrey, sternly.

A sour smile moved the lips of Sir Francis. “Well,” he said, “it has been good while it lasted. Yes, I consent. Our interests lie together. See how Necessity is the mother of Friendship, also.”

The mask was drawn over his face, and they wound the chain about the great body.

“There must be sounds of fighting,” said Elaine. “Make them when I am gone into the house.”

“If I had strangled thee in thy prison, which was in my mind,” said the voice of the hidden speaker, “this folly we – but there. Let it go, and begin.”

Then they fell to making a wonderful disturbance. The Dragon’s voice was lifted in horrid howlings; and the young knight continually bawled with all his lungs. They chased as children in a game do: forward, back, and across to nowhere, knocking the barrels, clanking and clashing, up between the rows and around corners; and the dry earth was ground under their feet and swept from the floor upward in a fine floating yellow powder that they sucked down into their windpipes, while still they hustled and jangled and banged and coughed and grew dripping wet, so the dust and the water mingled and ran black streams along their bodies from the neck downwards, tickling their backs and stomachs mightily. When the breath was no longer inside them, they stopped to listen.

The house was stone still, and no noise came, save always the wind’s same cheerless blowing.

“How much more of this before they will awaken?” exclaimed Geoffrey, in indignation. “’Tis a scandal people should sleep so.”

“They are saying their prayers,” said Sir Francis.

“It is a pity thou art such a miscreant,” Geoffrey said, heartily; “otherwise I could sweat myself into a good-humour with thee.”

But Sir Francis replied with coldness, “It is easy for the upper hand to laugh.”

“We must at it again,” said Geoffrey; “and this time I will let them hear thou art conquered.” The din and hubbub recommenced. And Mistletoe could hear it where she quaked inside her closet holding the door with both hands. And the Baron could hear it. He was locked in the bath-room, dreadfully sorry he had not gone to the Crusade. Quite unknowingly in his alarm he had laid hold of a cord that set going the shower-bath; but he gave no heed at all to this trifle. And every man and woman in the house heard the riot, from the scullion up through the cook to Popham, who had unstrapped his calves before retiring, so that now his lean shanks knocked together like hockey-sticks. Little Whelpdale, freezing in his shirt-tail under the bed, was crying piteously upon all Saints to forget about his sins and deliver him. Only Miss Elaine standing in her room listened with calm; and she with not much, being on the threshold of a chance that might turn untoward so readily. Presently a victorious shouting came from far down through the dark.

“He is mine!” the voice bellowed. “I have laid him low. The Dragon is taken.” At this she hastened to summon Sir Godfrey.

“Why, where can he be?” she exclaimed, stopping in astonishment at his room, empty and the door open wide.

Down in the cellar the voice continued to call on all people to come and see the Dragon of Wantley. Also Elaine heard a splashing and dripping that sounded in the bath-room. So she ran to the door and knocked.

“You can’t come in!” said the Baron angrily.

“Papa! They’ve caught the Dragon. Oh why are you taking your bath at such a time?”

“Taking my grandmother!” Sir Godfrey retorted in great dudgeon. But he let the rope go, and the shower stopped running. “Go to your room,” he added. “I told you to lock your door. This Dragon – ”

“But he’s caught, papa,” cried Elaine through the key-hole. “Don’t you hear me? Geoff – somebody has got him.”

“How now?” said the Baron, unlocking the door and peering out. “What’s all this?”

His dressing-gown was extremely damp, for stray spouts from the shower-bath had squirted over him. Fortunately, the breast-plate underneath had kept him dry as far as it went.

“Hum,” he said, after he had listened to the voice in the cellar. “This is something to be cautious over.”

“If the people of this house do not come soon to bear witness of my conquest,” said the voice in tones of thunder, “I’ll lead this Dragon through every chamber of it myself.”

“Damnum absque injuria!” shrieked Sir Godfrey, and uttered much more horrible language entirely unfit for general use. “What the Jeofailes does the varlet mean by threatening an Englishman in his own house? I should like to know who lives here? I should like to know who I am?”

The Baron flew down the entry in a rage. He ran to his bedside and pulled his sword from under the pillows where he always kept it at night with his sun-dial.

“We shall see who is master of this house,” he said. “I am not going to – does he suppose anybody that pleases can come carting their dragons through my premises? Get up! Get up! Every one!” he shouted, hurrying along the hall with the sword in his right hand and a lantern in his left. His slippers were only half on, so they made a slithering and slapping over the floor; and his speed was such that the quilted red dressing-gown filled with the wind and spread behind him till he looked like a huge new sort of bird or an eccentric balloon. Up and down in all quarters of the house went Sir Godfrey, pounding against every shut door. Out they came. Mistletoe from her closet, squeaking. Whelpdale from under his bed. The Baron allowed him time to put on a pair of breeches wrong side out. The cook came, and you could hear her panting all the way down from the attic. Out came the nine house-maids with hair in curl-papers. The seven footmen followed. Meeson and Welsby had forgotten their wigs. The coachman and grooms and stable-boys came in horse-blankets and boots. And last in the procession, old Popham, one calf securely strapped on, and the other dangling disgracefully. Breathless they huddled behind the Baron, who strode to the cellar, where he flung the door open. Over in a corner was a hideous monster, and every man fell against his neighbour and shrieked. At which the monster roared most alarmingly, and all fell together again. Young Geoffrey stood in the middle of the cellar, and said not a word. One end of a chain was in his hand, and he waited mighty stiff for the Baron to speak. But when he saw Miss Elaine come stealing in after the rest so quiet and with her eyes fixed upon him, his own eyes shone wonderfully.

At the sight of the Dragon, Sir Godfrey forgot his late excitement, and muttered “Bless my soul!” Then he stared at the beast for some time.

“Can – can’t he do anything?” he inquired.

“No,” said Geoffrey shortly; “he can’t.”

“Not fly up at one, for instance?”

“I have broken his wing,” replied the youth.

“I – I’d like to look at him. Never saw one before,” said the Baron; and he took two steps. Then gingerly he moved another step.

“Take care!” Geoffrey cried, with rapid alarm.

The monster moved, and from his nostrils (as it seemed) shot a plume of flame.

Popham clutched the cook, and the nine house-maids sank instantly into the arms of the seven footmen without the slightest regard to how unsatisfactorily nine goes into seven.

“Good heavens!” said the Baron, getting behind a hogshead, “what a brute!”

“Perhaps it might be useful if I excommunicated him,” said the Rev. Hucbald, who had come in rather late, with his clerical frock-coat buttoned over his pyjamas.

“Pooh!” said the Baron. “As if he’d care for that.”

“Very few men can handle a dragon,” said Geoffrey, unconcernedly, and stroked his upper lip, where a kindly-disposed person might see there was going to be a moustache some day.

“I don’t know exactly what you mean to imply by that, young man,” said the Baron, coming out from behind the hogshead and puffing somewhat pompously.

“Why, zounds!” he exclaimed, “I left you locked up this afternoon, and securely. How came you here?”

Geoffrey coughed, for it was an awkward inquiry.

“Answer me without so much throat-clearing,” said the Baron.

“I’ll clear my throat as it pleases me,” replied Geoffrey hotly. “How I came here is no affair of yours that I can see. But ask Father Anselm himself, and he will tell you.” This was a happy thought, and the youth threw a look at the Dragon, who nodded slightly. “I have a question to ask you, sir,” Geoffrey continued, taking a tone and manner more polite. Then he pointed to the Dragon with his sword, and was silent.

“Well?” said Sir Godfrey, “don’t keep me waiting.”

“I fear your memory’s short, sir. By your word proclaimed this morning the man who brought you this Dragon should have your daughter to wife if she – if she – ”

“Ha!” said the Baron. “To be sure. Though it was hasty. Hum! Had I foreseen the matter would be so immediately settled – she’s a great prize for any lad – and you’re not hurt either. One should be hurt for such a reward. You seem entirely sound of limb and without a scratch. A great prize.”

“There’s the Dragon,” replied Geoffrey, “and here am I.”

Now Sir Godfrey was an honourable man. When he once had given his word, you could hold him to it. That is very uncommon to-day, particularly in the matter of contracts. He gathered his dressing-gown about him, and looked every inch a parent. “Elaine,” he said, “my dear?”

“Oh, papa!” murmured that young woman in a die-away voice.

Geoffrey had just time to see the look in her brown eye as she turned her head away. And his senses reeled blissfully, and his brain blew out like a candle, and he ceased to be a man who could utter speech. He stood stock-still with his gaze fixed upon Elaine. The nine house-maids looked at the young couple with many sympathetic though respectful sighings, and the seven footmen looked comprehensively at the nine house-maids.

Sir Godfrey smiled, and very kindly. “Ah, well,” he said, “once I – but tush! You’re a brave lad, and I knew your father well. I’ll consent, of course. But if you don’t mind, I’ll give you rather a quick blessing this evening. ’Tis growing colder. Come here, Elaine. Come here, sir. There! Now, I hate delay in these matters. You shall be married to-morrow. Hey? What? You don’t object, I suppose? Then why did you jump? To-morrow, Christmas Day, and every church-bell in the county shall ring three times more than usual. Once for the holy Feast, and may the Lord bless it always! and once for my girl’s wedding. And once for the death and destruction of the Dragon of Wantley.”

“Hurrah!” said the united household.

“We’ll have a nuptials that shall be the talk of our grandchildren’s children, and after them. We’ll have all the people to see. And we’ll build the biggest pile of fagots that can be cut from my timber, and the Dragon shall be chained on the top of it, and we’ll cremate him like an Ancient, – only alive! We’ll cremate the monster alive!”

Elaine jumped. Geoffrey jumped. The chain round the Dragon loudly clanked.

“Why – do you not find this a pleasant plan?” asked the Baron, surprised.

“It seems to me, sir,” stuttered Geoffrey, beating his brains for every next word, “it seems to me a monstrous pity to destroy this Dragon so. He is a rare curiosity.”

“Did you expect me to clap him in a box-stall and feed him?” inquired the Baron with scorn.

“Why, no, sir. But since it is I who have tracked, stalked, and taken him with the help of no other huntsman,” said Geoffrey, “I make bold to think the laws of sport vest the title to him in me.”

“No such thing,” said Sir Godfrey. “You have captured him in my cellar. I know a little law, I hope.”

“The law about wild beasts in Poictiers – ” Geoffrey began.

“What care I for your knavish and perverted foreign legalities over the sea?” snorted Sir Godfrey. “This is England. And our Common Law says you have trespassed.”

“My dear sir,” said Geoffrey, “this wild beast came into your premises after I had marked him.”

“Don’t dear sir me!” shouted the Baron. “Will you hear the law for what I say? I tell you this Dragon’s my dragon. Don’t I remember how trespass was brought against Ralph de Coventry, over in Warwickshire? Who did no more than you have done. And they held him. And there it was but a little pheasant his hawk had chased into another’s warren – and you’ve chased a dragon, so the offence is greater.”

“But if – ” remonstrated the youth, “if a fox – ”

“Fox me no foxes! Here is the case of Ralph de Coventry,” replied Sir Godfrey, looking learned, and seating himself on a barrel of beer. “Ralph pleaded before the Judge saying, ‘et nous lessamus nostre faucon voler à luy, et il le pursuy en le garrein,’ – ’tis just your position, only ’twas you that pursued and not your falcon, which does not in the least distinguish the cases.”

“But,” said Geoffrey again, “the Dragon started not on your premises.”

“No matter for that; for you have pursued him into my warren, that is, my cellar, my enclosed cellar, where you had no business to be. And the Court told Ralph no matter ‘que le feisant leva hors de le garrein, vostre faucon luy pursuy en le garrein.’ So there’s good sound English law, and none of your foppish outlandishries in Latin,” finished the Baron, vastly delighted at being able to display the little learning that he had. For you see, very few gentlemen in those benighted days knew how to speak the beautiful language of the law so fluently as that.

“And besides,” continued Sir Godfrey suddenly, “there is a contract.”

“What contract?” asked Geoffrey.

“A good and valid one. When I said this morning that I would give my daughter to the man who brought me the Dragon alive or dead, did I say I would give him the Dragon too? So choose which you will take, for both you cannot have.”

At this Elaine turned pale as death, and Geoffrey stood dumb.

Had anybody looked at the Dragon, it was easy to see the beast was much agitated.

“Choose!” said Sir Godfrey. “’Tis getting too cold to stay here. What? You hesitate between my daughter and a miserable reptile? I thought the lads of France were more gallant. Come, sir! which shall it be? The lady or the Dragon?”

“Well,” said Geoffrey, and his blood and heart stood still (and so did Elaine’s, and so did another person’s), “I – I – think I will choose the l – lady.”

“Hurrah!” cheered the household once more.

“Oh, Lord!” said the Dragon, but nobody heard him.

“Indeed!” observed Sir Godfrey. “And now we’ll chain him in my bear-pit till morning, and at noon he shall be burned alive by the blazing fagots. Let us get some sleep now.”

The cloud of slimly-clad domestics departed with slow steps, and many a look of fear cast backward at the captured monster.

“This Dragon, sir,” said Geoffrey, wondering at his own voice, “will die of thirst in that pit. Bethink you how deep is his habit of drinking.”

“Ha! I have often bethought me,” retorted Sir Godfrey, rolling his eyes over the empty barrels. “But here! I am a man of some heart, I hope.”

He seized up a bucket and ran to the hogshead containing his daughter’s native cowslip wine.

“There!” he observed when the bucket was pretty well filled. “Put that in to moisten his last hours.”

Then the Baron led the way round the Manor to the court-yard where the bear-pit was. His daughter kept pace with him not easily, for the excellent gentleman desired to be a decent distance away from the Dragon, whom young Geoffrey dragged along in the rear.