Leslie Hartley - The Complete Short Stories of L.P. Hartley

But when six hours later the portals of the ravine opened before him, the castle burst into view, and the whole scene branded so long on his memory renewed itself, and at such dreadfully close quarters, his heart sank. He had not been able to eat his luncheon and still carried it (having been taught not to throw food away) in a satchel hung round his neck. This embarrassed him, for he thought the onlookers would laugh. But at present there were very few onlookers; the spectacle had become so common, it hardly awakened any interest.

Soon he was near enough to the flight of stairs to be able to distinguish the separate steps, and the crowd began to thicken somewhat. A little boy blew a sudden blast on a tin trumpet in the very ear of Conrad’s horse. It pranced about in alarm, and Conrad, clutching wildly at its mane and neck, was ignominiously thrown. He was rather shaken, but not too much shaken to hear the crowd laugh and ask each other what sort of champion was this, who couldn’t sit on his horse properly.

Conrad dared not remount his horse for fear of falling off; and a good-natured man offered to lead it for him, a few paces in the rear, so that he could get on if he liked. He was glad to be rid of it on such easy terms. But he was aware of cutting an awkward figure on foot, in dusty clothes, trailing an axe which he tried to use as a walking-stick. The crowd, who liked its champions gay, reckless, and handsome, received him coldly. He felt they grudged their admiration and withheld their good-will. Once at school, through hard work and industry, he had won a prize. To receive it he had to pass through a long lane of his schoolfellows. They applauded for a moment—it was the rule—and then fell to staring at him critically and resentfully. He remembered the scene.

But in the castle the Princess Hermione, her face pressed against the window-pane, watched every inch of his progress. ‘It’s he, it’s Conrad. I knew it was!’ she cried. ‘You must let me wait another moment, Magician. Just one more moment!’

Conrad was trying to distract his mind by repeating over and over the address he meant to deliver to the Princess. When he was nervous his memory always betrayed him. He had a copy of the speech in his cap, to read if his mind became a blank. He wished he could do something to propitiate the spectators, besides smiling nervously at them; he knew that his tactics with the Dragon would shock them, for he carried in his pocket a phial of chloroform, wrapped in a handkerchief; he meant to break and wave this in the Dragon’s face before using the steel. Suddenly he was aware that the horse was no longer following. The man had drawn it to one side and was standing in front of it, his hands over its eyes. The crowd had fallen back. Conrad had reached the steps. The castle clock struck three.

He knelt down, took off his cap, and said:

‘Most Wonderful Princess,

‘This is a moment I have long looked forward to, with what feelings you best may guess. The many who have knelt before me have been eloquent in your praise; who am I to add a syllable to their tributes? But I know it is not the words you value, most discerning Princess, but the heart that inspires them.’

At this moment the rock heaved, the Dragon came forth and hung over Conrad with lolling tongue. He could feel its hot breath on his cheek. The words died on his lips, he stared wildly round, then remembered the cue in his cap, and went on without looking up.

‘All have loved you well, but some (dare I say it?) have voiced their love less happily than others. They said: “This my love, though great, is but an acorn that will grow with years into an oak.” But when I remember what you have done for me: rescued me from the dull round of woodland life; raised me from obscurity into fame; transformed me from a dreamer into a warrior, an idler into a hunter of Dragons; deigned to make yourself the limit of my hopes and the end of my endeavours—I have no words to thank you, and I cannot love you more than I do now!’

The more sensitive in the crowd had already turned away. The hardier spirits, with eyes glued to the scene, saw an unfamiliar thing. The Dragon swayed, dipped, hesitated. Its tongue licked the dust at Conrad’s feet. He, who had hitherto done nothing to defend himself, drew out the handkerchief and threw it awkwardly but with lucky aim, right into the Dragon’s scarlet mouth. The beast roared, snorted, coughed, whimpered, and in a moment looked less terrible. Conrad, taking heart, lifted the axe and struck at the scaly neck towering above him. It was a clumsy blow, unworthy of a woodman, but it found its mark. A torrent of green blood gushed out, evaporating before it reached the ground. The Dragon’s claws lost their hold on the rock, and it sprawled outwards, exposing a long, black tubular body no one had seen till now. The neck dropped to within easy reach of Conrad’s axe, and encouraged by the frenzied cheering behind him, he hacked at it again and again. Its balance lost, the Dragon seemed bewildered and helpless; a child could have tackled it, it was as passive under the axe as a felled tree. Conrad seemed to be having matters all his own way, when suddenly the Dragon made a convulsive movement and wriggled backwards into the rock, which closed over it. Conrad was left in possession of the field.

The crowd stopped cheering; no one quite knew what to do, least of all Conrad, who was still standing by the steps, half-dazed. That the Dragon had retired wounded and discomfited was plain to all; but perhaps it was only biding its time, gathering its strength for a fresh attack. It had so long seemed invincible; they could not believe it was dead.

But when seconds passed and nothing happened, they began to surge round Conrad, weeping and laughing and trying to take his hand. From the castle, too, came signs of rejoicing, a faint cheering and fluttering of handkerchiefs, then a full-throated roar and flags waved from every window. A little throng began to form at the top of the steps, the King in the centre, his sceptre in his hand and his crown on his head. They were all laughing and talking together; it was clear they had never expected Conrad to win, they had made no plans for his reception, and were all rather enjoying the informal meeting. They called and beckoned to Conrad to come up; but he did not understand, so the crowd came behind and pushed him. As he moved up, the King came down, alone; they met in midstair, the King kissed Conrad and embraced him, and they walked up to the castle arm-in-arm.

‘And now I must present you to my daughter,’ the King was saying as they reached the top, and the members of the Court were pressing forward with shining eyes to congratulate the victor of the Dragon. ‘Where is she? She’s away somewhere, she’ll come in a minute. Silly child, she’s missed all the fun.’

‘Hermione! Your Royal Highness!’ called the ladies of the Court, in their light, eager voices, peering into the hall, staring up at the windows. And the crowd, nearly ninety feet below, took up the cry, ‘Hermione! We want Princess Hermione!’ It was an immense crowd now, for all the town was running to the spot, and the volume of sound was terrific. Everyone was delighted with the noise that he or she was making; even the group by the castle door winked and nudged and poked each other in the ribs, while they cried ‘Hermione!’ at the top of their voices. Only Conrad did not join in the cry.

But still she delayed. The crowd shouted itself hoarse; the ladies of the Court coughed and wrinkled up their faces and looked appealingly at each other; the King frowned slightly, for he felt she ought to be here now; but still the Princess did not come.

Then they all burst out excitedly, ‘Where can she be? Let’s go and look for her,’ while others said, ‘No, no, the shock would harm her, we must break it to her gradually.’ There was quite a little confusion and uproar of voices arguing this way and that, stirring the general gaiety to an even higher pitch. They flocked into the castle dividing hither and thither, their silvery laughter lost among the corridors and colonnades.