Dear Moms of Adopted Children - Kathy Lynn HarrisKathy Lynn Harris
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亲爱的儿子的英文
英文翻译beloved son&&&&son&&&&favorite son&&&& baby, darling j d ...&&&&to my son teo&&&&a dutiful son subject servant etc&&&&stepson stepchild&&&&hurensohn&&&&general's son&&&&son of a militian&&&&lj&&&&my son&&&&the son of the western village&&&&the dutiful son&&&&hijo de la novia, el&&&&youngest child&&&&all my sons&&&&to my son teo&&&&stepson, stepchild&&&&janggunui adeul ii&&&&janggunui adeul iii&&&&the porter' the porter’s son&&&&mebyon kernow&&&&godchild&&&&all my sons&&&&sons of god
例句与用法Dear son, i have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes of my ancestors .亲爱的儿子，我总把能够得到祖上任何点滴细微的轶闻引为乐事。To take three thousand pounds from the fortune of their dear little son would be impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree .从他们亲爱的儿子的财产中拿走三千镑，将会使他穷到最可怕的地步。" and try to remember your loving and grateful son并能想起您那亲爱的儿子My dear son , it ' s nice to hear ,亲爱的儿子很高兴得知Dear fellow , i hope he will get home safely , murmured mrs clare“亲爱的儿子呀，希望你能平安地回家来！ ” [ weepi ng ] my darl i ng boy我最亲爱的儿子！ Weepi ng my darl i ng boy我最亲爱的儿子！ My dear son , your father has decided to read us the chapter in proverbs in praise of a virtuous wife“我亲爱的儿子，你的父亲决定读箴言里赞扬有德行妻子的那一章。 To timothy , my dear son : grace , mercy and peace from god the father and christ jesus our lord2写信给我亲爱的儿子提摩太。愿恩惠怜悯平安，从父神和我们主基督耶稣，归与你。 To timothy , my well - loved child : grace , mercy , peace , from god the father and christ jesus our lord2写信给我亲爱的儿子提摩太愿恩惠怜悯平安、从父神和我们主基督耶稣、归与你。 更多例句：&&1&&&&
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亲爱的儿子的英文翻译，亲爱的儿子英文怎么说，怎么用英语翻译亲爱的儿子，亲爱的儿子的英文意思，，，发音，例句，用法和解释由查查在线词典提供，版权所有违者必究。
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All rights reservedDear Thelma: My husband is irresponsible, and the family is suffering -
Dear Thelma: My husband is not doing his part, things are getting bad
Related Articles
Dear Thelma,
My children are obedient and seldom fight.
I help them with their homework, ferry them around and, cook and clean by myself.
Because I am so efficient, my husband need not lift a finger at home.
But he is an absent father and refuses to take on responsibilities or make decisions for the family.
He adores us and just enjoys the nicer parts of being a father, like buying toys and boasting about his children.
When it comes to disciplining or important issues, he leaves it to me.
Last November, I noticed that my sons, who didn’t quarrel, stopped talking to each other.
My older son refused to tell me what happened but from our conversation I deduced that the problem was his younger brother taking advantage of him, making him do all the house chores and being inconsiderate in sharing the WiFi.
Being the oldest, he is responsible, but he resents that responsibility. And so, he wants to cut his younger brother out of his life.
When I approached the younger one, he told me he didn’t know why the older brother was not talking to him. The younger one is self-absorbed and oblivious. Sadly, their father wants an easy and quick fix to all problems. I have hinted to him to talk to the boys.
He said he would slap them and tell them to make up. I then stopped asking him for fear that things would get worse.
My older son sees his father as lazy and his mother having to shoulder everything at home.
Things are awkward now, should I keep nagging or let things be, and how should I act when we’re together? – Depressed Mother
Dear Depressed Mother,
I agree that you cannot ignore this battle. As parents, it is your job to make sure that your sons deal with this, or it may poison their relationship for the rest of their lives.
So first things first: your husband. Being a parent is not an opt- it’s a duty.
As a father he has a responsibility to his children, and he can’t blow it off because he doesn’t like to do unpleasant things. It’s not negotiable so sit him down and tell him to man up. You are not a single parent.
Having said that, I suspect your husband is frightened of making a mistake. Bringing up children is the most difficult job on the planet. Part of him standing at a distance and admiring is probably founded in fear.
So after you have read your darling a stern lecture, comfort him with the fact that this issue is about conflict management, a skill that he’s bound to have practiced at work.
Conflict management is a six step process:
1. Define the issue.
2. Establish a common goal for all parties.
3. Discuss ways to reach the common goal.
4. Determine what barriers must be overcome.
5. Agree on the exact steps that must be taken to get to the goal and decide who is responsible for what.
6. Agree on a time frame that includes meetings where you assess progress.
Before you go in, understand that you have two goals: you want your husband to take on more responsibility and you want your kids to make up. I therefore suggest that your husband leads. Your husband needs to run this so he gets used to stepping up. So even if he isn’t as efficient as you, don’t be tempted to step in and take over. Let him struggle and learn.
Now about your kids. When I read your letter, it looked very much as if your younger boy is acting like your husband: doing things he likes, and blowing off everything else on his brother. But unlike you, the older boy is fed up and not taking it anymore.
I suspect that when you and your husband start to talk, this is bound to spark some discussion about your own relationship. Be nice to each other and take it slowly, okay?
As for your mediating for your boys, this is tricky because you are dealing with children who are on the cusp of becoming adults. This is probably their first serious disagreement centred on who they are and how they relate to each other. Little kids tend to have fights that are settled by adults stepping in and your sons can only resolve their issue by negotiation.
You and your husband have to act as mediators. You and he are to be a solid front, gentle and loving but guiding firmly.
Your daughter cannot be involved as this is between the boys only. Have her go out when you run this first meeting.
When you start defining the issue, the boys need to each state their case.
In therapy, the victim talks first, and discusses actions and emotions. The other parties then state their case and emotions. Expect resentment to flare! Hopefully blowing off some steam will help release some of the frustration.
While you go through the steps, keep your cool and take breaks. This is not going to be easy but you have a foundation so you will eventually get through it. Just remember that the negotiated agreement has to be embraced wholeheartedly by both parties, or it won’t hold.
Also, please take this into account: we think of 18 as being adult but this is inaccurate. The front part of the brain, the bit associated with emotional control, doesn’t fully mature until we are 24 to 26 years old. So the boys may look like adults, but you must remember that they aren’t quite capable yet of controlling their emotions.
So go gently but firmly and make sure you and your husband lean in on this one for mutual support. Good luck. – Thelma
Is something bothering you? Do you need a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on? Thelma is here to help.
Write to: Dear Thelma, c/o Star2, Menara Star, 15, Jalan 16/11, 46350 Petaling Jaya, Selangor.
Or e-mail: star2..my
Please include your full name and address, and a pseudonym. No private correspondence will be entertained. The Star does not give any warranty on accuracy, completeness, usefulness, fitness for any particular purpose or other assurances as to the opinions and views expressed in this column. The Star disclaims all responsibility for any losses suffered directly or indirectly arising from reliance on such opinions and views.
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AdvertisementThe Baldwin Project: The Seven Champions of Christendom by F. J. Harvey Darton
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The Seven Champions of Christendom
The Sons of St. George
THE SONS OF ST. GEORGE
ITHE DEATH OF SABRA
OR many years St. George lived in England peacefully
with Sabra, serving the King at court, doing justice
among his vassals at home, caring for the poor,
training his young sons in all knightly arts, that they
might in their turn be worthy of their father and his
honourable lineage. Nor did the champion suffer himself
to become weak and idle through lack of warlike
happenings. There were peaceful tournaments to be held,
martial exercises to be kept up, long journeys to be
taken to distant parts of England in the service of the
King. Even when two score years of his life had passed,
St. George was still the perfect knight, the most
skilful horseman and jouster in all England, or in all
the world. And not only to him did the Princess Sabra,
his wife, seem the l in all men's
eyes she was still the queen of beauty.
So St. George lived in all happiness
and high estate,
his sons growing up under his
[296] eyes in the way of
truth and honour. When they were of a suitable age, he
sent them abroad, that they might observe the manners
and custom and they did not return
to England until Guy, the eldest, was about to come of
When that event began to draw near, St. George sent
messengers to his six old comrades, and bade them to a
great feast, not saying why they were bidden, but
asking them specially to be present. In due time they
came, St. Denis with Eglantine, St. James with
Celestine, St. Anthony with Rosalind of Thrace. And
the other champions also had taken wives. St. Andrew,
St. David, and St. Patrick had each married a daughter
of the King of Thrace, for the six Princesses had seen
that it was in vain for all of them to love St. Andrew,
and when the eldest of them had married him, two of her
sisters had been prevailed upon to wed the other
champions. All these were present at Coventry, and
great was their joy at being together once more.
The beginning of their revelry was a great banquet. The
sons of St. George were not present at it. But when it
was drawing to a close, St. George stood up and spoke
to his guests. "Dear friends, "he said, it is not
[297] only for love of you that I have bidden you to
this feast, though such friendship is between us all
that I could wish you to abide here as my guests to our
lives' ends. It is because I have also a new comrade to
make known to you. A I will return in a
He left them. A few moments later a knight came in at
the entrance by which St. George had gone out. He was
the very likeness of St. George himself, and he was
dressed like the champion. He said never a word, but
strode to the head of the table and stood there
silently. The guests waited for him to speak.
"Well, dear brother of England," said St. Denis at
length, when no other voice was raised, "where is this
new comrade? What is it that you have to tell us?"
The curtains at the end of the room parted, and another
knight entered. This also seemed to be St. George. He
advanced an they were as like as
two peas, but the first-comer now looked a little more
slight in build and boyish in figure.
"You& are our comrade," cried St. Anthony, pointing to
the second knight.
The knight smiled. "True, old friend," he answered. "l
am St. George of England.
[298] But this youth shall be another St. George, and I
pray that you will be his friend, as you have been
mine. He is my son Guy, and this day he has come to his
twenty-first year, and is to be reckoned a man like
ourselves. Soon also, I hope, his brothers will be of
they have but a year or two to wait.
"David and Alexander entered as he spoke." Here are
three champions to fill our places when we have grown
old and feeble and are near our last rest."
The champions all gave hearty greeting to the three
young men, and welcomed them to their brotherhood. St.
Denis and St. Anthony had also sons growing to manhood,
though they were not so old as St. George's, and others
of the champions had young children who one day would
tread in their father's footsteps.
St. George had planned a great h
and the day after that a tournament was to begin, in
which Guy would hold his own against other knights,
and, if he fared well, be made a knight himself. But
that tournament was never held.
On the morrow hosts and guests prepared for the hunt.
The Princess Sabra and all the other Princesses were to
take part. Very gay was their attire and merry their
[299] "It was not for peaceful errands like this that I used
to mount good Bucephalus," said St. George to St.
David, as a horse was brought for him to mount.
"There was no horse in the world like him," answered
St. David. "When did the good beast die?"
"It is more than twelve years ago now," said St.
George." I saw that he lived at ease to the end of his
life. Good pasturage he had, and
every day I visited him, and we thought of our
adventures together, for I believe that he understood.
Many a time——"
He stopped. As he was speaking he had put his hand to
the bridle, so that the stone in Sabra's ring, which he
still wore always, caught his eye. The gleam of its
r it had grown dull. And as he
looked, three drops of blood fell from his nose. It was
the old sign of danger near at hand.
St. George paused. What sorrow was to come into his
life after these years of peace? Was it indeed the end
of his days approaching, when his son should perforce
have to step into his place? Or was it peril to Sabra,
or perhaps to Guy?
He could not guess.
"What is it, brother?" asked St. David, seeing his
hesitation.
[300] "It is nothing," answered St. George gaily. He had
made up his mind that he would not spoil their festival
for the sake of an unknown danger."I did but think with
sor I am sorry that he is dead."
And there he spoke truly, for never had horse served
knight better than Bucephalus St. George."Let us set
out upon our hunt."
The joyous cavalcade set out, and came soon to the
woods. In a little while a fine hart was started, and
away they went in full chase. Foremost in the hunt was
S she rode a wondrous Arabian steed that had been
sent to her from Egypt. It was a beast full of fire and
spirit, and yet a little dangerous also, for its mettle
had not yet been trained to complete gentleness.
They flew past a copse of great thorn-trees. St. George
had sent for many trees and plants from other
countries, and this was a plantation of low-growing
trees that bore a very long sharp thorn, and had a
tough, sinewy wood which was suitable for the long-bow.
The hoofs clattered by. Sabra urged her swift steed to
yet greater efforts. Suddenly a rabbit, terrified and
dazed by the noise and tramplings, darted out from the
copse almost under the Arab's hoofs. The horse started,
swerved, and reared in the air, and Sabra, in
suddenness of the movement, was thrown violently into a
thorn bush.
The hunters drew up. St. George leapt from his horse
and ran to Sabra. "Dearest wife, are you hurt?" he asked
tenderly. I had warning of danger. Oh, that I had
stopped the hunt!"
"You cannot break the decrees of Heaven,"nswered Sabra
gently."I think that my time has come to die. The long
thorns have pierced my heart."
And indeed she was sorely wounded. They lifted her and
bore her back to the palace. Surgeons were fetched, but
they found that their skill was of no avail. The thorns
had wounded the Princess mortally. She had but strength
to give her blessing to her sons and her husband, and
then she died.
So all their rejoicings came to an end. St. George was
overcome with grief, and the champions felt a sorrow
hardly less deep. Long and solemn was their mourning.
All the lords and people of England came to the funeral
of Sabra, so dearly was she beloved, and never were
such sights of woe seen at Coventry.
When all was over, St. George declared his purpose. "I
am to blame," he said sadly, "because I was warned of
danger, and did not heed the warning."
[302] "You cannot be blamed," said St. Denis. "It was fated
that this should happen. You could have neither
foreseen it nor prevented it."
"Nevertheless I blame myself," answered St. Gand
as a sign of my repentance, I have it in mind to go on
a pilgrimage to the holy city of Jerusalem. My sons
shall stay here, and for six months they shall keep
watch by the tomb of Sabra. Thus shall they learn the
duty of knightly endurance, and show to all men what
love they had for their mother."
"Gladly will we do so, sir," said G and his brothers
"Friend of many battles," said St. Denis of France,I
cannot suffer you to go on this pilgrimage alone. Our
comradeship is so close that your grief is my grief. My
dear wife Eglantine would think ill of me if I could
not share your sorrow. I will come with you to
Jerusalem."
"And I," cried St. A and all the six champions
vowed that they would go with their leader on
pilgrimage to the holy city St. George tried in vain to
their minds were made up. They had loved
Sabra dearly, and they would show their grief at her
death by undergoing this hardship.
IITHE THREE GIFTS
A costly tomb was built for Sabra, and upon it was set
a tablet of silver framed in precious stones. For six
months Guy, David, and Alexander, watched by it, night
and day, always one of them was on
guard. So proud were they of this sad duty which they
must perform that gradually they became jealous of one
another. Little words, spoken with no thought of harm,
would wake anger between them. If Guy, for greater
comfort in the cold weather of winter, which now came
upon them, were to wear a soldier's cloak over his
armour, Alexander would suspect him of growing weak in
his love for their mother' and if Alexander,
in the fulness of his zeal, watched in the thinnest of
garments, that he might have no jot of cause for sleep
or heedlessness, David would think that he was trying
to prove himself braver and more steadfast in his
affection than his brothers.
So little by little there grew up ill-feeling and
enmity between the three sons of St. George. But it was
not till the last day and the last hour of
their watch
[304] quarrelled openly. It happened that it
was the turn of Alexander to watch that last period
(for they took watches of eight hours each, turn and
turn about), and this in itself had angered his
brothers, for they said among themselves that they
should all three have been on guard together for the
but he would not give up his right to take
his turn alone.
Guy and David came to the tomb as the vigil was ending.
They had not started together, but met on the way, and
each secretly thought that the other was going to take
some advantage of him, so bitter had the suspicion
between them become.
They saw Alexander standing by the tomb, very upright,
his hands clasped on his drawn sword, the point of
which rested on the ground.
"Who goes there?" he cried, like a strict sentinel,
though he knew their footsteps well enough.
"Alexander will not let us come near our mother's
tomb," said Guy to David, half in jest, half in
"He is anxious to show what a good watch he keeps,"
answered David, with a laugh.
They both spoke in low tones. Alexander did not hear
their words exactly. But he
[305] heard David's laugh, and thought it was meant for
"Who goes there?" he cried again, loudly and
angrily. "Stand, you may come no nearer
till I know if you be friend or foe."
He did but do his duty by such words, even though he
recognised his brothers. But they were in no mood to be
treated strictly.
"You know who we are, Alexander," said Guy, a little
angrily."We are your brothers."
"And we have come to relieve you of your watch," added
David. "It wants but five minutes for the six months
appointed to come to an end."
"You should have answered," replied Alexander
sternly. "And my watch is not yet over. I see that you
are friends. Now I may not speak
with you while I am on guard, except to challenge you
on your approach."
He told the simple truth. They could not in honour
interrupt his watch. But they did not go away. Instead,
they remained near, and talked in low voices to one
another, and ever and again looked at their brother. He
thought they were talking of him and mocking him, and
his anger grew hot within him.
At last the time came to an end.
Alex- [306] ander
the tomb, and strode towards his brothers."Undutiful
sons!" he said fiercely, "you came here to make a
mockery of me because I am constant in my love for our
dear mother, and will not neglect my duty. You have no
real love for her: you have but kept the letter of your
vow to guard her tomb, and forgotten the spirit of it."
"No man shall say that to me!" cried Guy."No, not if he
is a thousand times my brother! My love is as strong
and true as yours or David's, and——"
"Who are you to boast, Guy?" interrupted David
angrily. "I have watched as long as you, and as
honestly. And I have not tried to make a show of my
dutifulness as Alexander has."
"I would give my life for my dear mother!" said
Alexander passionately.
"It is easy to say that when no one requires it of
you," answered Guy, sneering.
"This is idle talk," said David bitterly. "What is the
use of words? We can all vie with one another in proud
speeches. Let us prove our love by some deed worthy of
"Yes," cried Guy, "let us do this: for seven days we
will take thought by ourselves, and make our plans, and
on the seventh we will return here, bringing, as an
offering to
[307] lay on our mother's tomb, the most
splendid gift we can each devise. He who brings the
best gift shall be judged the most loving and dutiful,
for a man gives in proportion to his true nature."
They agreed on this, and parted, each eager to think
what was the most precious thing he could give out of
love for Sabra.
Guy, it chanced, had heard of a famous witch, who dwelt
not far from C it was unlawful to
practise witchcraft, and so she kept her hiding-place
and her doings secret. But men often spoke of her,
nevertheless, an and it happened
that one of Guy's serving-men had spoken of her in his
Guy thought long how to obtain a gift which would
certainly surpass anything his brothers might bring. By
now, in his eagerness and jealousy, he had wellnigh
forgotten the lessons of his mother's gentleness and
love, and strove only to show himself more skilful and
fuller of resource than David or Alexander. He racked
he considered whether rich jewels, or the
setting up of a monument even more splendid than was
already built for Sabra, or some great deed of arms to
be inscribed on her tomb, would be the best gift. But
he could come to no decision, and at last,
[308] with
much torment of mind, resolved to seek out this
notorious witch. He sent for the man who had spoken of
her, and obtained from him directions how to find her.
Her cave lay in a wood not far off. But it was no place
of terror and mystery so far as the journey thither was
concerned. All that was strange about it was the
entrance, and this lay through a very old, hollow
oak-tree on a sloping bank. When Guy stepped into the
oak, and knocked in a certain manner upon the inside of
its back, the earth beneath him sank about half the
height of a man. He had then to go upon hands and knees
and crawl a few yards through a little dark passage.
Then he found himself in a large cave in the earth, the
old entrance to which, above the ground, had long been
overgrown by brambles and thick bushes.
The cavern was lit uncertainly by two flaring torches
stuck in little hills of earth. Their flickering light
threw strange shadows. For a moment, in the strange
radiance, Guy could see nothing except moving black
shapes, the shadows of curious phials and jars and
implements that stood here and there upon the earthen
floor. Gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the
dimness, and he saw at a little distance a brazier
filled with red-hot
[309] coals, from which came a
drowsy scent, sweet as burnt rosemary, but bearing
sleep in its breath. By the brazier crouched a dark
He advanced a step towards the figure. It did not move.
But as he stood still for a moment in awe, a thin,
clear, yet quavering voice came from it:
"A knightly house is sad and desolate:
A brother's love is turned by pride to hate,"
it said. It spoke in one
tone, with no raising of voice or accent. Guy shivered.
"You know me, old beldam!" he said haughtily.
"Doubtless you know also why I came."
"I know you, Guy, son of George," said the even, weak
voice."I know why you come hither. I know how your
quest will end. I know what deeds you shall do before
you die." And with that the figure stood erect, and
threw something upon the coals in the brazier.
Immediately a bright flame leapt up, five or six feet
in height, licking the top of the low cavern with its
edge. In the light the witch was revealed. She had a
her eyes were deep sunken, her
cheek-bones stood out like white lines in her yellow,
shrivelled lips
[310] moved upon
gum her hair was white and long
and unkempt. She wore a robe of black, from which
stretched her lean, bare arms. She looked at Guy with
eyes that seemed to pierce him.
The sudden flame died down. At first Guy could see
nothing after the change. But he did not wait for
light. He stepped towards the brazier boldly.
"Since you know my errand, give me my answer," he said
The old woman laughed. The sound of her laughter was
shrill and evil. "Why should I answer you?" she
cried. "Your family has persecuted all of us who hold
secret intercourse with the unseen world. Am I to show
that I am grateful by doing you a service?"
"You will answer," said Guy fiercely, "or I will kill you
here and now."
He drew his sword and threatened her. She shrank in
terror. "I will answer," she cried, "if you will spare
me. But you must swear not to reveal my hiding-place,
nor to give information of me to the King's judges."
Guy vowed to do her no harm, and she continued:"You
seek to do honour to the memory of your mother, the
Princess S is not that true?" she asked. Guy gave
a sign of assent." I tell you that you do
dis- [311] honour
to yourself by this false pride and by
the jealousy you show to your brothers. Nevertheless,
you are wilful and must have your way. You desire that
I shall give you some offering that you may take to
your mother's tomb, and it must be so splendid that it
will put to shame whatsoever your brothers may bring.
That is true also, is it not?" Guy nodded."You accuse
you wish to shame your brothers, not to show
your love. Yet through this quarrel of yours the hidden
world is about to give you a warning, and I must do the
bidding of the spirits I consult and bestow upon you
what you desire. N speak no word and move
no limb until I give you leave, or you will be torn
into a thousand pieces by forces that no man can
Guy was awed by her strange knowledge of his mind and
the threat in her last words. He stood silent and
motionless in the dim light.
The witch took up a wand, and threw some dried leaves
upon the brazier. Little flames leapt up to meet the
fluttering leaves, caught them in mid-air, flared with
a cold blue radiance, and died, while the charred
leaves sank slowly, glittering with red sparks. For a
moment the whole cave was lit up by an
[312] unearthly glare, as of a flash of lightning. Guy
could see the witch standing upright, facing towards
the brazier, her arm with the wand in it stretched out
stiff and straight, as if it were of bronze. The cavern
a great wind rushed and whistled
through it, and Guy felt as if moths and blown leaves
and gossamer were for an instant brushing his face.
Then there was a dreadful stillness for the space of a
minute or more.
Suddenly a faint light was seen in the air near the
witch. Something frail and thin was being given to her
by unseen hands. There was another flash, and when his
eyes recovered, Guy could see that the witch had laid
her wand down, and was busy lighting other torches.
Soon the cavern was brightly lit.
"You may move," she said in a weak voice. She was
trembling a little, as though from a great effort. Guy
stepped towards her, half in wonder, half in fear.
She held out to him a spray of a flowering plant. "This
is a flower men call Loose-strife," she said. "It may be
that the name has a meaning for you. This is the gift I
am to give you."
"That is worth nothing!" cried Guy angrily. I could
pluck it in any hedge or ditch in due season."
[313] "But now is not the due season," sneered the
witch. "That is why I had to have it fetched for me by
my familiar spirits. If you do not take this flower as
your gift, you will never find an offering more
"But how shall I persuade my brothers that a country
weed is worth more than silver or gold, or whatever
offering they may bring?"
"Ah!" said the witch. "That is what you must pay to
learn. I have done my part in offering you this flower.
If you wish it to seem wondrous to others, I must set a
charm upon it, and for that I must receive a fee."
Guy thought that all her talk was but a device to make
him give her a heavier reward
he had come prepared for such greed, for he knew that
witches were as eager for money as simpler folk. He
drew from his wallet a bag of gold and a bag of
precious stones.
"Either of these I will give you," he said, holding
them towards her, one in each hand. "In this are a
hu in that rubies and emeralds of
"A hundred nobles is not much," sh
"and what should a lonely old woman like me do with
rubies and emeralds of price? I am not beautiful,
[314] wear them, and if I sold them, men would suspect
that I had stolen them. Give me both, gentle sir, and
you shall have the flower, enchanted so that it will
seem more precious than anything on earth. Give both
the bags to a poor old woman!"
Guy had no love of bargaining. "Take them both, and let
me begone," he said, thrusting the bags upon her. He
knew that witches always grumbled, however great their
She took them and hobbled away, and shut them into a
receptacle in the wall of the cave. Then she came back,
the flower in her hand. She took her wand again and
waved it over the branch. Before Guy's startled eyes
the flower began to grow, putting forth new shoots and
new flowers, of a size and a colour and a scent more
lovely than any living plant's. It grew till it was
five feet in height, covered with leaves and blossoms.
The blossoms were of every hue, and the leaves sparkled
as if they had been silver.
"Is that a rich enough offering?" asked the witch in
triumph, giving the branch to Guy. It was as light as a
feather in his hand.
"It will suffice," said Guy simply. "Now show me the way
[317] She led him to a little door at the far end of the
a narrow passage, just the height of a man, ran
thence into the darkness. "This passage is quite
straight," said the witch. "Follow it, and it will lead
you out into the woods two furlongs hence."
"I thank you, old woman," answered Guy. "Farewell."
But the witch had already turned away, and was going to
the place where she had hidden the two bags. As Guy
went to the passage, he looked back. The witch had
taken out the bag of gold, and was shaking it close to
her ear to hear the clinking of the metal.
Guy pushed on through the darkness of the passage, and
presently found himself in the woods again. After the
darkness and heavy scents of the witch's cave, it was
sweet to see again the bare trees and smell the damp
earth, and hear robins piping cheerfully. He hastened
home with his marvellous bough, which neither air nor
cold seemed to harm. He kept it tended in a private
place, that his brothers might
and at last, on the day appointed, he bore it carefully
to their mother's tomb, and laid it upon the marble.
The scent from the blossoms filled all the church.
He was the first to arrive. But he had not
[318] been
there long when Alexander appeared, bringing with him a
gift which he had obtained at a great price from an old
poor man at Warwick. It was a silver lute, so
wonderfully made that it seemed almost to be enchanted.
So perfect was its form, and so finely was it strung,
that always music came from it at the mere touch of the
breeze. Wherever it was set, and however light the
wind, the lute sounded sweetly, and its music was like
that of thin silver bells.
Alexander set this magical lute upon Sabra's tomb, and
looked at the other offering which was already there.
"So," he said sullenly, "you have brought a rare gift.
How did you come by this scented branch in the dead of
"That is my business," answered Guy. He knew he had
done wrong in going to the witch. "Where did you find
that singing lute? But it does not matter where you
found it. My branch is a better offering."
"Better, quotha!" cried Alexander. "How is a mere flower
better than this divine music?"
"We shall not come to agreement upon this matter," said
Guy, more peaceably. "David shall judge between us, and
I will judge between you and him, and you shall judge
between him and me."
[319] "And how near to agreement will that bring us?"
said Alexander, laughing. "No matter. Hither comes
David, strangely robed. Let us look at his gift before
we quarrel again."
As he spoke, David approached. He was garbed as if for
a holy festival, in a long robe of pure white silk, and
he bore in his hands a silver basin and jewelled
"What is this, David?" asked Guy, half mocking."Are you
bringing these things as your gift to our mother's tomb
? You have a strange fancy."
"I bring the most precious thing I have," answered
He set the basin down upon the tomb, and pushed his
long sleeve from his forearm. Then he held his arm over
the basin and pricked it deeply with the dagger, so
that blood came from the wound. Thirty drops of his
blood did he let fall into the basin, and as he did so
he cried in a loud, firm voice: "This is the best
offering that I can make at your grave, dear lady
nothing more precious can I give than my life's
At that Guy and Alexander were amazed, for they saw how
foolish they had been in choosing worldly riches and
human possessions for
offerings. David had
[320] given a more prec he
had shown that he was ready even to give up his life in
memory of Sabra.
Then a kind of madness must have fallen upon them, for
they drew their swords with one accord and rushed at
David to cut him down. But as they raised the blades,
an invisible force held their arms, and the swords flew
from their hands, and fell clattering on to the marble
pavement. At the same time the whole floor of the
church rocked, and the tomb opened, and the spirit of
Sabra appeared to them.
"Dear sons," it said in a solemn voice, "forbear to
quarrel among yourselves. I taught you a better way of
life than that. I do not doubt that you all love me
equally, according to your natures. There is no need of
such gifts as you bring to this tomb. Live in peace
with one another henceforth, and join together against
a common enemy. Know that your father and the six
champions are in deadly peril, from which only you can
save them. Go to the King, and ask his leave to quit
England in sea he will readily
give it. Set out to go to the Holy Land, and you will
be guided to their rescue. Be worthy of St. George of
England, the bravest and truest of Christian
[321] knights. Farewell, dear sons.Love one another,and
keep faith."
She vanished suddenly from their sight, and the tomb
closed again. The three young knights were left staring
in wonder. Then Guy spoke.
"Brothers," he said, "we have done wrong. Forgive me,
David, and you, Alexander, for my pride and jealousy."
They readily forgave him,and asked his forgiveness in
turn. Then they went to their household, and made
preparations to set out. When they were ready, they
rode first to the King, who lay at Winchester, and
asked his leave to seek St. George and his comrades,
The King, having questioned them narrowly, and learnt
the vision of Sabra, gave them permission to quit
England. He set a trusty steward over the estate of St.
Geo and so pleased was he by their
courage and resolution in setting forth upon so
perilous a quest that he gave them armour from his own
armoury, and horses from his own stables, and dubbed
each knight. And so, well equipped and filled with
dauntless spirit, they journeyed to the coast and
thence to France.
IIITHE GOLDEN FOUNTAIN
[322] The seven champions, in the meanwhile, fared forth from
England as humble pilgrims, laying aside all the power
of their knighthood and the riches of their conquests,
and journeying on foot in the sober robes of palmers.
Slowly they wound through Europe, living sparingly and
fasting often. No longer did they find it needful to
watch for robbers or gi such
violent folk took no heed of the poor, from whom
neither glory nor ransom was to be won.
So the champions travelled slowly and obscurely over
hill and dale, by forest and river, until at last, as
the sun was setting one evening, the domes and
pinnacles of Damascus shone at a great distance before
them. Between them and the city lay a great plain, with
a few houses scattered over it here and there.
To one of these houses they went for a lodging. A
little silver bell hung upon the doorpost. They rang
it, and in a short time the lord of the house himself
came to greet them. He was a grave man, with a long
white beard, and a look of deep sadness upon his face.
[323] "We are pilgrims, fair sir," said St. George
courteously,"and we are bound for the holy city of
Jerusalem. It was in our minds to lodge this night in
Damascus, but we cannot reach the city before the gates
are shut for the night. We pray that you will grant us
the shelter of your roof, even if it be but a stable
that covers us."
"I will entertain you more honourably than that," said
the old man. "Enter, you are my guests this
night. But this is a lonely house, and a house of
sorrow. Come, I will lead you to a chamber where you
may be rid of the stains of travel."
He went before them through the house. On every side
they saw rich hangings and costly furniture. Here would
be a court filled with fountains and cool, green
palm- there a divan with cushions and soft
here a great hall for banquets. On
the walls were devices in precious stones and rare
enamels, and costly statues stood in every passage.
Everywhere were signs of high estate and wealth. But
everywhere, also, were signs of mourning. Instruments
few servants were busy about their
the banqueting-hall was cold and bare.
The champions were conducted to a fair
[324] chamber,where they washed themselves, and made
their humble raiment clean. Then they were taken to a
great room, where food and wine, very delicate and
pleasing, and last of all they
were led to rooms in which were beds of the softest
down. And there they slept in peace and comfort.
On the next day they were bidden to break-fast with
their host. They saw that he seemed even more sad and
weary than before. Beyond what courtesy demanded, he
spoke little. But he looked narrowly upon the strong
figures of the champions, as though he guessed they
were no ordinary pilgrims.
When they had breakfasted, they were taken to a
splendid hall with a musicians' gallery, and into the
gallery came six fair youths, with lutes and harps and
viols, and played and sang to them in the most
exquisite manner. As they sang, the lord of the house
veiled hisand when the music died
away, and the youths went from the gallery, St. George
saw that their host was weeping.
"Fair sir," he cried, with kindly sorrow in his voice,
"we have come to you in an hour of grief. We do not
know what misfortune has befallen you, but it may be
that we can
[325] aid you. Though we are bound upon a
holy and peaceful errand, we are yet not unskilled in
arms. It is our hope, before we die, to subdue all the
evil things in the world—all monstrous beasts, all
pagan tyrants and giants and wizards, and to win the
whole earth to the Christian faith. Tell us, therefore,
in what way we may serve you. Or if you have no need
for our service, let us go hence without delay, and not
intrude any longer upon your sorrow."
"Good sir, I will tell you all," answered the old man,
"for I perceive that you are no common pilgrims. Those
six youths are my sons. They are all that I have left.
But formerly I had fourteen, as comely and honourable
as any man could desire. We have a proverb that a man's
str but where is my strength when
a foul giant has taken eight sons from me and stolen
also my wealth?"
"Where is this giant?" said St. George. "Know, sir, that
I am George of England, and there is no giant on earth
whom I aye,and my comrades,these six champions of
Christendom"—and he named his companions to their
host—"are no less ready to encounter any giants or
wizards or other enemies of the human race. Tell us
[326] this monster may be found, and we will
instantly seek him out and kill him."
"That is a deed for men more than mortal," said their
host. "But hear my story. I possessed formerly two
palaces, this in which it gives me pleasure to
entertain you, and another many miles hence, in a
fruitful valley watered by a pleasant stream. Now, I
have some slight skill in alchemy. Though I have not
yet found the Philosopher's Stone, which turns all
things into gold, yet I do not despair of that success
before I die. This much did I learn from my study of
the secret ways of nature: that a certain spring near
my palace was possessed of alchemic properties, so that
anything of base metal steeped in its waters in a
certain way would, in the space of a day, be changed
into pure gold. This fountain flowed copiously, and I
had little fear that it would run dry. Nevertheless, I
deemed it wise at first to keep my knowledge secret,
lest avaricious men should drive me by force from my
beauteous valley. I had in a little time as much gold
as I needed for my own uses, and I was willing to tell
certain of my friends, slowly, one by one, that they
also might enrich themselves. But by some means, I know
not how, news of the Golden Fountain crept about, and
all manner of base folk
[327] flocked hither to test it,
so that in the end I had to set a guard upon it, and in
this work the eight oldest of my sons took a great
part. At last there came this great giant, whose
dwelling is in Arabia, and brave though they were, my
sons could not withstand his terrible strength. He took
and if I had not been warned in
time, so that I was able to flee with my young sons and
some of my household, we should have been slain, every
one of us. Brave knights, I beseech you, if you would
bring happiness to an old man who has not many more
years on earth for either joy or sorrow, rescue my sons
but I beseech you no less, if
you set a value upon your own lives, do not heed my
"Sir," said St. George, "we will kill the giant and set
your sons free, and give you back your Golden
Fountain."
"I pray that you may," answered the old knight
sorrowfully, yet with hope in his voice. "Now let me
give you weapons and armour out of my store, for
pilg you must be knights when you
seek out the giant."
He clapped his hands, and a black slave appeared. "Bid
my steward attend me," he commanded.
In a little time the steward came, and it
[328] was not
long before the champions were armed from head to foot
in good steel, with weapons worthy of so great an
adventure. Their host gave them directions by which
they might find the giant's castle, and they set forth,
comrades in arms once again.
They came at length to the giant's castle, and beat
upon the shut gates. But a warder appeared who told
them that his lord was absent, hunting, though he would
return soon-The champions withdrew to a little distance
to await his coming.
"It appears to me," said St. George while they waited,
"that we should win greater honour if we attacked this
monster one by one, single-handed. I doubt not that
anyone of us can overthrow him, and it will bring the
more glory to our faith and our order of knighthood if
he were slain by one man only. Let us draw lots to see
who shall assail him first."
The other champions agreed. They found six smooth white
stones and one black one, and each in turn drew a stone
from St. George's helmet. The black stone fell to St.
Denis. Even as they finished drawing, they heard a
noise of horns and of wild shouting, and, looking up,
saw the giant returning from his hunt with a crew of
wild huntsmen.
[329] They let the cavalcade get within the castle
gates, which were closed upon the hunters. Then St.
Denis rode boldly to the gates and summoned the warder.
His comrades saw the warder speaking to him at the
wicket- then came a great shout
from within, in a voice that made the air tremble, and
the warder came back and opened the gates. St. Denis
ent the gates were closed.
For a little space the champions heard no sound.
Doubtless the fight was begun. Then they heard the
great voice roaring again, but what the sound meant
they could not tell.
They waited, and heard no more. Every moment they
expected St. Denis to come forth triumphant. But the
gates remained shut, and no sign of what had happened
within was given. T half an hour,
three-quarters of an hour, went to join the hours of
yesterday. The champion of France did not return.
"We must draw lots again," said St. George simply at
last. "If our brother has fallen into any snare, it
should be no great matter for one of us to set him
They drew again, and this time the lot fell on St.
Patrick. Once more the warder came to the gates, and
disappeared, and came back
[330] once
more they heard the first shout of the mighty voice.
But no more did they hear, and St. Patrick did not
St. Anthony went next, and after him St. David, and
then St. James. St. George and St. Andrew, left alone
together, noticed that the warder no longer waited to
learn the giant's will before admitting the champions,
but threw open the gates as they approached.
"This giant is a greater foe than we have yet met,
brother," said St. George, as they waited."But be of
good cheer. Even if he overcomes you, and me also, all
is not lost. He must use some magic spell, against
which knightly wea but no magic
can long prevail against the champions of Christendom.
It is not our fate to die here in Arabia by the hand of
a monster like this. Now go, friend. I think there is
no need to wait longer. I will come soon if you do not
return. But doubtless you will return, and our comrades
with you."
St. Andrew departed, and vanished within the quickly
opened gates. St. George waited, but he knew in his
heart that the champion of Scotland would not return.
Presently he, too, rode up to the gates, resolved to
discover whatever secret lay hid behind them.
The warder laughed as he opened the gates.
[331] "Seven of you,"he said jeeringly. "My master has
not had so good a catch since he took the eight sons of
the knight of the Golden Fountain. Well, I shall not
see you again."
"You will see me again in half an hour's time,"
answered St. George sternly. "With me will be my
comrades. Your lord,the monstrous giant, will be dead.
You shall be beaten for insolence."
For a moment the man was abashed, with such firmness
and confidence did St. George speak. Then he recovered
his boldness."You will never return, knight," he said.
"And since you have made me a promise,and you will not
be able to fulfil it,grant me a boon instead. Give me
I would like to possess a good sword. It
no sword yet forged can
wound my master, he has a charm
against blades of steel."
"That is the secret!" thought St. George. But he did
not speak the words aloud. He looked round him quickly.
Across the gate stretched a great rod of iron, that
fell into a socket and kept all fast barred.
"Take my sword, fellow," he said. "I can fight well
enough without it. But when I come to claim it again,
you shall have fifty stripes for your trouble in
keeping it. Now
[332] begone from my sight, lest I
repent and kill you with my bare hands."
He gave his sword to the warder, who, awed by his mien,
ran hastily with it into the gate-house. St. George
leapt from his horse and tethered it to the gate. Then
with a wrench he pulled the iron bar from its
fastenings. It was twelve feet in length, and few men
could have wielded it. But to the champion of England
it was almost a plaything.
He passed through the archway of the gate into the
courtyard of the castle. A second gate lay the other
side. There was no one in the courtyard.
St. George went across and struck the second gate with
his iron bar. The blow broke the bolts, and the gate
flew open. A great roaring came from inside, and in a
moment the giant rushed out, a long club in his hand.
"Hola!" he cried, seeing St. George awaiting him.
"Another knight! I thought I had done with you for
to-day. Well, I can put seven into my dungeon as well
as six, and when I take your bodies to my Golden
Fountain, it will be seven gold images I shall have
instead of six. Now, knight, look well at me and my
you have not long to
[333] look upon us, and we
are a rare sight. You will have eyes of gold soon, but
you will not be able to see out of them.Look! Am I not
a fine fellow? Did you ever see a greater man?"
"Have done with your jests,monster," said St.
George,"and use your own eyes as long as I give you
With that he swung the huge bar up, up, and down again,
so swiftly that it could hardly be seen. Down it fell
upon the giant' there was a crack as if an
oak-tree had been riven asunder, and the monster's hand
dangled idly, and the club fell out of it. The wrist
was broken.
The giant made a terrible sound,half roar,half
scream,and rushed at St. George, grasping at him with
his left hand. But St. George sprang out of his reach,
and swept the iron bar round with all his force. It
struck the giant on the knee and broke his leg. He
staggered and fell, and as he fell the bar rose and
came down once again, smiting him on the head, so that
by the time he lay stretched on the ground he was dead.
St. George took from him his keys, which hung at his
girdle. With them he went through the castle. In a deep
dungeon he found the six champions, bound fast, but
un- [334] hurt.
Their swords had been useless against the
giant, even as and he had taken
them alive and made them prisoners thus. Other captives
also St. George found elsewhere. H
among them were the sons of the knight of the Golden
Then the champions and the freed captives left the
castle. But first St. George sought the warder of the
gate, and took his sword back from him, and gave him
fifty stripes, as he promised.
Very joyous was their return to their host, and great
were his rejoicings at the sight of his sons. A feast
was held, and then the champions donned once more their
pilgrims' weeds, and set out for Jerusalem. It was not
far distant, to men who had journeyed so great a way
already, and in due time they came to the Holy
Sepulchre, and fulfilled the vows they had made at the
death of the Princess Sabra.
IVTHE ENCHANTED BED
When their vows were duly paid, the champions left
Jerusalem to return to England, choosing a different
way from that by which
[335] they had come. The road led
them across a great wilderness, where there were no
habitations of man. Beyond the wilderness lay a range
of mountains.
The track through the wilderness was long and barren.
The hot, dry sun gave them neither water nor kindly
fruits in their season. For many days they journeyed
through it (they were now habited as knights again, and
riding horses, not afoot, since they had ended their
pilgrimage). But their provision of food barely lasted.
They ate sparingly, and divided their store up so that
it might last the longer. But they grew very anxious
both for themselves and for their horses, who fared
even worse than they, for there was little enough
grazing-land in the desert. They were glad when they
suddenly saw in the distance, at the foot of the
mountains, a great column of smoke going up into the
"Smoke is the work of man, said St. George cheerfully.
"Let us find whose dwelling lies near that smoke, and
demand a resting-place and food for ourselves and our
They rode to the column of smoke, taking fresh heart
and comforting their weary steeds. But when they drew
near, they saw that the smoke came from a great cave in
the side of
[336] a hill, or from the ground in front of
it, for the hill was a burning mountain or volcano, and
a little outlet for the hidden fires was to be found
almost at the entrance to the cave.
"What shall we do, brothers?" asked St. George, when
they halted a little distance from the cave, seeing
that their hopes were deceived."Shall we see if any
man—a hermit, maybe—lives in this cave, or shall we
journey on, and try to find some dwelling of mankind in
these rough mountains? Soon it will be night, and our
horses are weary. We must rest somewhere. Shall I spur
onwards and peer into this cave? If you abide here, you
can in the meantime look all about to see if anywhere
you can discern so much as a peasant's hut."
They agreed, and St. George rode as swiftly as his
steed could bear him towards the cave. He was very near
the entrance when he heard a low, rumbling sound. He
halted his horse, thinking that the ground was unsafe,
and might at any minute quake and burst asunder. But
even as he drew near he learnt that the noise was not
of the earth, but of man. A monstrous giant rushed
forth, heaving himself through the column of smoke, so
[337] obscured his coming. He bore a huge mace
in his right hand, and so suddenly and swiftly did he
come that he was close upon St. George before the
champion could draw his sword. But the English knight
was alert. His battle-axe hung ready to hand at his
saddle-bow. As the giant dashed on, St. George pulled
his bridle violently, so that the horse reared up on
high. The giant swerved a little to avoid the
fore- but his rush was too violent for him to
stop quickly, and as he swept past St. George swung his
battle-axe, and struck him on the back of his head so
mighty a blow that his skull was split, and he fell
dead upon the spot.
The other champions, in the eagerness to discover some
mortal habitation, had not seen what had so quickly
happened to St. George. But he called them at once, and
together they rode past the column of smoke and into
the cave. Deep in the mountain-side they found a great
hollow place, which was the giant's lair. It was lit by
torches, and at a great fire in the midst was half a
sheep roasting on a spit. Other provisions also they
found in great plenty, even fodder for their horses.
They feasted well, and lay that night in the cave at
their ease. On the morrow they woke refreshed, and,
taking with them as great
[338] a store of food as they
could carry, set out again upon their road through the
mountains, thankful to have passed the hot desert with
so little misadventure.
They had not ridden very far before they descried upon
the track before them a dark figure, and by it some
object which sparkled in the sun like a thousand
diamonds. When they came nearer, they saw that the
figure was that of an old knight, in robes of deep
mourning, sitting by the side of a marvellous shrine
made of pure crystal. In the midst of the shrine lay a
coffin of gold.
"Aged sir," said St. George courteously, when they
reached the mourning knight, "have you suffered any
wrong that a Christian knight may avenge? My comrades
and I are champions of the afflicted and the oppressed,
and if you desire it and your cause is just, we will do
you whatever service lies in our power."
"You cannot bring back the dead to life," answered the
old man sadly. "That is the only service I could
willingly ask of you."
"Tell us what has befallen you, sir," said St.
George. "It may chance that some remedy may yet be in
our power."
"I will tell you my sorrowful tale," said the old
knight. "You shall judge for
your- [339] selves
you can serve me or not. In this shrine lies the body
of my dear daughter. A week ago she was living, and
beautiful as a flower. Now she is dead, foully slain by
a knight false to every vow of knighthood. Know, sirs,
that I am lord of th my forbears
so long as the memory of man runs have held this land,
and there is no one, high or humble, in these parts by
whom my daughter was not known and beloved. Now, a few
years ago a knight named Leoger was granted possession
of estates bordering mine, their lord having been slain
in battle, leaving no heir. This Leoger was
fair-spoken, and of great wealth, and seemed to be an
honourable knight, and he became my friend. Woe is me
that ever I admitted him to my castle! But I think he
must have secretly cast a spell upon me and all my
household, for we saw nothing evil in him, though all
the time (if we had but known it) he was in league with
wizards and enchanters, and deep in their vile plots,
being himself a magician of power. Of his wizardry I
have only had news since his most wicked deed."
"We have sworn to slay all magicians," said St. George,
interrupting gently. "We will take up your cause. But
tell us all."
"Six months ago," continued the old
[340] knight, his
voice broken with grief," Leoger came to me and asked
me for the hand of my daughter in marriage. He told me
of his great wealth and possessions (how evilly he came
by them I can now guess), and promised that my
daughter, as his wife, should live in the state
befitting her lineage and possession. I called her to
me, and learnt that she had looked on him with favour,
admiring, doubtless, the graces of his person and his
fair speeches, for, as I have said, he seemed to be a
very comely knight. I gave my consent to his request,
and allotted a great dowry to my daughter, as was
seemly for one of my house. In due time, without long
waiting, he married her. For a month they lived
then, upon some slight occasion, he abused
her and beat her. With one servant she fled from his
castle, seeking to return to me. But Leoger pursued and
caught her, and killed her then and there, seven days
ago. The servant escaped and brought me word. But I
could not avenge her, for Leoger, coming swiftly upon
the heels of this murder, ravaged my lands suddenly,
and by bribes and promises—yes, and I doubt not also by
magic arts—drew away from me all but a few most
faithful servants. I think that he means before long to
slay me also, and claim my
[341] possessions in virtue
of the wife he murdered so vilely. Day by day have I
sat by this shrine, weeping, and praying that Heaven
would send me some aid, for I am old and weak, and hope
has grown feeble within me. I think no mortal man can
prevail against this wizard L but I crave for aid
to escort me and this precious shrine to some place of
safety, where I may end my years in peace."
"No harm shall come to you yourself, gentle sir," said
St. G", but we will do more than protect you—we
will destroy this Leoger and all his tribe of
necromancers. Even if he were but a knight who had been
false to his vows,
but now we
will kill him. Show us how we may approach his castle."
"The castle is distant seven leagues from
here,"answered the old man."In a little while this road
branches. Follow the right branch, and you will come to
the castle without fail. But it is an ill place to
enter by force. It is set upon a great mountain.
Outside runs a mighty wall, containing but one gate.
Beyond this gate is a drawbridge, across a moat which
men say is bottomless. This moat must have been built
by arts beyond mortal knowledge, for there is no stream
so high up the mountain to fill it, and yet, so
is said, it never runs dry or becomes stagnant. Beyond
it is yet another great wall, and in it only one gate,
to which the drawbridge leads. When this gate is
passed, there is a courtyard, and at one side of the
courtyard a great staircase of marble going down into
the chief hall of the castle, which is hollowed out in
the very body of the mountain itself. More than that I
cannot tell you, for I have visited the accursed place
only once in my life. Go, brave knights, and take my
but I pray you beware of snares and
enchantments, for Leoger is strong in them, whatever
your valour in arms may be. As for me, I will retire to
a cave hard by that I know of, a
and if it is to be that you never return, I will remain
there nevertheless, for if your strength cannot aid me,
no mortal help will be of use."
"Farewell, good sir," cried the champions, and took the
road in joy at this high and worthy adventure. Soon
they reached the place where the road branched, and
turned to the right. And when they had ridden for a
long time, without meeting man or woman by the way,
they came in sight of Leoger's castle. It was as the
knight had described it, a mighty fortress crowning a
steep and barren mountain. There was but the one rough
[343] winding track up to the gates of carved bronze.
Grim and terrible it was, a place of emptiness and
echoes, where a stone dislodged by a horse's hoof would
rumble and crash as if the mountain itself were
The knights rode boldly up to the shut gates. There was
no watchman or sentinel on guard. They peered through
the wrought bronze, and saw beyond it the vast moat,
and on the other side the drawbridge, raised, so that
it hid the gate in the second long, smooth wall. The
waters in the moat looked black and oily and still.
There was no movement in them, no ripple of a fish
rising, no green leaves of lilies. No grass or weeds
grew in the crevices of the stone at the moat's edges.
A silence that seemed almost like an unceasing low
murmur lay over all the gloomy castle.
They looked for some means to summon a warder. Fastened
to the gates by a golden chain St. George spied a
silver horn. H it was rough to the touch.
There were words spelt upon it in fine, small emeralds:
"Sound me: I open gates for all who dare,
But let the man who enters here beware."
St. George took the horn and blew it with all his
might. The sound rang through the
[344] stillness, and
echoed as though a thousand elves were mocking him. So
loud was the blast that the castle seemed to rock and
sway on its very foundations. As the last note died
away the gates clanged open. Slowly the drawbridge,
with a grinding and screaming of its chains, lowered
itself by invisible means, until the end touched the
edge of the sombre moat almost at the champions' feet.
"Forward, friends!" cried St. George. "Here is a proud
adventure for the knights of Christendom!"
The horses' hoofs clattered upon the drawbridge. They
were across in a moment, and facing the second gate.
It, too, was shut, and on it also hung a horn, which
St. George sounded. Even more terrible was the blast
than before. On the horn were the words:
"Be warned in time: this
Who comes within death only can release."
At the sound of the horn the gates flew open, and the
champions entered. Immediately the gates clanged behind
them, and the drawbridge slowly rose and shut the moat
from their view. They were cut off, unless they could
kill Leoger, or force him to open the gates again.
They were in a huge courtyard, such as they
been told of by the old knight. In front, across the
open space, lay the walls of Leoger's keep, high,
massive walls of stone, with narrow windows here and
there, and on the top battlements and machicolations
through which stones and boiling oil could be thrown
down upon besiegers. On the left the walls and the
courtyard curved away out of sight. On the right a wall
stretched out a little way from either side, from the
keep and from the moat wall, and then ended, leaving
open the way to a broad downward stairway of gleaming
white marble.
There was no living thing to be seen. But from the
stairway the champions thought they heard the sound of
m it was an evil sound, as it were
of wicked mirth and triumphant malice. They dismounted
from their horses and left them by the gate. Drawing
their swords, they went towards the stairway.
Suddenly, as they were in the middle of the courtyard,
a dense blackness fell upon them. Not a foot in front
of their faces could they see, and the sudden change
from light to utter darkness confused them, so that
they lost their feeling for direction.
But St. George kept his wits about him. "Clasp hands," he
cried at once, "and say
[346] quickly your names, as soon as another grasps your
"George," he cried out in a moment, as his hand touched
another. "Anthony," cried a voice, and then
"Patrick," and "Denis." Then for a moment there was
silence, and their hearts grew anxious. At last the
sound came "Andrew," and a minute later, "James." Last
of all, after another silence, "David." They were
joined, hand in hand.They had to sheath their swords,
but it was better to be unready than alone in that evil
"We must find the stairway," said St. George. The
voices seemed strangely distant and muffled in the dark
"It is on our left," said St. Patrick.
"Our right," said St. David.
"Straight in front," said St. James.
"This is vain talk,"said St. Andrew bluntly."Let us
walk until we touch some upright surface, whethe