The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
There was, it seems, nothing to mitigate this unfortunate man's
physical deficiencies. There is a place in the world for the strong,
ugly man, and there is a place for the weak, handsome man. But to fall
short both in features and in muscle is to stake your all on brain. And
in the days of King Arthur you did not find the populace turning out to
do homage to brain. It was a drug on the market. Agravaine was a good
deal better equipped than his contemporaries with grey matter, but his
height in his socks was but five feet four; and his muscles, though he
had taken three correspondence courses in physical culture, remained
distressingly flaccid. His eyes were pale and mild, his nose snub, and
his chin receded sharply from his lower lip, as if Nature, designing
him, had had to leave off in a hurry and finish the job anyhow. The
upper teeth, protruding, completed the resemblance to a nervous rabbit.
Handicapped in this manner, it is no wonder that he should feel sad and
lonely in King Arthur's court. At heart he ached for romance; but
romance passed him by. The ladies of the court ignored his existence,
while, as for those wandering damsels who came periodically to Camelot
to complain of the behaviour of dragons, giants, and the like, and to
ask permission of the king to take a knight back with them to fight
their cause (just as, nowadays, one goes out and calls a policeman), he
simply had no chance. The choice always fell on Lancelot or some other
popular favourite.
* * * * *
The tournament was followed by a feast. In those brave days almost
everything was followed by a feast. The scene was gay and animated.
Fair ladies, brave knights, churls, varlets, squires, scurvy knaves,
men-at-arms, malapert rogues--all were merry. All save Agravaine. He
sat silent and moody. To the jests of Dagonet he turned a deaf ear. And
when his neighbour, Sir Kay, arguing with Sir Percivale on current
form, appealed to him to back up his statement that Sir Gawain, though
a workman-like middle-weight, lacked the punch, he did not answer,
though the subject was one on which he held strong views. He sat on,
brooding.
As he sat there, a man-at-arms entered the hall.
'Your majesty,' he cried, 'a damsel in distress waits without.'
There was a murmur of excitement and interest.
'Show her in,' said the king, beaming.
The man-at-arms retired. Around the table the knights were struggling
into an upright position in their seats and twirling their moustaches.
Agravaine alone made no movement. He had been through this sort of
thing so often. What were distressed damsels to him? His whole
demeanour said, as plainly as if he had spoken the words, 'What's the
use?'
The crowd at the door parted, and through the opening came a figure at
the sight of whom the expectant faces of the knights turned pale with
consternation. For the new-comer was quite the plainest girl those
stately halls had ever seen. Possibly the only plain girl they had ever
seen, for no instance is recorded in our authorities of the existence
at that period of any such.
The knights gazed at her blankly. Those were the grand old days of
chivalry, when a thousand swords would leap from their scabbards to
protect defenceless woman, if she were beautiful. The present seemed
something in the nature of a special case, and nobody was quite certain
as to the correct procedure.
An awkward silence was broken by the king.
'Er--yes?' he said.
The damsel halted.
'Your majesty,' she cried, 'I am in distress. I crave help!'
'Just so,' said the king, uneasily, flashing an apprehensive glance at
the rows of perturbed faces before him. 'Just _so_. What--er--what is
the exact nature of the--ah--trouble? Any assistance these gallant
knights can render will, I am sure, be--ah--eagerly rendered.'
He looked imploringly at the silent warriors. As a rule, this speech
was the signal for roars of applause. But now there was not even a
murmur.
'I may say enthusiastically,' he added.
Not a sound.
'Precisely,' said the king, ever tactful. 'And now--you were saying?'
'I am Yvonne, the daughter of Earl Dorm of the Hills,' said the damsel,
'and my father has sent me to ask protection from a gallant knight
against a fiery dragon that ravages the country-side.'
'A dragon, gentlemen,' said the king, aside. It was usually a safe
draw. Nothing pleased the knight of that time more than a brisk bout
with a dragon. But now the tempting word was received in silence.
'Fiery,' said the king.
Some more silence.
The king had recourse to the direct appeal. 'Sir Gawain, this Court
would be greatly indebted to you if--'
Sir Gawain said he had strained a muscle at the last tournament.
'Sir Pelleas.'
The king's voice was growing flat with consternation. The situation was
unprecedented.
Sir Pelleas said he had an ingrowing toe-nail.
The king's eye rolled in anguish around the table. Suddenly it stopped.
It brightened. His look of dismay changed to one of relief.
A knight had risen to his feet. It was Agravaine.
'Ah!' said the king, drawing a deep breath.
Sir Agravaine gulped. He was feeling more nervous than he had ever felt
in his life. Never before had he risen to volunteer his services in a
matter of this kind, and his state of mind was that of a small boy
about to recite his first piece of poetry.
It was not only the consciousness that every eye, except one of Sir
Balin's which had been closed in the tournament that afternoon, was
upon him. What made him feel like a mild gentleman in a post-office who
has asked the lady assistant if she will have time to attend to him
soon and has caught her eye, was the fact that he thought he had
observed the damsel Yvonne frown as he rose. He groaned in spirit. This
damsel, he felt, wanted the proper goods or none at all. She might not
be able to get Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad; but she was not going to be
satisfied with a half-portion.
The fact was that Sir Agravaine had fallen in love at first sight. The
moment he had caught a glimpse of the damsel Yvonne, he loved her
devotedly. To others she seemed plain and unattractive. To him she was
a Queen of Beauty. He was amazed at the inexplicable attitude of the
knights around him. He had expected them to rise in a body to clamour
for the chance of assisting this radiant vision. He could hardly
believe, even now, that he was positively the only starter.
'This is Sir Agravaine the Dolorous,' said the king to the damsel.
'Will you take him as your champion?'
Agravaine held his breath. But all was well. The damsel bowed.
'Then, Sir Agravaine,' said the king, 'perhaps you had better have your
charger sent round at once. I imagine that the matter is pressing--time
and--er--dragons wait for no man.'
Ten minutes later Agravaine, still dazed, was jogging along to the
hills, with the damsel by his side.
It was some time before either of them spoke. The damsel seemed
preoccupied, and Agravaine's mind was a welter of confused thoughts,
the most prominent of which and the one to which he kept returning
being the startling reflection that he, who had pined for romance so
long, had got it now in full measure.
A dragon! Fiery withal. Was he absolutely certain that he was capable
of handling an argument with a fiery dragon? He would have given much
for a little previous experience of this sort of thing. It was too late
now, but he wished he had had the forethought to get Merlin to put up a
magic prescription for him, rendering him immune to dragon-bites. But
did dragons bite? Or did they whack at you with their tails? Or just
blow fire?
There were a dozen such points that he would have liked to have settled
before starting. It was silly to start out on a venture of this sort
without special knowledge. He had half a mind to plead a forgotten
engagement and go straight back.
Then he looked at the damsel, and his mind was made up. What did death
matter if he could serve her?
He coughed. She came out of her reverie with a start.
'This dragon, now?' said Agravaine.
For a moment the damsel did not reply. 'A fearsome worm, Sir Knight,'
she said at length. 'It raveneth by day and by night. It breathes fire
from its nostrils.'
'Does it!' said Agravaine. '_Does_ it! You couldn't give some
idea what it looks like, what kind of _size_ it is?'
'Its body is as thick as ten stout trees, and its head touches the
clouds.'
'Does it!' said Agravaine thoughtfully. '_Does_ it!'
'Oh, Sir Knight, I pray you have a care.'
'I will,' said Agravaine. And he had seldom said anything more
fervently. The future looked about as bad as it could be. Any hopes
he may have entertained that this dragon might turn out to
be comparatively small and inoffensive were dissipated. This was
plainly no debilitated wreck of a dragon, its growth stunted by
excessive-fire-breathing. A body as thick as ten stout trees! He would
not even have the melancholy satisfaction of giving the creature
indigestion. For all the impression he was likely to make on that vast
interior, he might as well be a salted almond.
As they were speaking, a dim mass on the skyline began to take shape.
'Behold!' said the damsel. 'My father's castle.' And presently they
were riding across the drawbridge and through the great gate, which
shut behind them with a clang.
As they dismounted a man came out through a door at the farther end of
the courtyard.
'Father,' said Yvonne, 'this is the gallant knight Sir Agravaine, who
has come to--' it seemed to Agravaine that she hesitated for a moment.
'To tackle our dragon?' said the father. 'Excellent. Come right in.'
Earl Dorm of the Hills, was a small, elderly man, with what Agravaine
considered a distinctly furtive air about him. His eyes were too close
together, and he was over-lavish with a weak, cunning smile. Even
Agravaine, who was in the mood to like the whole family, if possible,
for Yvonne's sake, could not help feeling that appearances were against
this particular exhibit. He might have a heart of gold beneath the
outward aspect of a confidence-trick expert whose hobby was dog-stealing,
but there was no doubt that his exterior did not inspire a genial glow
of confidence.
'Very good of you to come,' said the earl.
'It's a pleasure,' said Agravaine. 'I have been hearing all about the
dragon.'
'A great scourge,' agreed his host. 'We must have a long talk about it
after dinner.'
It was the custom in those days in the stately homes of England for the
whole strength of the company to take their meals together. The guests
sat at the upper table, the ladies in a gallery above them, while the
usual drove of men-at-arms, archers, malapert rogues, varlets, scurvy
knaves, scullions, and plug-uglies attached to all medieval households,
squashed in near the door, wherever they could find room.
The retinue of Earl Dorm was not strong numerically--the household
being, to judge from appearances, one that had seen better days; but it
struck Agravaine that what it lacked in numbers it made up in
toughness. Among all those at the bottom of the room there was not one
whom it would have been agreeable to meet alone in a dark alley. Of
all those foreheads not one achieved a height of more than one point
nought four inches. A sinister collection, indeed, and one which,
Agravaine felt, should have been capable of handling without his
assistance any dragon that ever came into the world to stimulate the
asbestos industry.
He was roused from his reflections by the voice of his host.
'I hope you are not tired after your journey, Sir Agravaine? My little
girl did not bore you, I trust? We are very quiet folk here. Country
mice. But we must try to make your visit interesting.'