‘He’s a slothful sort, his letter shows; a dreamer, not a man.’
‘I love him.’
‘While you were reading, I summoned his likeness here—he is ill-favoured—has lost a front tooth.’
‘Regular features are my abhorrence—I love him.’
‘He is sandy-haired and freckled and untidy in his dress.’
‘Never mind, I love him.’
‘He is self-willed and obstinate; his parents can do nothing with him.’
‘I could: I love him.’
‘He likes insects and crawling things: his pockets are full of spiders and centipedes.’
‘I shall love them for his sake.’
‘He cares for waterfalls and flowers and distant views.’
‘I love him more than ever!’
‘But,’ said the magician, suddenly grave, ‘I’m not sure that he loves you.’
‘Ah!’ cried the Princess, jubilation in her voice. ‘I love him most of all for that!’
There was a pause. The shadow on the wall swooned from the oppression of its beauty, and slid to the floor.
‘But of course he loves me,’ the Princess murmured to herself.
‘Everyone does, and so must he.’
She looked up at the magician for confirmation; but he had gone. Then she saw that something was missing.
‘Magician! Magician!’ she cried. ‘You’ve taken my Conrad’s letter. I want it back!’
But the magician, if he heard her, did not answer.
Conrad’s suggestion, when published in the papers, produced a disagreeable impression. It was called mawkish and unmanly and insulting to the dignity of the Princess. Forester’s Son Wants To Be Male Nurse, ran the headline. However, the letter was so inept, it could not be taken seriously. Conrad was evidently a little weak in the head. The Princess had all the virtues, but especially two: courage and unselfishness. Naturally she would have liked company in the hour of trial—and many were ready to offer it, from the King downwards: she had no need of the services of a woodman’s unlicked cub. But she preferred to spare her friends the sight of her mental and physical anguish. It was the best she could do, she said in her gracious, winning way, to soften the burden a miserable fate had cast, through her, upon her countrymen. So she retired and encountered her dark destiny alone, with the aid of such courage as she could summon. Conrad, the article concluded charitably, was no doubt too thick in the head to understand such delicacy of feeling; but surely his parents might have stopped him from making a fool of himself in public: the noble example of his brothers might have stopped him.
Conrad was too miserable after Rudolph’s death to mind cutting a sorry figure in the public eye. Fortunately for him he had few acquaintances and spent much time in the woods alone; so at first he was scarcely aware of his unpopularity. But the neighbours were quick to point out to his parents what a dishonour their son had brought on the district; it has set the whole province by the ears, they said, and started a government inquiry as to why our part of the world has been so backward in sending volunteers to fight the Dragon. This touched to the quick many people who had never heard of Conrad, and who now realized they might be called on to display their heroism in front of the castle, whether they would or no; for it was whispered that there might be an official round-up of likely young men.
His father and mother did their best to keep all this from Conrad. They were hurt and puzzled by his action, but they knew what a blow his brother’s death had been, and did not want to distress him needlessly. But as he walked about the woods, especially at night-time, he would hear a stone go whizzing by him, or see a stick break at his feet; and demanding the cause of these attentions from one of the culprits, a lad rather smaller than himself, he was told very fully and in words that hurt. His foolish letter had got the place a bad name and he himself was this, that, and the other.
Conrad tried to take no notice and go his own way. But after five years in increasing calamity, the temper of the people had changed. True, the Princess found champions enthusiastic as ever; but they were men of a different kidney, always discovering good reasons why others should go out to battle and they themselves remain at home. These busybodies could not let Conrad alone, and Conrad, who was enjoying life far less than five years ago had seemed possible, saw there was only one thing to do. He must challenge the Dragon himself.
He did not go into training, as his brothers had done, with walks before breakfast and nourishing, unappetising food; he did not, if he chanced to spy a fantastic-looking bush, set spurs to his horse and with a wild cry aim at it with his axe. Had he made the experiment he would have fallen off, for his horsemanship had not improved. Nor did he spend his savings on the purchase of costly weapons, and a military equipment of plume, breastplate, and golden epaulette, to charm the spectator’s eye. His preparations were quite simple and only one of them cost him thought. This was the speech he would have to make at the foot of the steps.
He knew that it must be a declaration of love, or the Dragon would ignore it. But since Rudolph’s death, his indifference to the Princess had deepened into positive dislike, almost hatred. He could not bring himself to say he loved her, even without meaning it. So he set himself to devise a form of words which would sound to the greedy, stupid Dragon sufficiently like praise, but to him, the speaker, would mean something quite different. When this was done, there still remained one thing: to leave his savings to Charlotte, his brother’s fiancée. These last few weeks, when no one had a kind word for him, and even his parents seemed neutral, she had gone out of her way to be nice to him.
A letter came written on parchment under a great red seal, calling him by flattering and endearing terms, and fixing three o’clock as the hour for the contest. Conrad started early, before the November morning was well astir. He was riding the horse his father had lent him: the Dragon did not fancy horsemeat. Conrad would have felt safer on foot, but besides his luncheon he had an axe to carry, and the castle was seventeen miles away. He was wearing his old suit, as it seemed a pity to spoil his best one. As he went along, mostly walking, but occasionally trotting if the horse stumbled, people stopped work or came out of their houses to look at him. They knew why he was there and though they did not cheer or clap, they did not insult or ridicule him, which was some comfort.
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.