English Fairy Tales | Page 3

where lay a
good ship bound for the land of Egypt. Taking passage in her, after long journeying he
arrived in that land when the silent wings of night were outspread, and darkness brooded
on all things. Here, coming to a poor hermitage, he begged a night's lodging, on which
the hermit replied:
"Sir Knight of Merrie England--for I see her arms graven on thy breastplate--thou hast
come hither in an ill time, when those alive are scarcely able to bury the dead by reason

of the cruel destruction waged by a terrible dragon, who ranges up and down the country
by day and by night. If he have not an innocent maiden to devour each day, he sends a
mortal plague amongst the people. And this has not ceased for twenty and four years, so
that there is left throughout the land but one maiden, the beautiful Sâbia, daughter to the
King. And to-morrow must she die, unless some brave knight will slay the monster. To
such will the King give his daughter in marriage, and the crown of Egypt in due time."
"For crowns I care not," said St. George boldly, "but the beauteous maiden shall not die. I
will slay the monster."
So, rising at dawn of day, he buckled on his armour, laced his helmet, and with the
falchion Ascalon in his hand, bestrode Bayard, and rode into the Valley of the Dragon.
Now on the way he met a procession of old women weeping and wailing, and in their
midst the most beauteous damsel he had ever seen. Moved by compassion he dismounted,
and bowing low before the lady entreated her to return to her father's palace, since he was
about to kill the dreaded dragon. Whereupon the beautiful Sâbia, thanking him with
smiles and tears, did as he requested, and he, re-mounting, rode on his emprise.
Now, no sooner did the dragon catch sight of the brave Knight than its leathern throat
sent out a sound more terrible than thunder, and weltering from its hideous den, it spread
its burning wings and prepared to assail its foe.
Its size and appearance might well have made the stoutest heart tremble. From shoulder
to tail ran full forty feet, its body was covered with silver scales, its belly was as gold,
and through its flaming wings the blood ran thick and red.
So fierce was its onset, that at the very first encounter the Knight was nigh felled to the
ground; but recovering himself he gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear that the
latter shivered to a thousand pieces; whereupon the furious monster smote him so
violently with its tail that both horse and rider were overthrown.
Now, by great good chance, St. George was flung under the shade of a flowering orange
tree, whose fragrance hath this virtue in it, that no poisonous beast dare come within the
compass of its branches. So there the valiant knight had time to recover his senses, until
with eager courage he rose, and rushing to the combat, smote the burning dragon on his
burnished belly with his trusty sword Ascalon; and thereinafter spouted out such black
venom, as, falling on the armour of the Knight, burst it in twain. And ill might it have
fared with St. George of Merrie England but for the orange tree, which once again gave
him shelter under its branches, where, seeing the issue of the fight was in the Hands of
the Most High, he knelt and prayed that such strength of body should be given him as
would enable him to prevail. Then with a bold and courageous heart, he advanced again,
and smote the fiery dragon under one of his flaming wings, so that the weapon pierced
the heart, and all the grass around turned crimson with the blood that flowed from the
dying monster. So St. George of England cut off the dreadful head, and hanging it on a
truncheon made of the spear which at the beginning of the combat had shivered against
the beast's scaly back, he mounted his steed Bayard, and proceeded to the palace of the
King.

Now the King's name was Ptolemy, and when he saw that the dreaded dragon was indeed
slain, he gave orders for the city to be decorated. And he sent a golden chariot with
wheels of ebony and cushions of silk to bring St. George to the palace, and commanded a
hundred nobles dressed in crimson velvet, and mounted on milk-white steeds richly
caparisoned, to escort him thither with all honour, while musicians walked before and
after, filling the air with sweetest sounds.
Now the beautiful Sâbia herself washed and dressed the weary Knight's wounds, and
gave him in sign of betrothal a diamond ring of purest water.