“Cecil, son of James, son of John, son of even Saint Christopher,” he said, “how did you know I did not have a tail?”
I laughed. “That was not hard to find out, Fitz-Hugh. When I had the opportunity, I asked your mother.’’
We looked over at the young bride.
Queen Broda sat silently in her golden chariot. She was smiling.
No Other Man
[Weird Tales 1929-12]
“Why come to me with your worries?” I asked the old people, rather petulantly. “Any man could find your daughter for you, and there are many good men in your own land.”
I was irritated.
Ever since the time I slew the dragon of Thorp’s Woods, the people of Cornwall thought that all they had to do in time of trouble was to come to me. For a while I tried to be considerate; I really thought at one time that perhaps it was part of my duties as Overlord of the land to kill serpents, destroy giants, and in every way make the country a pleasant and kindly place to live in. To live up to these high ideals gave me little leisure to devote to my special studies, and, often, I was no sooner back from one adventure and comfortably clad in my velvets, with my nose between the pages of a book, than a fresh demand made it necessary to put on my armor again and sally out to rout a few more robbers or cut the head off another slithering snake. It was hard to be so disturbed from the reading of a good book, and in wintertime the harness and armor were so cold that only after some hours of wearing did my goose-flesh subside and enable me to ride my charger with any comfort.
Now, for some weeks, everything in Cornwall had been quiet. If there were any dragons remaining, they thought it best to hide in secret rock caves, while all the robbers had fled to Wales and Brittany, and the giants were all rotting in their gore. As far as my sway extended, all was quiet, and I felt that I had well earned a rest. It was cold, the roads were deep in mire, the sky overcast; my good steed was comfortable, knee-deep in straw and munching the best grain my peasants could raise; I had large logs in the fireplace, now cushions to sit on, a woolen shawl for my knees and another for my shoulders, old wine in the glass, a joint of meat on the table and a book in my hand; why should I worry about wrongs done in Wales or lands of the Scot or Irish?
Then, after but a few days of comfort, these old folks came. They brought with them a long parehment, bearing the scrawl and seal of the King of Wales. That did not mean much to me, for they were changing their kings every month, but it had so impressed my men that they had brought the old folks to the door of my library, and when I refused to see them and ordered them fed and put out of the castle, they raised such a lamentable cry that, from sheer necessity, I gave way to their moans and ordered them in to tell their story.
They were wet and cold; so I gave them a place by the fire. And they seemed hungry so I ordered meat and; wine brought them, and I told them, for the sake of good Saint Jerome, to fill up and dry up first and then I would listen to what they came to say to me. Thus I gained an extra half hour of time to read my book, and when I saw this much time slip down the narrow channel of the sand-glass, and found that in this space of time I had translated over four lines of Latin, I was much cheered and almost tempted to be civil to the old folks.
The story they told was a familiar one. Their daughter had been taken from them they believed that she was; being held a prisoner in one of the mountain caves a dozen miles from their hut. What manner of man or beast had done this foul deed they knew not; there were strange tales about the things that lived in that mountain. They had been to see the king of their land, and he had asked in vain, among all his knights, for one to rescue the maiden; they had all refused to undertake the adventure then he had thought of writing to me concerning the wrong done these old folks and asking me to right it. As they became more excited, they raised their hands and swore that never was there such a lovely girl as their daughter, nor so pure a one, and why had the saints permitted this terror to come to her?
Naturally, I was sorry for them. Yet it seemed to me that I was being imposed upon and that the knights of Wales ought to attend to their own giants and dragons; so, when they finally came to the end of their tale, I gruffly said:
“Why come to me with your worries? Any man could find your daughter for you, and there are many good men in your own land.”
At that they cried out that I was wrong, and the woman said over and over again, “No other man.No other man. NO OTHER MAN!” which was all silly nonsense, being foolish and far from the truth.
However, it all ended in my telling them to go to bed and rest and that on the morrow I would return with them and see what could be done concerning the safety of their daughter, though I doubted if she were yet alive; so, sending them off to a good night’s rest, I ordered fresh logs put on the fire and some spiced beer warmed for my comfort, and started in to read the adventures of a good knight Hercules, who was either a better fighter or a better liar than I ever could hope to become. And, finally, I also sought the warmth of a featherbed, and, disturbed in mind, waited for what the morrow would bring.
The next day, in a drizzle of rain, we started for some town in Wales, the proper sounding of whose name I never did learn. The old dame and her man rode slowly ahead on two sorry nags, while behind them I rode my favorite stallion.
The woolens and leathers I wore under my armor had been well warmed and greased before I started, but the day was chill and in no time at all I became depressed over the cold of the harness on my back. So I tried to pass the time reciting Latin verbs, which made the old folks shiver and cross themselves for that they thought my mutterings to be imprecations and incantations against the power of the Evil One and now and; then my stallion reared in the air and neighed, perhaps for his warm stall and his hearty meals of grain, and perhaps for other things, but I gruffly commanded him to come down to earth on all fours.
So on we drove for the space of five days. At night we slept where we could and by day we rode and suffered from the chill of the cold rain. I had some gold with me and so could pay for the best, but even the best was sorry worst, and ever and again I sighed for my velvets and my fire, good beer and Latin manuscripts. Yet an end finally came, and we arrived at the house of the old man and his wife. It was raining as we came there, and the sky was dark and lowering; yet through the gloom I could see the dark mountains far in the distance, covered with mighty trees and holding in their mysterious fastnesses this supposedly lovely daughter and the unknown monster that had torn her from her parental home.
When the news of our arrival was spread through the little town, the neighbors came, no doubt, to see the Giant-killer, and whether they were disappointed in my looks, I wot not; at least, they did not say so. However, since I had come all this long five-day journey to accomplish another wondrous feat of chivalry, I was glad to have these simple folk to talk to, for I wanted to know all that there was to be known about the land and the special monsters it harbored, and just how this young maiden had been taken, and what manner of fiend it was that had done the deed (for I found that such preliminary investigation was of the greatest value in winning a victory). Also I was glad to have some of the simple folk to carefully dry my armor and rub it with lard and oil, and also to rub over my cold muscles a special holy oil which came to me in a gold vial from the Holy Land, being part of the lard boiled from a great saint during his martyrdom, which laid was very comforting to me, both in a physical and a religious manner.