Chapter III: Part 3

* * * * *

He, very wisely, had rested all day in preparation for the tasks of evening and night. Two or three times, moving aside the screen that kept the smoke out of his cave, he had crawled through the opening and, drawing the other screen across the other side of it, had tended the fire. For the rest, he had been all inactive.

As twilight crept into the cave, he knelt in solemn supplication to the departing sun. Presently, when darkness had descended, he struck two flints, lit one end of his pine-wood staff, moved the screen aside, drew a long deep breath, and crawled swiftly into the other cave. Slowly he moved his torch from side to side of the cave’s mouth, along the ground. He was holding it in his left hand, and in his right hand was holding one of the two flat stones. After a pause, still kneeling, he raised high the torch for a moment or two and then sharply lowered it in the direction of one of the smoke-clouded animals. At the same time he powerfully clashed the one stone down upon the other. Another pause, and he repeated these actions exactly, directing the torch towards the next animal. He performed them ten times in all. Then he extinguished his torch and crept quickly home, puffing and spluttering and snorting, glad to escape into clear air.

When he had regained his breath, he crawled back to drag the carcasses in. The roe and the buck he left where they were. He had calculated that three nightly journeys to the marshes and back would be all that he could achieve. First he would take the two sheep, one on each shoulder; next, the goats; lastly the birds, three necks in either hand. The buck and the roe would be too heavy to be carried together; and for five journeys there would certainly not be time. It was for this reason that he had described the dragon as smaller than the old one, and had clashed the stones ten times only.

From the valley rose sounds of rejoicing that all was well for the homeland to-night. One by one, Thol transferred the carcasses to his own cave. He waited there among them till the dead of night, when all folk would be sleeping. Then, shouldering the two sheep, he sallied forth down the hill and away to the marshes.

He accomplished the whole of his night-work before the stars had begun to fade. Then, having replenished and banked the fire, he lay down to sleep. Some four hours later he woke to go and tend the fire again, and then again slept.

* * * * *

It was a toilsome, lonesome, monotonous and fuliginous life that Thol had chosen; but he never faltered in it. Always at nightfall he impersonated the dragon, and in the small hours went his journeys to the marshes; and never once did he let the fire die.

The afternoons passed very slowly. He wished he could sally forth into the sunshine, like other men. He paced round and round his cave, hour after hour, a strange figure, dark-handed, dark-visaged, dark-bearded.

In so far as they deigned to remember him at all, the homelanders supposed he had gone away, that first morning, across the waters or through the forests, to some land where he could look men in the face.

Here he was, however, in their midst, a strenuous and faithful servant.

He had a stern grim joy in the hardness of his life--save that he could never ask Thia to share it with him. He had not foreseen--it was the one thing he had not thought out well--how hard the life would be. The great deed by which he had thought to bring Thia back to him must forever keep them asunder. Thus he had done an even greater deed than he intended. And his stern grim joy in it was thereby the greater.

* * * * *

Had she so wished, Thia might have become very popular and have regained something of her past glory. After Thol’s confession of cowardice she had instantly risen in the homelanders’ esteem. How very right she had been to leave him! Friendly eyes and friendly words greeted her. But when they all knelt praying the sun to call the dragon away, she remained upright and mute. And afterwards, when she was asked why, she said that it was well that the dragon should abide among them, for thus would they all be the better, in heart and deed, and therefore truly the happier, could they but know it. She said that whether or not they could know it, so it was.

These sayings of hers were taken in bad part, and she was shunned because of them. This did not mar the joy she had in knowing that all was well once more in the homeland.

She felt herself not at all unblest in the quiet spinsterly life she was leading, in and out of her trim new hut, with her dear flock of geese about her.

Of Thol, nowadays, she thought more gently. She felt that if he had stayed in the homeland she would have gone back to him. It would have been her bounden duty to be with him and to comfort him in his shame. Indeed his shame made him dear to her once more. As the days passed she thought more and more about him. It was strange that he had gone from the homeland. No homelander ever had gone forth into the perils of the lands beyond. If she herself, daughter of wanderers, had roved away instead of building this hut to dwell in, she might not have much marvelled at herself, less brave though she was than Thol. And Thol was no longer brave. How had he, fearing a dragon smaller than that other, conquered his fear of known and unknown things that were worse yet, far worse yet?

And one evening a strange doubt came to her. Might it not be that Thol was still in the homeland? In one of all these dark forests he might be living, with nuts and berries to support life. Or, she further guessed, he might even be in his own cave, stealing out at night when all but the watchmen on the other side of the hill were sleeping. This notion, foolish though it seemed to her, possessed her mind.

So soon as silence and sleep had descended on the homeland, Thia herself stole out into the clear starlit night. Not far from the eastern spur of the hill she lay down in a clump of long grass, and thence, gazing up, watched the cave’s mouth steadily.

* * * * *

Some one presently came forth: and yes, it was Thol. Slowly he came down the hill, with his head bent forward, with his hands up to his bowed shoulders, and two burdens at his back--two goats, as Thia saw when presently Thol turned aside southward. He looked very strange. His hair and face seemed to have grown quite dark. And what was he doing with those two goats? Thia lay still, with a fast-beating heart. She felt that her voice would not have come, even had she tried to call to him.

She watched him out of sight, then rose to her feet and, hesitatingly, went to the foot of the hill, and then, quickly and resolutely, went up it and into the cave.

Quick-witted though she was, the sight of three geese and three ducks and of two sheep puzzled her deeply; and not less did she wonder at the quantity of stacked wood. And what was that fence of osiers against the wall? She moved it slightly and saw a great breach in the wall; and through this some smoke came drifting in. And now her quick wits began to work--but in such wise as to make her bewilderment the deeper.

Suddenly, drawing a deep breath, she went down on her hands and knees, and crawled rapidly through.

She was soon back again. Blinking hard and shaking the smoke from her nostrils, she went to breathe the clear air at the cave’s mouth. But, good though this air was, she hardly tasted it. She had burst out sobbing. She, who never in all her life had shed tears, sobbed much now. But she remembered that tears make people’s eyes ugly. So she controlled herself and dried her eyes vigorously. She had not remembered that the palms of her hands must be all black from her crawl. When she saw them, and knew what her face must be now, she burst out laughing. And the sound made her feel very young, for it was long since she had laughed. But, as she wished to please Thol’s eyes, she retired to the back of the cave and crouched where she would scarcely be seen by him when he came.

He came at last, and then, very softly, she cried out to him, ‘Thol!’

He, brave though he was, started violently.

‘Do not look at me, O Thol! Not yet! For my face is black and would displease you. Look at me only after you have heard me. O Thol, if they said now that you were a god, almost would I believe them. But if you were a god your deed would be less great. The wonder is that you are a man, and were once mine. O Thol, forgive me, keep me here with you, need me!’

But he slowly answered, ‘Nay, O Thia, this cave is not now for a woman.’

‘Not for a woman that is your wife and lover? Think! Was it not for my sake and for love of me that you thought to do what you are doing?’

‘Yea, O Thia. Yet, now that I am doing it, itself suffices me. I am strong, and suffer not under the burden of it. The very heaviness of it makes me glad. And now your knowledge of it gladdens me, too. But I would not have you bear the least part of it with me. Go to your own home!’

‘You speak firmly, O great dragon! Yet will not I obey you. Tell me of your work. Is it to the marshes that you take the beasts and the birds?’

‘Yea. Begone, small dear one!’ And he stooped down to take the two sheep.

‘Once, long ago, you wished that a lad might help you in your hard work. O Thol, I am as I was, trustier than any lad. It were better that you should go twice, not thrice, every night, to the marshes. I will always take the birds.’ And she rose to take them.

But a thought, a very important thought, came to her, giving her pause. And she said, ‘The fire must first be tended.’

‘It has no need yet,’ he answered. ‘I tend it when I come back from the last journey.’

‘To-night it shall be tended earlier. And I will so tend it that it shall last long.’ She was down on her knees and off into the smoke before he could stop her. He followed her, protesting that such work was not for her. She did it, nevertheless, very well. And presently, side by side, he with two sheep, she with three birds’ necks in either fist, they went forth into the starlight, and down away to the marshes.

There, having duly sunk their burdens, they took each other by the hand, and turned homeward. At one of the running brooks on their way home, Thia halted. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘will I wash my face well. And do you, too, O Thol, wash yours, so that when we wake in the morning mine shall not displease you.’

* * * * *

Every night Thia accompanied Thol on one of the two journeys; and during the other she would go to the forest and gather wood, so that there should always be plenty of fuel in hand. She was sorry to have had to abandon her geese, for she felt they would not be as happy with any one as they had been with her. Nothing else whatever was there to mar her joy in the life that she and Thol were leading together, and in the good that they were doing. It amused her to know that the homelanders would think she had wandered away--she who was serving them so well. Its very secrecy made her life the more joyous.

Daily she prayed to the sun and other gods that she and Thol might live to be very old and might never fail in their work.

But the sun and those others were not good listeners.

As the nights lengthened and the leaves began to fall, the mists over the marshes and around them grew ever thicker. It was not easy to find the way through them; and they were very cold, and had a savour that was bitter to the tongue and to the nostrils. And one morning Thia, when she woke, was shivering from head to foot, though she was in Thol’s arms. She slipped away from him without waking him, and went not merely to tend the fire but also to warm herself at it. All through the morning she was shivering; and in the evening her hands became hot, as did her face and all her body. She felt very weak. She could laugh no more now at Thol’s disquietude. She lay down, but could not lie very still. At about the time when they were wont to sally forth, she rose up, feeling that even though she might not be able to carry the birds to-night the journey would freshen her. She soon found that she was too weak even to stand. Thol was loth to leave her; but she insisted that the work must be done. Again and again, next day and during the next night, she implored him that if she died he would not mourn her very much and would not once falter in the work. He promised that he would not falter. Other days and nights passed. It seemed to Thol that Thia had ceased to know him. She did not even follow him with her eyes now. One morning, at daybreak, soon after his return from the third journey, she seemed, by her gaze, to know him. But presently she died in his arms.

On that night he went to the forest and dug a grave for his wife. Then, returning to the cave, he took her in his arms, and carried her away, and buried her.

In the time that followed, he was not altogether lonely. He felt by day that somehow she was in the cave with him still, and by night he felt that she walked with him. He never faltered in the work.

He faltered not much even when the marshes did to him as they had done to Thia. Shivering in every limb, or hot and aching, and very weak, he yet forced himself to tend the fire and at nightfall to brandish the torch and clash the stones and drag in the beasts and birds. It irked him that he was not strong enough to carry even one sheep away. Surely, he would be strong again soon? For Thia’s sake, and for the homeland’s, he wished ardently to live. But there came an evening when the watchers in the valley saw no rising and falling, heard no clashing, of the dragon’s jaws.

* * * * *

Would the dragon come forth to-night? The valley on the further side of the stream was now thickly crowded. On the nearer side were many single adventurers, with spears. Their prowess and skill were not tested. The dragon came not forth.

In the dawn it was noted that his smoke was far less thick than it was wont to be. Soon it ceased altogether. What had happened? Perchance the dragon was ailing? But even an ailing dragon would breathe. A great glad surmise tremulously formed itself. Was the dragon dead?

The surmise quickly became a firm belief--so firm that, in spite of protests from the precise Shib, songs of thanksgiving were heartily sung before the cave was approached and examined.

People were much puzzled. The dead man lying at the cave’s mouth, grasping in one hand a flat stone and in the other a charred staff, was not quickly recognised as Thol, so black were his hair and skin; nor was he at once known to have been the dragon. The quantities of stacked wood, the tunnel into the cave where Thol had lived, did not quickly divulge their meaning. Only after long arguments and many conjectures did the homelanders understand the trick that had been played on them. Why, with what evil intent, it had been played, they were almost too angry to discuss at present. But certain words of Thia’s were remembered; and it was felt that she herself perhaps had put the trick into Thol’s mind and that this was why she had fled the homeland. She had better not set foot in it again.

Before the sun sank, Thol was buried without honour, and far from Thia.

And before the sun sank many other times the homelanders were as they had been before the coming of the true dragon, and as they had been again before the false one was among them.

FINIS

And thus--does our tale end unhappily? I think not. After all, the homelanders at large are rather shadowy to us. Oc and Loga, Shib and Veo, Afa and her like, and all those others, all those nameless others, do not mean much to us. It is Thol and Thia that we care about. For their sake we wish that the good they did could have been lasting. But it is not in the nature of things that anything--except the nature of things--should last. Saints and wise statesmen can do much. Their reward is in the doing of it. They are lucky if they do not live long enough to see the undoing. It should suffice us that Thol and Thia together in their last days knew a happiness greater than they had ever known--Thol a greater happiness than in the days of his glory, and Thia than in the days of hers.

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD.,
LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] Lest the reader assume that in the course of this narrative one or both of Thia’s parents will return to claim her, let me at once state that within a few months of her being left in the homeland her father was killed by a lion, and her mother by a lioness, in what has since become Shropshire.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.