Saint George - 19. Rage

But what was that?! Quicker even than lightning the rider had jumped to his feet and into the saddle, snatched the lance from its special casing and ere the monster realised what was afoot had driven it deep down its throat. It had been a ruse, one often used by Roman soldiers. The horses were especially trained for it.
Still, the people couldn’t believe their hero had been slain; still, they clung to their conviction that it would keep laughing and, shortly, crunch the Roman spear to smithereens, but when a wide stream of yellow goo started gushing from its jaws and its limbs slackened one after another, there was little space left for doubt. The cheering turned into a roar of rage, of boundless rage.
The game was over, forever it was. What a dirty trick of that guy! Such a special animal that’s never hurt a soul, ever. What a bastard! What a jerk!
A flare like this was never to be quenched by words alone. There, someone already threw a stone to the rider, dislodged from a wall. Then it took but an instant for stones and roof tiles to rain down on him. Poles and shelves, too. Tearing down the now useless stands offered another outlet for their anger.
Through skilful maneuvering of horse and shield our officer succeeded in dodging the greater part of the avalanche and whatever hit him couldn’t do much harm because of his helmet and body armour. That he still defied them drove the crowd’s rage to a head.
‘Now for that wench’, the mother of a dragon bride shrieked, ‘that witch child’ and she cast her stone in the direction of the half-naked princess. This was a signal of sorts and the girl would have been stoned to death without fail but for the immediate intervention of the officer who slashed her ropes with his sword, hoisted her onto the horse in front of him and raced in full gallop beyond the range of the projectiles, all under protection of his unerring shield.
If ever there was a baffled man it must have been this Roman officer. During the fight, shouts of encouragement were meant for him, the torrents of abuse and imprecations for his adversary, or so he’d assumed. All at once, the very opposite proved true, he himself being the bad guy.
For their next target the people sought out the royal family but in the general uproar they had slipped away unobserved.
With venting their rage the crowd had made hardly any start. They pulled down literally everything related to the show. Even the dead dragon didn’t escape their attentions. How stupid of him to let himself be fooled. Why hadn’t he just blown some flames from his nostrils! A petty dragon could have done that! A travesty of a dragon it had been, a mock dragon from an operetta.
That they’d been in such awe of it. Pathetic!
There, with a dull thud the first stone landed on the dead beast. This was another signal and soon it lay buried under a heap of rubble.
Even then, the people still remained restive.
Now they raised the cry: ‘We’ll seek him out, the bastard, him and that witch child. He shall die!’ Therewith the people streamed to the gate in dense throngs.
It was still closed as it used to during the festivities but no sooner the gatekeepers learned of the will of the people than they hastened to open it.
‘We’re gonna find him, the scoundrel!’

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 18. Single combat

Suddenly, a great sigh went up from the crowd, a sigh of dismay. For, at a brisk trot, there approached a Roman horseman in full armour.
For all but an instant the dragon could have owed the consternation to the royal blood, once it picked up the sound of hooves, not any longer.
That it was akin to scorpions was now plainly to be seen, for as fast as these can curve their body to inflict a deadly sting with their tail, in a flash, the monster swung its bulk around to take the spoilsport head-on.
And now, to their great delight, the people were treated to a duel between the armour-plated rider and the panzer-scaled dragon.
Once more suspense reigned supreme. This was quite a different victim than that pathetic wench at the pole - about his ending up a victim the people had no doubt whatsoever, a foregone conclusion. Now, at the least there would be resistance. His helmet was an officer’s and in the Roman armies the only way to become one was by gallantry.
At first, there was exploratory skirmishing, seeking out the opponent’s weaknesses. It gave the impression of a mock battle but it was well understood: this was a fight to the death.
The armour of both was equally heavy, never to be penetrated by either claw or sword. The beast’s sole vulnerable spot was its beak. Therefore, biting was precluded, its fangs being no match for steel.
The beast was evidently stronger than the man and his horse but the Arab was nimbler. It was going to be a battle of force against speed.
Soon it became a matter of pricking and teasing, prying between plates or scales, trying to wriggle or tear them loose, preferably at a joint. Now and then, they made a scratch, drawing some blood. This only enhanced their fierceness.
The people were watching breathlessly, as were the princess and her family.

The end came by surprise.
During a breathing-spell, the monster curved its body scorpion-fashion and treacherously, with the end of its tail, knocked the other from the saddle and to the ground where he was left for dead. Dazedly, the horse remained at his side.
The beast had triumphed and as a sign thereof, it raised its head heavenward, gaped its beak wide open and filled the air with its house-shattering laughter.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 17. The Dragon's Dance

But history must take its course and after six days the moment had come when all of the people, in great excitement, had taken their places on the now flower-decked stands and other equally adorned lookouts.
Down there, the princess, fettered to her stake, deadly pale and trembling with fear.
That did not bode well.
The people felt disappointed.
Had they been doing their utmost to brighten the place to this end? Had they enjoyed themselves so much, all week, in anticipation of this? Of a spectacle this poor?
Was that, supposedly, the bloom of the royal blood? They recalled others who had stayed the course magnificently unto the bitter end, daughters of shepherds, bakers and butchers. And how their families on the grandstand had sympathized, an example for all.
And now, behold this family sitting over there. Heads all down. Bet they will not even watch, presently.
The people were getting annoyed.
The start of the music and, within moments, the monster’s appearance in the distance were barely able to dent their irritation.
How is it ever going to engage with such a bundle of nerves? they wondered.
On its approach, however, it became apparent that to him this offering was indeed something special. It had preened itself to perfection, its colours brighter and its shine more radiant than ever.
Coming closer, it raised itself, standing erect, and was now walking on its hind legs like a human. Once in front of the princess it made a courtly bow, almost to the ground.
By doing so, was it bent on teaching the people a lesson? That they should continue to respect their royal family?
After its bow, which failed to stir any reaction from the princess, the monster cast a searching glance around and then it did something it had never done before. Raised on its hind legs it made a couple of dancing-steps. At once, any remaining vestiges of annoyance disappeared. Expectation had been roused afresh.
And it went on. In the direction of the orchestra it made the telling gesture of gladiators which was promptly understood. A slowly stepping melody commenced and what the people were now to watch was the Dizzy Dance of the Dragon. Its tail it draped on its left foreleg to give an impression of a partner, the grin never leaving its jaws. Back and forth and then around it went. Gradually, it increased the pace - or was it on the director’s behalf? - and lo, now it was even making figures! It let go of its tail and reeling around, it made it whirl about him in a wide circle. Now and then, it curled it over its head and danced right underneath. And how its colours sparkled with all its scales ashine.
When, at last, it blew the final whistle, the exalted public gave it a standing ovation. Only the princess and the VIP box for whom this performance was apparently meant, too, remained still.
The beast, now again on all fours, seemed unprepared for this, shook its head dejectedly and slowly approached the girl. No shrinking away or resistance was to come from her, paralysed as she was by fear and terror.
Once upon her, it began to undress her with ever so soft a claw. A modiste couldn’t have taken off a garment from a noble client more carefully than it was disrobing her now.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 14. The Dragon's Bride

Who knows how many times the corrupting breath had been drifting across the town already, saturating its alleys and invading its dwelling-places. In any case, the sad fact must be told that everybody craved an escalation of suspense.
And so it came to pass that the Council took a decision even more monstrous than the monster itself. As it was providing the public with so much pleasure, they decided to treat the beast from now on to the tenderest titbit they could procure, a virgin of between twelve and eighteen. All of these should presently be registered and every time, whom it had to be would be chosen by lot.
This decision engendered a festive mood all over town. It promised a world of new, impetuous sensations. Not only because disposing of a girl - the more so, when she was pretty - would have a far more smashing impact but besides, the erotic element was to enter the scene. Shudders wouldn't be merely running down the spine, henceforth, the entire body would be involved. The deepest layer of feelings was burrowed.
And imagine the possibilities!
Would the beast be sensitive to feminine beauty? Would it approach its meal in the manner of a suitor?
For the first time, there was an opportunity to descry something of the inner beast, that it might give away a glimpse of its soul.
And the girls, how might they proceed? Would they play nice to him to soften his mood? And would he let them have their way, at least for a while? Or would they be screaming their heart out?
The prisoners always had been offered naked. With girls, this wasn't suitable. But how then? In their plain clothes? Or in a festive gown? Like a bride?
And would he peel it off beforehand? He could hardly eat them dress and all. Some remembered calling him 'the Convivant', in the early days. In this context, that would obtain a different meaning entirely. What an opportunity for the beast to put on a great show!
And there was another side to it as well. For the first time, sensations were no longer restricted to the mere protagonists. To the dragon's bride, as she was presently called, there was also her family. Her father and mother, the brothers and sisters and possibly, a fiancé. How would they bear themselves? To spy on their demeanour, wouldn't that be a special sensation? All that was happening within such a family now became a public affair to which the whole community was setting its heart on.

It was further decided that lots would be drawn on Sundays so that the family appointed by fate could spend six full days on preparations and the amplest of partings. It goes without saying that during these days such a family would be for ever in the public eye and that a fiancé, if any, would be under constant scrutiny from every perspective conceivable.
For these closest relatives the most outstanding places were reserved on the grandstand and by this arrangement, not only were they procured the best view of the spectacle below but also could they themselves be watched even better by everybody else.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983