orberosia loved her husband, but she did not love him alone. at the hour when venus lightens in the pale sky, whilst kraken scattered terror through the villages, she used to visit in his moving hut, a young shepherd of dalles called marcel, whose pleasing form was invested with inexhaustible vigour. the fair orberosia shared the shepherd’s aromatic couch with delight, but far from making herself known to him, she took the name of bridget, and said that she was the daughter of a gardener in the bay of divers. when regretfully she left his arms she walked across the smoking fields towards the coast of shadows, and if she happened to meet some belated peasant she immediately spread out her garments like great wings and cried:

“passer by, lower your eyes, that you may not have to say, ‘alas! alas! woe is me, for i have seen the angel of the lord.’”

the villagers tremblingly knelt with their faces to the ground. and several of them used to say that angels, whom it would be death to see, passed along the roads of the island in the night time.

kraken did not know of the loves of orberosia and marcel, for he was a hero, and heroes never discover the secrets of their wives. but though he did not know of these loves, he reaped the benefit of them. every night he found his companion more good-humoured and more beautiful, exhaling pleasure and perfuming the nuptial bed with a delicious odour of fennel and vervain. she loved kraken with a love that never became importunate or anxious, because she did not rest its whole weight on him alone.

this lucky infidelity of orberosia was destined soon to save the hero from a great peril and to assure his fortune and his glory for ever. for it happened that she saw passing in the twilight a neatherd from belmont, who was goading on his oxen, and she fell more deeply in love with him than she had ever been with the shepherd marcel. he was hunch-backed; his shoulders were higher than his ears; his body was supported by legs of different lengths; his rolling eyes flashed from beneath his matted hair. from his throat issued a hoarse voice and strident laughter; he smelt of the cow-shed. however, to her he was beautiful. “a plant,” as gnatho says, “has been loved by one, a stream by another, a beast by a third.”

now, one day, as she was sighing within the neatherd’s arms in a village barn, suddenly the blasts of a trumpet, with sounds and footsteps, fell upon her ears; she looked through the window and saw the inhabitants collected in the marketplace round a young monk, who, standing upon a rock, uttered these words in a distinct voice:

“inhabitants of belmont, abbot mael, our venerable father, informs you through my mouth that neither by strength nor skill in arms shall you prevail against the dragon; but the beast shall be overcome by a virgin. if, then, there be among you a perfectly pure virgin, let her arise and go towards the monster; and when she meets him let her tie her girdle round his neck and she shall lead him as easily as if he were a little dog.”

and the young monk, replacing his hood upon his head, departed to carry the proclamation of the blessed mael to other villages.

orberosia sat in the amorous straw, resting her head in her hand and supporting her elbow upon her knee, meditating on what she had just heard.

although, so far as kraken was concerned, she feared the power of a virgin much less than the strength of armed men, she did not feel reassured by the proclamation of the blessed mael. a vague but sure instinct ruled her mind and warned her that kraken could not henceforth be a dragon with safety.

she said to the neatherd:

“my own heart, what do you think about the dragon?”

the rustic shook his head.

“it is certain that dragons laid waste the earth in ancient times and some have been seen as large as mountains. but they come no longer, and i believe that what has been taken for a dragon is not one at all, but pirates or merchants who have carried off the fair orberosia and the best of the children of alca in their ships. but if one of those brigands attempts to rob me of my oxen, i will either by force or craft find a way to prevent him from doing me any harm.”

this remark of the neatherd increased orberosia’s apprehensions and added to her solicitude for the husband whom she loved.