It may be thought that, as the years went on and men came by fearful
ends on that tower's wall, fewer and fewer would come to the
Gibbelins' table: but the Gibbelins found otherwise.
Not in the folly and frivolity of his youth did Alderic come to the
tower, but he studied carefully for several years the manner in which
burglars met their doom when they went in search of the treasure that
he considered his. _In every case they had entered by the door_.
He consulted those who gave advice on this quest; he noted every
detail and cheerfully paid their fees, and determined to do nothing
that they advised, for what were their clients now? No more than
examples of the savoury art, and mere half-forgotten memories of a
meal; and many, perhaps, no longer even that.
These were the requisites for the quest that these men used to advise:
a horse, a boat, mail armour, and at least three men-at-arms. Some
said, "Blow the horn at the tower door"; others said, "Do not touch
it."
Alderic thus decided: he would take no horse down to the river's edge,
he would not row along it in a boat, and he would go alone and by way
of the Forest Unpassable.
How pass, you may say, the unpassable? This was his plan: there was a
dragon he knew of who if peasants' prayers are heeded deserved to die,
not alone because of the number of maidens he cruelly slew, but
because he was bad for the crops; he ravaged the very land and was the
bane of a dukedom.
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