Long ago, a man rode to a troubled city in North Africa. The city’s name was Silene, and its trouble was a vile and gluttonous dragon. Every day, the dragon demanded two sheep from the village to slake its hunger, even as its presence poisoned the land. When there were no more sheep to give, a child was chosen by lot each day instead to feed the wicked beast. On this particular day, the King of Silene’s only child, his daughter, had been chosen. Beg and plead as he might, the people of Silene would not allow the King to buy her freedom. And so, dressed as a bride and accompanied by her father, the Princess was led to where the dragon would claim his prize.
The man in question was an officer in the Roman army — some say a Centurion, others a member of the Praetorian Guard itself. Whatever his rank, the man served his Emperor well, but his heart belonged to a King even higher than the Caesar: the King of Kings, Jesus Christ. The man’s name was George.
And George would slay the dragon.
