Now the Count knew that if the Saracens were ever to be vanquished and
beaten out of fair France he must take heed of his own life, for the
task was his and no other man's; so he turned his horse's head towards
Orange, and then stopped, for he saw a troop of freshly landed Saracens
approaching him along the same road.
"The whole world is full of these Saracens!" he cried in anger, "God
alone can save me. My good horse," added he, "you are very tired. If
you had had only five days' rest, I would have led you to the charge;
but I see plainly that I can get no help from you, and I cannot blame
you for it, as you have served me well all day, and for this I thank
you greatly. If ever we reach Orange you shall wear no saddle for
twenty days, your food shall be the finest corn, and you shall drink
out of a golden trough."
And the horse understood; he threw up his head, and pawed the ground,
and his strength came back to him as of old. At this sight William
Short Nose felt more glad than if he had been given fourteen cities.
No sooner had he entered a valley that led along the road to Orange,
than he saw a fresh body of Saracens blocking one end. He turned to
escape into another path, but in front of him rode a handful of his
enemies. "By the faith that I swore to my dear Lady Gibourc," he said,
"I had better die than never strike a blow," and so rode straight at
their leader. "William!" cried the Saracen, "this time you will not
escape me." But the sun was in his eyes, and his sword missed his aim.
Before he could strike another blow William had borne him from his
horse and galloped away.
The mountain that he was climbing now was beset with enemies, like all
the rest, and William looked in vain for a way of escape. He jumped
from his horse and rubbed his flanks saying to him, "What will you do?
Your sides are bleeding, and you can scarcely stand; but remember, if
once you fall it means my death."
At these words the good horse neighed, pricked up his ears and shook
himself, and as he did so the blood seemed to flow strongly in his
veins, as of old. Then the count rode down into the field of the
Aliscans, and found his nephew, Vivian, lying under a tree.
"Ah!" cried William, "what sorrow for me! To the end of my life I
shall mourn this day. Lady Gibourc, await me no longer, for never more
shall I return to Orange!"
So he lamented, grieving sore, till Vivian spoke to him. The Count was
full of joy to hear his words, and, kneeling beside the youth, took him
in his arms, and bade him confess his sins to him, as to his own
father. One by one Vivian remembered them all, then a mist floated
before his eyes, and, murmuring a farewell to the Lady Gibourc, his
soul left the world.
[Illustration: Vivian's last confession]
William laid him gently down on his shield, took another shield for
covering, and turned to mount his horse, but at this his heart failed
him.
"Is it you, William, that men look to as their leader, who will do this
cowardly deed?" he said to himself, and he went back to his nephew's
side, and lifted the body on to his horse, to bury it in his city of
Orange.
He had done what he could to give honour to Vivian, but he might as
well, after all, have left him where he fell, for in a fierce combat
with some Saracens on the road the Count was forced to abandon his
nephew's body and fight for his own life. He knew the two Saracens
well as brave men, but he soon slew one, and the other he unhorsed
after a struggle.
"Come back, come back," cried the Saracen; "sell me your horse, for
never did I behold his like! I will give you for him twice his weight
in gold, and set free besides all your nephews that have been taken
prisoners." But William loved his horse, and would not have parted
with him to Charles himself.
At length, after fighting nearly every step of the way, he saw the
towers of Orange before him, and his palace, Gloriette, where dwelt his
wife, the Lady Gibourc. "Ah, with what joy did I leave these walls,"
he said to himself, "and how many noble Knights have I lost since then!
Oh, Gibourc, my wife, will you not go mad when you hear the tidings I
have brought!" And, overcome with grief, the Count bowed his head on
the neck of his horse.