Safe and victorious, Karl the Great (Charlemagne), king of the Franks,
had returned from Hungary. He had conquered the wild Avars, destroyed
their strongholds, and come back to Paris with much booty. High
festival was being held in the royal palace, for the king was busied
dividing the newly conquered country into counties and baronies amongst
those of his warriors whom he thought best fitted for such responsible
charge. While thus employed, Lord Hug of Dordone came forward, and
asked the king if he had forgotten the faithful services rendered him
by Count Haymon of Dordone, that he had not mentioned his appointment
to any of the new fiefs. Karl at once replied, that he had not
forgotten Haymon, but he considered that bold warrior had already fiefs
enough and to spare. Indeed, if he gave him more, it would only make
him think himself as powerful as his master, and might even tempt him
to throw off his allegiance to the Frankish crown.
“He is a faithful vassal, sire,” answered Hug, “as true as a sword to
its sheath; but if he is given a lower position than meaner men, he may
in good truth forget his oath of allegiance, and fight for his rights.
Did he do so, he would not lack aid from many a trusty comrade.”
As he spoke, the hero touched his sword significantly. The king’s wrath
was so roused by the boldness of this speech, that he drew his sword,
and, next moment, the good lord’s head was severed from his body at one
blow.
The courtiers drew back in speechless horror, and Haymon, who came in
at that instant, asked one of the bystanders what had happened. When he
heard the reason of the king’s murderous deed, he turned sharp round
upon his heel, and went out without further word or greeting.
As soon as he reached his own castle, he gathered his friends about
him, and declared war against his liege lord. No great battle was
fought; but continual conflict raged between the contending parties,
the country was laid waste, and the peasantry suffered terribly. Haymon
was able to move about from place to place with such incredible
swiftness that people began to say he rode a magic horse, gifted with
the speed of lightning, and the wit of man. The war lasted for years,
till at last King Karl came with a large army, and besieged the castle
of the rebel count.
One morning, when matters were in this position, Haymon went to the
stables as usual with a feed of oats for his favourite horse; but the
stall was empty, the good steed Bayard was gone. Haymon was in despair.
He was just considering whether it was worth while carrying on such a
hopeless war, when his cousin Malagis, a small, insignificant-looking
man with a long beard, came to him, and told him that he knew for
certain that the devil had carried off the horse, and had hidden it in
Mount Vulcanus, which is near the mouth of hell. He further promised to
go and fetch it, in spite of all difficulties. Then, without waiting
for a word of thanks or warning, the little man turned, and left the
count.
When he got outside the castle gate, Malagis pulled a small bag of
powdered hellebore from his pocket. He sprinkled a good deal of it in
the air, and the wind carried it over the besieger’s camp. A general
fit of sneezing suddenly infected the whole army. While the men-at-arms
were thus sneezing, and calling out, “God bless you!” to each other,
Malagis quietly walked through their lines, and pursued his journey to
Mount Vulcanus.
He reached the foot of the great mountain in safety, and saw smoke and
flames issuing from its top. He at once went in search of the ruler of
the world of fire, greeted him courteously, and introduced himself as a
great necromancer, who had come to offer his valuable services to his
Satanic majesty. The devil answered sarcastically, that he was
accustomed to hear the followers of the black art vaunt their powers
and wisdom, but as he was curious to see what the stranger could really
do, he would give him a chance of showing off.
“You must know, fellow,” he continued, “that I have always hitherto
ridden on the storm-wind, but I find that too great an exertion now. I
am grown too old for that sort of thing, so I looked out for a good
horse, and managed to find one fleet enough to satisfy me. I therefore
took possession of it, and brought it here. I thought that I should now
be able to ride through the world of men more at my ease than before;
but,” and here he sighed deeply, and blue flames issued from his mouth
as he did so, “if I were not the devil myself, I should say that that
horse was an incarnation of Satan, he will not even let me mount him. I
have therefore put him into the volcano, hoping to tame him in that
manner. I have kept awake for months to look after this work myself,
but hitherto without effect. Will you take my place while I enjoy a
little nap?”
“Well spoken, great king,” said Malagis, “but should I not be able to
watch the effect on the horse better if I were close to it? Let me
therefore beg you to withdraw the fire and smoke for a few minutes,
that I may go down into the heart of the mountain, and enter upon my
duty. Perhaps, also, the horse may be more easily induced to obey, if
he gets a breath of fresh air.”
Satan consented to do as he was asked. He climbed to the top of the
mountain, accompanied by Malagis, and ordered the spirits of the
nether-world to hold back the flames. As soon as the intense heat had
cooled down, the necromancer descended into the abyss, and took up his
position near the horse. Then, as if by accident, he threw what looked
like a handful of ashes up in the air. But it was really a
sleeping-powder. In another moment the prince of hell was sound asleep,
and snoring so loud that the mountain trembled at the sound, and
ignorant men thought there was an earthquake. Malagis now approached
the horse, which snapped and kicked at him viciously. But no sooner had
he whispered the word, “Bayard,” than the creature pricked up its ears,
and when he added, “your master, Haymon, has need of you,” it became
gentle as a lamb, and allowed him to lead it to the upper-world.
“To Haymon!” cried Malagis, springing on its back; and the horse,
neighing for joy, set off with the speed of the wind over hill and
dale, heath and morass.
At the sound of the whinny, the prince of darkness awoke out of his
sleep, and at once understood what had happened. Without loss of time,
he flung himself astride of a storm-cloud, and hurled a thunderbolt
after the fugitives. But Malagis quietly said, “Abracadabra,” at the
same time holding up his crucifix. The thunderbolt fell harmless to the
ground; but Lucifer was so much startled by the sight of the cross that
he tumbled off his cloud, and, falling to the earth, broke his leg; and
from that day forward he has had a limp in his gait.
Meanwhile Count Haymon was in sore distress. He was hunted like a wild
beast from place to place. His men were all dead, or else had deserted
him. He was alone and desolate. One day, as he rode through a wood on a
wretched broken-down hack, listening bitterly to the bay of the
blood-hounds, and the hollo of the hunters who pursued him, he saw a
rider gallop into the clearing in front, and exclaimed in joy:
“Malagis, cousin Malagis, and Bayard, faithful Bayard! My misery is at
an end now.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words when his pursuers were upon him. He
sprang on Bayard’s back, swung his sword, and faced his foes. He and
his horse fought together, and but few of his antagonists lived to tell
the tale of that day’s work.
Haymon’s evil fortune now changed to good. Friends came to his aid, and
many castles and strongholds fell into his hands. The paladins of the
great king avoided giving him battle, and the war seemed as if it might
go on for ever. The proud king longed for peace, and at last sent
ambassadors to his disobedient vassal, offering to restore all his
fiefs, and to pay him four times the weight in gold of the murdered Hug
of Dordone. Count Roland was sent at the head of the embassy. Haymon
received the messengers with all honour, especially his old friend
Roland; but when he heard the terms offered by Karl, he said that the
king’s expiation for the murder must be six times the weight of his
victim, and that he must further give his sister Aya to Haymon in
marriage. These terms were at first rejected by the king, but
afterwards he consented, partly because the country needed peace, and
partly, it was said, because the fair princess Aya used her influence
with her brother to that end.
So peace was at length concluded. Count Haymon was restored to his
former rank and dignity, and was married to the princess. After the
wedding, the newly married couple retired to their castle of
Pierlepont, where they lived for some time in love and unity. But
Haymon’s was too active a disposition to be content with an idle life
for long. He thirsted for glory, and to do great deeds. So he crossed
over the Pyrenees into Spain, a country where the Christians and
heathen Moors kept up a constant internecine war. For the first few
years Count Haymon used to return home from time to time to see his
wife and children, but when the fortune of war led him further south,
he stayed away altogether, and seemed to have forgotten his beautiful
home, and all that it contained.