The heroes fought as bravely as ever in defence of their new place of
refuge, emboldened by the knowledge that their dear ones at Montalban
were now free; but however courageous a man may be, hunger and disease
are foes under whose attacks it is impossible to hold out for ever.
In the time of their sorest distress, Aya went to the imperial camp,
and entreated her brother to have mercy on her children. The emperor
refused to listen to her, and harshly bade her go out of his presence.
But she returned again and again to the charge, and at last Karl said:
“Very well, listen to my offer, and let Reinold accept it if he will.
The horse Bayard, that Malagis brought up out of hell, has done me more
harm than any other creature, excepting Reinold himself. Now I will
pardon your four sons, and restore their fiefs, if Reinold will give
the brute to me, to be killed as I think best. I give you my word as an
emperor that I will accept Bayard’s life in expiation of my son’s
death.”
When Aya returned to the castle, and showed the parchment on which she
had had the terms of the proposed treaty written out in full, Reinold
refused to give up his dearest and most faithful friend.
“Think of your wife, your children, and your brothers—the gallows at
Monfaucon are prepared—an inscription will be placed there that will
be read by future generations: ‘He gave them all up to die a shameful
death for the sake of a dumb animal.’”
“Mother,” cried the hero, and rushing up to Bayard, he fed his faithful
friend with a last piece of bread, and, bursting into tears, threw his
arms round its slender neck. The horse whinnied softly, and laid its
head trustingly on his shoulder.
“I cannot do it, mother, I cannot do it,” cried Reinold. “Bayard and I
must live and die together.”
“Very well, my son,” she said; “but remember that when all my children
and grandchildren are hanging on the gallows, your mothers heart will
break.”
“Mother,” he answered, in a strange, hollow voice, “have your will. You
have conquered, but I shall not survive it.”
He then signed the treaty, and Aya returned with it to the imperial
camp.
A crowd was assembled on the bridge in Paris, for the news had gone
abroad that the famous Bayard was to be drowned. Kaiser Karl was there
also with his paladins.
[Illustration: BAYARD’S DEATH]
The noble horse was led to the middle of the bridge, with iron weights
fastened to its feet, and at a signal was suddenly pushed over the
edge, and fell with a splash into the Seine. In spite of the weights
upon its legs, it rose to the surface, once, twice, thrice.
“That horse is the devil incarnate,” cried the emperor furiously. “Ha,
Count Reinold, beware, its eyes are fixed on you; if you are keeping it
alive by any enchantment, it will be the worse for you. I will tear up
the treaty.”
With a low cry of terror Aya flung her arms round her son, drawing down
his head, so that he did not see how Bayard rose a fourth time, and
then, not seeing its master’s face, sank, to rise no more.
The hero felt that all his happiness was gone with Bayard. He thrust
his mother aside, flung at the emperor’s feet the letters patent
entitling him to his fiefs, and breaking his sword Flammberg, threw it
into the Seine, muttering,—
“Lie there with my Bayard, and may God forget to be gracious to me, if
I ever mount a horse or draw a sword again.”
Then he turned, and fled into the depths of the wild forest, until at
last he sank exhausted on the ground. There he remained for two days
and a night, overwhelmed and mad with misery.
After that he went home to Montalban. Meeting a pilgrim on the way, he
gave him his golden spurs and all his ready money for his grey robes
and felt hat.
Lady Clarissa wept when she heard the end of the noble horse, for she
had loved Bayard; but she wept still more bitterly, when Reinold took
leave of her for ever.
“Who will teach our sons,” she cried, “to be true knights and noble
men, if you go and leave them thus?”
“Our cousin Count Roland will do so,” he answered, “and you will do
your part, dear wife.” He kissed the tears from her eyes, and
continued: “Accept no fief from Kaiser Karl. Go with our children to
our own lands on the other side of the mountains. The tyrant has no
power there, for the lands are your own. As for me, I am about to start
on a pilgrimage to the grave of our Lord, to see whether I may find
forgiveness. You will never see me again.”
Saying this, he tore himself away, and set out at once upon his long
and toilsome journey.
Reinold went to the Holy Land, where he found a fierce war raging
between the Christians and Infidels. He was true to his vow. He neither
mounted a horse, nor wielded a sword; but still he fought like a hero
with an enormous club, and helped in the taking of Jerusalem. After he
had prayed at the Holy Sepulchre, he returned to his native land; but
not to his wife and children, nor yet to his brothers, for he had died
to all earthly ties and joys. He went to Cologne, where the cathedral
was being built. There he lived a hard, ascetic life, and worked as a
labourer at the building. He did not even stop working during the hour
of rest in the middle of the day, although his wages were only a penny
a day. This conduct aroused the anger of the stone-masons, so they rose
in a body, killed him, and threw his body into the Rhine. But the river
would not keep it, the corpse floated on the surface of the water, and
was drawn to land by some pious souls. And now several miracles were
wrought upon those who touched his body, which showed that he had been
a holy man. The emperor, hearing of the wonders that had taken place,
had the murderers tried and executed, and sent orders that the body of
the saint should be brought to Aix-la-Chapelle (Aachen), or to Paris.
No sooner was the body laid upon the cart which was to convey it, than
the vehicle moved of its own accord, and rolled on and on, no matter
how bad the roads, till it arrived at Dortmund in Westphalia, where it
stopped, that being the spot the saint had evidently chosen as his last
resting-place. The Reinaldi-Church at Dortmund was built in his honour.
The Legend gives the exact date of the miracle, 7th of January, 811.
[Illustration]