As it happened, Vivian was to have a chance of winning glory at an
early age. The Moors invaded France in hordes. They swept over
Aquitaine in no time, and seemed as though they would soon have the
rule in France. Count William took leave of his wife, and, accompanied
by young Vivian and his men-at-arms, set out to meet, and, if it might
be, drive back the bold invaders.
The armies met on the plain of Alischanz (Alicon). “Machmet! Machmet!”
was the cry on one side, and “Monjoie, St. Denys!” on the other.
The battle began, and raged for hours; young Vivian fought like a hero,
and then fell, mortally wounded. His men avenged his fall. He was
insensible for some time, and when he came to himself again, he found
that he was lying on the battle-field surrounded by the bodies of the
slain. He was very thirsty, and prayed for a drink of water. His prayer
was heard. A shining angel came down from heaven, and supported his
tottering steps to the side of a little rushing brook, where he
quenched his raging thirst. Before finally disappearing from sight, the
angel said,—
“The good town of Orange and kind Gyburg are in danger.”
The young man fainted again when he heard these words. On recovering
his senses, he saw his uncle bending over him, and had just strength
enough to repeat the warning given him by the angel, before he fell
back dead.
[Illustration: WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND HIS DYING NEPHEW.]
The count considered what was to be done. He had lost sight of his men
in the wild hand-to-hand conflict in which he had cut his way through
the enemy’s ranks; and then, coming upon his nephew’s broken shield, he
had followed his bloody track until he found him. The battle was now at
an end; but without men how could he save Gyburg and Orange? His horse
was so severely wounded that he had to lead it by the rein. Without
further loss of time, he set out on his long and toilsome walk. At
daybreak he met a Moorish commander with several followers. He was at
once attacked by them, but with the first blow he clove the emir to the
saddle, and put his men to flight. Finding himself alone and
unobserved, he slipped the emir’s dress over his armour, and, mounting
the emir’s horse, pursued his journey to Orange. He made his way in
safety to the castle gate, which opened in time to receive him just as
the enemy had recognised the Frankish accoutrements of his wounded
war-horse, for the faithful beast had followed him all the way.
The besiegers tried again and again to storm the castle, but in vain.
At last they determined to starve the garrison out. After a time, the
inmates of the castle suffered so much from want of food that the count
made up his mind to slip through the Moorish hosts to bring back
reinforcements and provisions. He made his wife and captains swear to
hold the fortress at all hazards, and then, donning the garments he had
taken from the emir, set out on his perilous undertaking.
He made his way through the enemy’s lines, and reached Orleans in
safety. There he was taken prisoner by the captain of the guard, and
ordered to instant death as a Moorish infidel. In vain he assured the
man that he was a Christian and a Frank; in vain he told him his name
and rank; neither the captain nor any one else would believe him, and
he was in great danger of being torn in pieces by the excited populace.
Fortunately, at that moment the governor of the town appeared at the
head of an armed force, and, on seeing William, at once recognised him
as his brother, and took him away to his house. The count would have
nothing to eat but bread and water; he could not feast while his wife
and his men were fasting. Having rested for an hour or two, he set out
again on his way to court.
Ludwig received him coldly, and his sister was still more unkind.
Indeed, the empress went so far as to say, that for aught any one knew,
the Moorish woman might have sent for those Saracens; she might be
tired of France and Christianity, and want to return to her own people.
Ludwig showed himself unwilling to call out his troops, saying that
William was strong enough to help himself.
Day after day passed, and nothing was done. Meanwhile the rumour spread
that the count of Orange had come to court to ask for help against the
Moors; and the aged count of Narbonne, his six sons, and many noble
knights came to offer their help in the good work. When they heard how
ill William had fared at court, the lord of Narbonne went to the
emperor, and warned him that if he did not support his vassals in their
need, he must not be surprised if they threw off his suzerainty. Then,
turning to his daughter, he told her plainly what he thought of her
conduct, and threatened her with his curse if she did not forget her
foolish rancour and do her duty. This bold speaking had such good
effect, that orders were at once given to call out a great army, which
assembled in an incredibly short time.
On hearing of the approach of a Frankish host, the Moors hastened to
their ships, leaving their tents and provisions behind. These William
gladly seized for the use of the imperial troops. Life and bustle now
reigned in the castle from garret to cellar, and the cooks had hard
work to provide food for so many men. Among the scullions was a tall
strong young fellow, a Moor by birth, who had been stolen from his
home, and presented by his captors to Kaiser Ludwig. William thought
from his appearance that he must be of noble birth, but every one else
regarded him as half-witted, and called him nothing but Jack
Dunderhead. While he was at the palace, he had once had the good
fortune to save the Princess Alice from a wolf. The only reward he
asked of her was that she would keep the adventure a secret. This she
did. But when he was going to the wars with the other officers of the
royal kitchen, she sought him out and gave him a ring as a farewell
gift. After his arrival at Orange, William’s attention was drawn to
him; and seeing the heroic qualities of the youth, and the masterly
fashion in which he handled his quarter-staff, the only weapon he
possessed, he redeemed him from servitude, took him to the Lady Gyburg,
and desired her to provide him with coat of mail and all the requisites
of a warrior. Rennewart, for that was his real name, was so grateful
for this kindness that he swore to be faithful to William to the death.
And, as he turned to leave the room, the countess heard him say, in a
low voice:
“Now, at length, I can show that I am of royal lineage, and may strive
to win my pearl. Ah, father Terramer, while you have forgotten your
long-lost son, he has become a Frank, and is both able and willing to
fight for his new and better country.”
These words revealed to Gyburg that Rennewart was her own brother, so
she called him back hastily and told him all. After this joyful
recognition, he went out in full armour, but still bearing the long
staff he had always carried for his defence. He joined the rest of the
forces and marched with them to fight the Moors, who were awaiting them
on the shore.
The battle began, and Rennewart showed himself so good a warrior as to
justify Count William’s trust to the full. He even attacked and boarded
some of the Moorish ships, freed the Christian slaves who were attached
to the oars, and, getting them to join him, drove the Moors overboard,
and, taking several of high degree prisoners, returned to the castle.
Among the prisoners taken was the Moorish commander Terramer. Badly
wounded, and broken-hearted at his utter defeat, he was astonished at
the kindness with which he was tended by William and Gyburg, to whom he
had tried to do so much harm. But he soon made friends with them, and
was then rejoiced to see the son he had long mourned as dead.
A few days later William and Gyburg went with the victorious army to
where Ludwig was staying with the court. They met with a hearty
reception, and the count of Orange was created duke of Aquitaine, while
Rennewart was given the town and district of Nismes. The emperor then
rewarded all the other leaders for their services, and gave a great
feast to the men-at-arms, and a banquet to the nobles.
While the heroes were enjoying the good things provided for their
entertainment, the empress noticed that the young hero Rennewart sat
silent and absorbed, till her daughter Alise approached to fill his
glass; then his eyes rested joyfully on her countenance, the royal
maiden blushed, and her hand trembled so, that the wine ran over. She
wondered where they could have met before, and took the first
opportunity of questioning her sister-in-law. The Countess Gyburg told
her brother’s story, and informed the empress that Rennewart and Alise
had loved each other ever since the day when the prince, in the guise
of a scullion, saved the princess’s life. A few days afterwards the
young people were betrothed, and on the very day of their betrothal
messengers arrived bringing rich presents from the Emir Terramer to his
son.
William, who was now duke of Aquitaine and count of Orange, governed
his people wisely and justly. He preserved them from dangers without
and within, and listened to all petitioners of whatever rank with equal
kindness. The Lady Gyburg helped him in all ways that a woman might.
Together they founded churches and alms-houses, and the blessing of God
was with them. When they were both stricken in years, an angel one
night appeared to the count in a dream, and, showing him a desert place
high up in the mountains, desired him to build there a religious house,
where pious monks might live, and give shelter to any travellers who
had lost their way, and might even seek out belated wanderers lost in
the snow, and save them from a dreadful death. Next day the pious hero
set out in search of the place the angel had pointed out, and, having
found it, built the monastery. He and his wife lived on together for
several years after this, doing good to all; then they withdrew into
solitary cells to prepare for eternity. After their death so many signs
and wonders were wrought at their graves, that the people believed they
must have died saints.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: TITUREL SEES THE HOLY GRAIL.]
_LEGENDS OF KING ARTHUR AND THE HOLY GRAIL._