For full seven years had Charlemagne tarried in Spain, and all the land
lay conquered save the city of Saragossa. There, in an orchard, upon a
terrace paved with blue marble, sat its king, Marsile, taking counsel with
his lords.
"No army have I," said the king; "no people to array against the hosts of
the great emperor. Advise me, my lords, what I shall do to save ourselves
from disgrace and shame."
The wily Blancandrin, wisest and greatest among the pagans, advanced
before him. "Where might cannot prevail, often craft gains the day. My
lord, send gifts to mighty Carle. Drive forth a long train of camels; heap
many mules with gold; send chariots filled with precious gifts. Advise him
that on the day of Saint Michael's feast you will seek him at Aix, and
there become a Christian, and his vassal. Yea, even send hostages; my own
son shall go, even though he lose his head. Then will Carle depart for
France. The day set by you will come, but he will hear naught from us. The
hostages' heads will fall. What of it? Better this than for us to lose
forever Spain the fair."
The king, pleased with the craft of Blancandrin, dismissed his council,
and ordered ten of his fiercest barons to seek Charlemagne at Cordova,
bearing the olive-branch, and make the offer suggested by Blancandrin.
Cordova, filled with rich spoils, had been taken, and its surviving
inhabitants given the choice of the sword or Christian baptism. Therefore
the happy emperor sat at his ease in a wide-spreading orchard. Around him
stood Roland, Olivier, Samsun the duke, Anseis, Gefrei d'Anjou, and
Gerier. At least fifteen thousand French knights were diverting themselves
with different games in the beautiful orchard, where, under a pine-tree,
the great King of France sat upon a golden chair. His white hair and
flowing white beard added majesty to his already majestic figure, so that
the olive-bearing messengers needed not to have great Carle pointed out to
them.
The emperor heard the message of Marsile in silence, and dismissing the
pagans for the night to a pavilion, called together in council his wisest
barons, Duke Ogier, Archbishop Turpin, Gerier, Roland, Olivier, a thousand
Franks, among them Ganelon, the step-father of Roland, and laid before
them the message of Marsile.
"Rich gifts he offers me, but he demands that I return to France; thither
will he follow me, and at Aix will become a Christian and a vassal. A fair
promise, but what is in his heart I cannot tell."
After a moment's silence Roland stood forth.
"Sire, have no faith in the words of Marsile. When have we found aught but
treachery in the Saracen? For seven years I have been winning victories
for you here in Spain. Once before you yielded to such a message as this,
from this same Marsile, and lost, in consequence, the heads of your Counts
Bazan and Bazile. War on as you have begun. Besiege his city! subdue
Saragossa!"
Then strode forth the angry Ganelon. "My king, this young hot-head is a
fool; hearken not unto him. Accept the offer of Marsile, and lose no more
lives by the foolhardiness of one who cares more for his own glory than
for human life."
The voice of the others, among them Duke Naimes, Charlemagne's wisest
counsellor and truest vassal, was with Ganelon. The emperor stroked his
white beard. "My lords, whom shall we send to meet Marsile at Saragossa?"
"I will go," said Duke Naimes.
"Nay, I cannot spare you from my councils," replied the king.
"I am here!" cried Roland.
"Not you! You are too hot-headed to venture into the court of the enemy!"
cried his friend Olivier. "Let me go instead, sire!"
"Nay!" cried the king. "Silence! Not one of the twelve peers sets his foot
in the kingdom of the Moors."
"Then let my step-father go," suggested Roland. "No wiser man than he can
be found."
"Come forward," said the king, as the Franks murmured assent, "and receive
the staff and glove. The Franks have chosen you."
Ganelon rose, wrathful, casting off his fur robe. His eyes were gray, his
face fierce, his form noble.
"This is Roland's work. I shall hate him forever, and Olivier, and the
twelve peers, because they love him. Ne'er shall I return; full well I
know it. If e'er I do, it will be to wreak vengeance on my enemy."
"Go!" said the king. "You have said enough!"
As Ganelon went forward, full of rage, to receive the king's glove, it
fell ere he touched it. "A bad omen!" exclaimed the French.
"Sirs, ye shall hear of this!" said Ganelon.
On his way to Saragossa with the legates of Marsile, Ganelon laid the
impious plot that was to result in the destruction of Roland and the
peers. It saved his life at Saragossa, where Marsile threatened to kill
him on reading Charlemagne's message. He explained carefully to the
Saracens how the rear guard, left at Roncesvalles under the command of
Roland and the twelve peers, could be destroyed by the pagan forces before
the knowledge of the battle could reach Charlemagne, and that, with these
props of his kingdom gone, the king's power would be so diminished that
Marsile could easily hold out against him. Then the traitor hastened back
to Cordova, laden with rich gifts.
When Ganelon rode back, the emperor was preparing to return to sweet
France. "Barons," said Carle, "whom shall I leave in charge of these deep
defiles and narrow passes?"
"My step-son Roland is well able to take the command," said Ganelon; "he
your nephew, whom you prize most of all your knights."
Rage filled the hearts of both Roland and Carle; but the word was spoken,
and Roland must remain. With him remained the twelve peers, his friends,
Olivier, his devoted comrade, the gallant Archbishop Turpin, and twenty
thousand valiant knights.
While Charlemagne's army toiled over the terrible gorges and high
mountains into Gascony, the emperor, ever grieving over the untimely death
his nephew might meet in the defiles of Spain, down came the pagans, who
had been gathering on the high mountains and in the murky valleys,--emirs,
sons of noble counts were they, brave as the followers of Charlemagne.