that he asketh of thee. Send hostages and presents to him. He will
then return to France. His army will pass through the valley of
Roncesvalles. I will see to it that Roland and his friend Oliver lead
the rear-guard. They will lag behind the rest of the army, then there
shalt thou fall upon them with all thy mighty men. I say not but that
thou shalt lose many a knight, for Roland and his peers will fight
right manfully. But in the end, being so many more than they, thou
shalt conquer. Roland shall lie dead, and slaying him thou wilt cut
off the right arm of Charlemagne. Then farewell to the wondrous army
of France. Never again shall Charlemagne gather such a company, and
within the borders of Spain there shall be peace for evermore."
When Ganelon had finished speaking, the King threw his arms about his
neck and kissed him. Then turning to his slaves, he commanded them to
bring great treasure of gold, and silver and precious stones, and lay
it at the feet of the knight.
"But swear to me," said Marsil, "that Roland shall be in the
rear-guard, and swear to me his death."
And Ganelon, laying his hand upon his sword Murglies, swore by the
holy relics therein, that he would bring Roland to death.
Then came a heathen knight who gave to Ganelon a sword, the hilt of
which glittered with gems so that the eyes were dazzled in looking
upon it. "Let but Roland be in the rear-guard," he said, "and it is
thine." Then he kissed Ganelon on both cheeks.
Soon another heathen knight followed him, laughing joyfully. "Here is
my helmet," he cried. "It is the richest and best ever beaten out
of steel. It is thine so that thou truly bring Roland to death and
shame." And he, too, kissed Ganelon.
Next came Bramimonde, Marsil's queen. She was very beautiful. Her dark
hair was strung with pearls, and her robes of silk and gold swept
the ground. Her hands were full of glittering gems. Bracelets and
necklaces of gold, rubies and sapphires fell from her white fingers.
"Take these," she said, "to thy fair lady. Tell her that Queen
Bramimonde sends them to her because of the great service thou hast
done." And bowing low, she poured the sparkling jewels into Ganelon's
hands. Thus did the heathen reward Ganelon for his treachery.
"Ho there!" called King Marsil to his treasurer, "are my gifts for the
Emperor ready?"
"Yea, Sire," answered the treasurer, "seven hundred camels' load of
silver and gold and twenty hostages, the noblest of the land; all are
ready."
Then King Marsil leant his hand on Ganelon's shoulder. "Wise art thou
and brave," he said, "but in the name of all thou holdest sacred,
forget not thy promise unto me. See, I give thee ten mules laden with
richest treasure, and every year I will send to thee as much again.
Now take the keys of my city gates, take the treasure and the hostages
made ready for thine Emperor. Give them all to him, tell him that I
yield to him all that he asks, but forget not thy promise that Roland
shall ride in the rear-guard."
Impatient to be gone, Ganelon shook the King's hand from his shoulder.
"Let me tarry no longer," he cried. Then springing to horse he rode
swiftly away.
Meanwhile Charlemagne lay encamped, awaiting Marsil's answer. And
as one morning he sat beside his tent, with his lords and mighty men
around him, a great cavalcade appeared in the distance. And presently
Ganelon, the traitor, drew rein before him. Softly and smoothly he
began his treacherous tale. "God keep you," he cried; "here I bring
the keys of Saragossa, with treasure rich and rare, seven hundred
camels' load of silver and gold and twenty hostages of the noblest of
the heathen host. And King Marsil bids me say, thou shalt not blame
him that his uncle the calif comes not too, for he is dead. I myself
saw him as he set forth with three hundred thousand armed men upon the
sea. Their vessels sank ere they had gone far from the land, and he
and they were swallowed in the waves." Thus Ganelon told his lying
tale.
"Now praised be Heaven!" cried Charlemagne. "And thanks, my trusty
Ganelon, for well hast thou sped. At length my wars are done, and home
to gentle France we ride."
So the trumpets were sounded, and soon the great army, with pennons
waving and armor glittering in the sunshine, was rolling onward
through the land, like a gleaming mighty river.
But following the Christian army, through valleys deep and dark, by
pathways secret and unknown, crept the heathen host. They were clad
in shining steel from head to foot, swords were by their sides, lances
were in their hands, and bitter hatred in their hearts. Four hundred
thousand strong they marched in stealthy silence. And, alas! the
Franks knew it not.
When night came the Franks encamped upon the plain. And high upon the
mountain-sides, in a dark forest the heathen kept watch upon them.
In the midst of his army King Charlemagne lay, and as he slept he
dreamed he stood alone in the valley of Roncesvalles, spear in hand.
There to him came Ganelon, who seized his spear and broke it in pieces
before his eyes, and the noise of the breaking was as the noise of
thunder. In his sleep Charlemagne stirred uneasily, but he did not
wake. The vision passed, and again he dreamed. It seemed to him
that he was now in his own city of Aix. Suddenly from out a forest a
leopard sprang upon him. But even as its fangs closed upon his arm,
a faithful hound came bounding from his hall and fell upon the
savage beast with fury. Fiercely the hound grappled with the leopard.
Snarling and growling they rolled over and over. Now the hound was
uppermost, now the leopard. "Tis a splendid fight!" cried the Franks
who watched. But who should win, the Emperor knew not, for the vision
faded, and still he slept.
The night passed and dawn came. A thousand trumpets sounded, the camp
was all astir, and the Franks made ready once more to march.
But Charlemagne was grave and thoughtful, musing on the dream that he
had dreamed. "My knights and barons," he said, "mark well the country
through which we pass. These valleys are steep and straight. It would
go ill with us did the false Saracen forget his oath, and fall upon us
as we pass. To whom therefore shall I trust the rear-guard that we may
march in surety?"
"Give the command to my stepson, Roland, there is none so brave as
he," said Ganelon.
As Charlemagne listened he looked at Ganelon darkly. "Thou art a very
demon," he said. "What rage possesseth thee? And if I give command of
the rear to Roland, who, then, shall lead the van?"
"There is Ogier the Dane," said Ganelon quickly, "who better?"
Still Charlemagne looked darkly at him. He would not that Roland
should hear, for well he knew his adventurous spirit.
But already Roland had heard. "I ought to love thee well, Sir
Stepsire," he cried, "for this day hast thou named me for honor. I
will take good heed that our Emperor lose not the least of his men,
nor charger, palfrey, nor mule that is not paid for by stroke of
sword."
"That know I right well," replied Ganelon, "therefore have I named
thee."
Then to Charlemagne Roland turned, "Give me the bow of office, Sire,
and let me take command," he said.
But the Emperor sat with bowed head. In and out of his long white
beard he twisted his fingers. Tears stood in his eyes, and he kept
silence. Such was his love for Roland and fear lest evil should befall
him.
Then spoke Duke Naimes, "Give the command unto Roland, Sire; there is
none better."
So, silently, Charlemagne held out the bow of office, and kneeling,
Roland took it.
Then was Ganelon's wicked heart glad.
"Nephew," said Charlemagne, "half my host I leave with thee."
"Nay, Sire," answered Roland proudly, "twenty thousand only shall
remain with me. The rest of ye may pass onward in all surety, for
while I live ye have naught to fear."
Then in his heart Ganelon laughed.
So the mighty army passed onward through the vale of Roncesvalles
without doubt or dread, for did not Roland the brave guard the rear?
With him remained Oliver his friend, Turpin, the bold Archbishop of
Rheims, all the peers, and twenty thousand more of the bravest knights
of France.
As the great army wound along, the hearts of the men were glad. For
seven long years they had been far from home, and now soon they would
see their dear ones again. But the Emperor rode among them sadly with
bowed head. His fingers again twined themselves in his long white
beard, tears once more stood in his eyes. Beside him rode Duke Naimes.
"Tell me, Sire," he said, "what grief oppresseth thee?"
"Alas," said Charlemagne, "by Ganelon France is betrayed. This night I
dreamed I saw him break my lance in twain. And this same Ganelon it
is that puts my nephew in the rear-guard. And I, I have left him in a
strange land. If he die, where shall I find such another?"
It was in vain that Duke Naimes tried to comfort the Emperor. He would
not be comforted, and all the hearts of that great company were filled
with fearful, boding dread for Roland.
III
ROLAND'S PRIDE
Meanwhile King Marsil was gathering all his host. From far and near
came the heathen knights, all impatient to fight, each one eager to
have the honor of slaying Roland with his own hand, each swearing that
none of the twelve peers should ever again see France.
Among them was a great champion called Chernuble. He was huge and ugly
and his strength was such that he could lift with ease a burden which
four mules could scarcely carry. His face was inky black, his lips
thick and hideous, and his coarse long hair reached the ground. It was
said that in the land from whence he came, the sun never shone, the
rain never fell, and the very stones were black as coal. He too,
swearing that the Franks should die and that France should perish,
joined the heathen host.
Very splendid were the Saracens as they moved along in the gleaming
sunshine. Gold and silver shone upon their armor, pennons of white and
purple floated over them, and from a thousand trumpets sounded their
battle-song.
To the ears of the Frankish knights the sound was borne as they rode
through the valley of Roncesvalles.
"Sir Comrade," said Oliver, "it seemeth me there is battle at hand
with the Saracen foe."
"Please Heaven it may be so," said Roland. "Our duty is to hold this
post for our Emperor. Let us strike mighty blows, that nothing be said
or sung of us in scorn. Let us fight these heathen for our country and
our faith."
As Oliver heard the sounds of battle come nearer, he climbed to the
top of the hill, so that he could see far over the country. There
before him he saw the Saracens marching in pride. Their helmets,
inlaid with gold, gleamed in the sun. Gaily painted shields, hauberks
of shining steel, spears and pennons waved and shone, rank upon rank
in countless numbers.
Quickly Oliver came down from the hill, and went back to the Frankish
army. "I have seen the heathen," he said to Roland. "Never on earth
hath such a host been gathered. They march upon us many hundred
thousand strong, with shield and spear and sword. Such battle as
awaiteth us have we never fought before."
"Let him be accursed who fleeth!" cried the Franks. "There be few
among us who fear death."
"It is Ganelon the felon, who hath betrayed us," said Oliver, "let him
be accursed."
"Hush thee, Oliver," said Roland; "he is my stepsire. Let us hear no
evil of him."
"The heathen are in fearful force," said Oliver, "and our Franks are
but few. Friend Roland, sound upon thy horn. Then will Charlemagne
hear and return with all his host to help us."
For round Roland's neck there hung a magic horn of carved ivory. If he
blew upon this in case of need, the sound of it would be carried over
hill and dale, far, far onward. If he sounded it now, Charlemagne
would very surely hear, and return from his homeward march.
But Roland would not listen to Oliver. "Nay," he said, "I should
indeed be mad to sound upon my horn. If I call for help, I, Roland, I
should lose my fame in all fair France. Nay, I will not sound, but
I shall strike such blows with my good sword Durindal that the blade
shall be red to the gold of the hilt. Our Franks, too, shall strike
such blows that the heathen shall rue the day. I tell thee, they be
all dead men."
"Oh Roland, friend, wind thy horn," pleaded Oliver. "To the ear of
Charlemagne shall the sound be borne, and he and all his knights will
return to help us."
"Now Heaven forbid that my kin should ever be pointed at in scorn
because of me," said Roland, "or that fair France should fall to such
dishonor. No! I will not sound upon my horn, but I shall strike such
blows with my sword Durindal that the blade shall be dyed red in the
blood of the heathen."
In vain Oliver implored. "I see no dishonor shouldst thou wind thy
horn," he said, "for I have beheld the Saracen host. The valleys and
the hills and all the plains are covered with them. They are many and
great, and we are but a little company."
"So much the better," cried Roland, "my desire to fight them grows
the greater. All the angels of heaven forbid that France, through me,
should lose one jot of fame. Death is better than dishonor. Let us
strike such blows as our Emperor loveth to see."
Roland was rash as Oliver was wise, but both were knights of wondrous
courage, and now Oliver pleaded no more. "Look," he cried, "look where
the heathen come! Thou hast scorned, Roland, to sound thy horn, and
our noble men will this day do their last deeds of bravery."
"Hush!" cried Roland, "shame to him who weareth a coward's heart."
And now Archbishop Turpin spurred his horse to a little hill in
front of the army. "My lords and barons," he cried, turning to them,
"Charlemagne hath left us here to guard the homeward march of his
army. He is our King, and we are bound to die for him, if so need be.
But now, before ye fight, confess your sins, and pray God to forgive
them. If ye die, ye die as martyrs. In God's great paradise your
places await you."
Then the Franks leapt from their horses and kneeled upon the ground
while the archbishop blessed them, and absolved them from all their
sins. "For penance I command that ye strike the heathen full sore," he
said.
Then springing from their knees the Franks leapt again into their
saddles, ready now to fight and die.
"Friend," said Roland, turning to Oliver, "thou wert right. It is
Ganelon who is the traitor. But the Emperor will avenge us upon him.
As for Marsil, he deemeth that he hath bought us, and that Ganelon
hath sold us unto him. But he will find it is with our swords that we
will pay him."
And now the battle began. "Montjoie!" shouted the Franks. It was the
Emperor's own battle-cry. It means "My joy," and came from the name of
his famous sword Joyeuse or joyous. This sword was the most wonderful
ever seen. Thirty times a day the shimmering light with which it
glowed changed. In the gold of the hilt was encased the head of the
spear with which the side of Christ had been pierced. And because of
this great honor the Emperor called his sword Joyeuse, and from that
the Franks took their battle-cry "Montjoie." Now shouting it, and
plunging spurs into their horses' sides, they dashed upon the foe.
Never before had been such pride of chivalry, such splendor of
knightly grace.
With boasting words, King Marsil's nephew came riding in front of the
battle. "Ho, felon Franks!" he cried, "ye are met at last. Betrayed
and sold are ye by your King. This day hath France lost her fair fame,
and from Charlemagne is his right hand torn."
Roland heard him. With spur in side and slackened rein, he dashed upon
the heathen, mad with rage. Through shield and hauberk pierced his
spear, and the Saracen fell dead ere his scoffing words were done.
"Thou dastard!" cried Roland, "no traitor is Charlemagne, but a right
noble king and cavalier."
King Marsil's brother, sick at heart to see his nephew fall, rode out
with mocking words upon his lips. "This day is the honor of France
lost," he sneered.
But Oliver struck his golden spurs into his steed's side! "Caitiff,
thy taunts are little worth," he cried, and, pierced through shield
and buckler, the heathen fell.
Bishop Turpin, too, wielded both sword and lance. "Thou lying coward,
be silent evermore!" he cried, as a scoffing heathen king fell beneath
his blows. "Charlemagne our lord is true and good, and no Frank shall
flee this day."
"Montjoie! Montjoie!" sounded high above the clang of battle, as
heathen after heathen was laid low. Limbs were lopped, armor flew in
splinters. Many a heathen knight was cloven from brow to saddle bow.
The plain was strewn with the dying and the dead.
In Roland's hand his lance was shivered to the haft. Throwing the
splintered wood away, he drew his famous Durindal. The naked blade
shone in the sun and fell upon the helmet of Chernuble, Marsil's
mighty champion. The sparkling gems with which it shone were scattered
on the grass. Through cheek and chine, through flesh and bone, drove
the shining steel, and Chernuble fell upon the ground, a black and
hideous heap. "Lie there, caitiff!" cried Roland, "thy Mahomet cannot
save thee. Not unto such as thou is the victory."
On through the press rode Roland. Durindal flashed and fell and
flashed again, and many a heathen bit the dust. Oliver, too, did
marvelous deeds. His spear, as Roland's, was shivered into atoms. But
scarcely knowing what he did, he fought still with the broken shaft,
and with it brought many a heathen to his death.
"Comrade, what dost thou?" said Roland. "Is it now the time to fight
with staves? Where is thy sword called Hauteclere with its crystal
pommel and golden guard?"
"I lacked time in which to draw it," replied Oliver, "there was such
need to strike blows fast and hard."
But now he drew his shining Hauteclere from its scabbard, and with it
he dealt such blows that Roland cried, "My brother art thou, Oliver,
from henceforth. Ah! such blows our Emperor would dearly love to see."
Furious and more furious waxed the fight. On all sides might be heard
the cry of "Montjoie! Montjoie!" and many a blow did Frank and heathen
give and take. But although thousands of Saracens lay dead, the Franks
too had lost many of their bravest knights. Shield and spear, banner
and pennon, broken, bloodstained and trampled, strewed the field.
Fiercer, wilder still, the battle grew. Roland, Oliver, Archbishop
Turpin and all the twelve peers of France fought in the thickest of
the press. Many of the heathen fled, but even in flight they were cut
down.
Meanwhile over France burst a fearful storm. Thunder rolled, lightning
flashed, the very earth shook and trembled. There was not a town in
all the land but the walls of it were cracked and riven. The sky grew
black at midday, rain and hail in torrents swept the land. "It is the
end of the world," the people whispered in trembling fear.
Alas, they knew not! It was the earth's great mourning for the death
of Roland, which was nigh.
The battle waxed horrible. The Saracens fled, and the Franks pursued
till of that great heathen host but one was left. Of the Saracen army
which had set out in such splendor, four hundred thousand strong, one
heathen king alone remained. And he, King Margaris, sorely wounded,
his spear broken, his shield pierced and battered, fled with the
direful news to King Marsil.
The Franks had won the day, and now mournfully over the plain they
moved, seeking their dead and dying comrades. Weary men and worn were
they, sad at the death of many brother knights, yet glad at the might
and victory of France.
IV
ROLAND SOUNDS HIS HORN
Alone, King Margaris fled, weary and wounded, until he reached King
Marsil, and fell panting at his feet.
"Ride! ride! Sire," he cried, "thy army is shattered, thy knights to
the last man lie dead upon the field; but thou wilt find the Franks
in evil plight. Full half of them also lie dead. The rest are sore
wounded and weary. Their armor is broken, their swords and spears are
shattered. They have naught wherewith to defend themselves. To avenge
the death of thy knights were now easy. Ride! oh, ride!"
In terrible wrath and sorrow King Marsil gathered a new army. In
twenty columns through the valleys they came marching. The sun shone
upon the gems and goldwork of their helmets, upon lances and pennons,
upon buckler and embroidered surcoat. Seven thousand trumpets sounded
to the charge, and the wind carried the clamor afar.
"Oliver, my comrade," said Roland, when he heard it, "Oliver, my
brother, the traitor Ganelon hath sworn our death. Here his treachery
is plainly to be seen. But the Emperor will bring upon him a terrible
vengeance. As for us, we must fight again a battle fierce and keen.
I will strike with my trusty Durindal and thou with thy Hauteclere
bright. We have already carried them with honor in many battles. With
them we have won many a victory. No man may say scorn of us."
And so once again the Franks made ready for battle.
But King Marsil was a wily foe. "Hearken, my barons all," he cried,
"Roland is a prince of wondrous strength. Two battles are not enough
to vanquish him. He shall have three. Half of ye shall go forward now,
and half remain with me until the Franks are utterly exhausted. Then
shall ye attack them. Then shall we see the day when the might of
Charlemagne shall fall and France shall perish in shame."
So King Marsil stayed upon the hillside while half of his knights
marched upon the Franks with battle-cry and trumpet-call.
"Oh Heaven, what cometh now!" cried the Franks as they heard the
sound. "Wo, wo, that ever we saw Ganelon the felon."
Then spoke the brave archbishop to them. "Now it is certain that we
shall die. But it is better to die sword in hand than in slothful
ease. Now is the day when ye shall receive great honor. Now is the
day that ye shall win your crown of flowers. The gates of paradise are
glorious, but therein no coward shall enter."
"We will not fail to enter," cried the Franks. "It is true that we are
but few, but we are bold and stanch," and striking their golden spurs
into their chargers' flanks, they rode to meet the foe.
Once more the noise and dust of battle rose. Once more the plain was
strewn with dead, and the green grass was crimson-dyed, and scattered
wide were jewels and gold, splintered weapons, and shattered armor.
Fearful was the slaughter, mighty the deeds of valor done, until at
last the heathen broke and fled amain. After them in hot pursuit rode
the Franks. Their bright swords flashed and fell again and again, and
all the way was marked with dead.
At length the heathen cries of despair reached even to where King
Marsil stayed upon the hillside. "Marsil, oh our King! ride, ride, we
have need of thee!" they cried.
Even to the King's feet the Franks pursued the fleeing foe, slaying
them before his face.
Then Marsil, mounting upon his horse, led his last knights against the
fearful foe.
The Franks were nigh exhausted, but still three hundred swords
flashed in the sunlight, three hundred hearts still beat with hope and
courage.
As Roland watched Oliver ever in the thickest of the fight, dealing
blow upon blow unceasingly, his heart swelled anew with love for him.
"Oh, my comrade leal and true," he cried, "alas! this day shall end
our love. Alas! this day we shall part on earth for ever."
Oliver heard him and through the press of fighting he urged his horse
to Roland's side. "Friend," he said, "keep near to me. So it please
God we shall at least die together."
On went the fight, fiercer and fiercer yet, till but sixty weary
Franks were left. Then, sadly gazing upon the stricken field, Roland
turned to Oliver. "Behold! our bravest lie dead," he cried. "Well may
France weep, for she is shorn of all her most valiant knights. Oh my
Emperor, my friend, alas, why wert thou not here? Oliver, my brother,
how shall we speed him now our mournful news?"
"I know not," said Oliver sadly, "rather come death now than any
craven deed."
"I will sound upon my horn," said Roland, all his pride broken and
gone. "I will sound upon my horn. Charlemagne will hear it and the
Franks will return to our aid."
"Shame would that be," cried Oliver. "Our kin would blush for us and
be dishonored all their days. When I prayed of thee thou wouldst not
sound thy horn, and now it is not I who will consent to it. Sound
upon thy horn! No! there is no courage, no wisdom in that now. Had the
Emperor been here we had been saved. But now it is too late, for all
is lost. Nay," he cried in rising wrath, "if ever I see again my fair
sister Aude, I swear to thee thou shalt never hold her in thine
arms. Never shall she be bride of thine." For Roland loved Oliver's
beautiful sister Aude and was loved by her, and when Roland would
return to France she had promised to be his bride.