cried Roland sadly.
"Because it is thy fault that so many Franks lie dead this day,"
answered Oliver. "It is thy folly that hath slain them. Hadst thou
done as I prayed thee our master Charlemagne had been here. This
battle had been fought and won. Marsil had been taken and slain. Thy
madness it is, Roland, that hath wrought our fate. Henceforward we
can serve Charlemagne never more. And now here endeth our loyal
friendship. Oh, bitter the parting this night shall see."
With terrible grief in his heart, stricken dumb with misery and pain,
Roland gazed upon his friend. But Archbishop Turpin had heard the
strife between the two, and setting spurs to his horse he rode swiftly
towards them. "Sir Roland, and you, Sir Oliver," he cried, "I pray you
strive not thus. See! we all must die, and thy horn, Roland, can avail
nothing now. Great Karl is too far and would return too late. Yet it
were well to sound it. For the Emperor when he hears it will come to
avenge our fall, and the heathen will not return joyously to their
homes. When the Franks come, they will alight from their horses, they
will find our bodies, and will bury them with mourning and with tears,
so we shall rest in hallowed graves, and the beasts of the field shall
not tear our bones asunder."
"It is well said," cried Roland.
Then to his lips he laid his horn, and taking a deep breath he blew
mightily upon it. With all the strength left in his weary body he
blew.
Full, and clear, and high the horn sounded. From mountain peak to
mountain peak the note was echoed, till to the camp of Charlemagne,
full thirty leagues away, it came.
Then as he heard it, sweet and faint, borne upon the summer wind, the
Emperor drew rein, and bent his ear to listen. "Our men give battle;
it is the horn of Roland," he cried.
"Nay," laughed Ganelon scornfully, "nay, Sire, had any man but thee
said it I had deemed he lied."
So slowly and sad at heart, with many a backward glance, the Emperor
rode on.
Again Roland put his horn to his mouth. He was weary now and faint.
Blood was upon his pale lips, the blue veins in his temples stood out
like cords. Very mournfully he blew upon his horn, but the sound of it
was carried far, very far, although it was so feeble and so low.
Again to the soft, sweet note Charlemagne bent his ear. Duke Naimes,
too, and all the Frankish knights, paused at the sound. "It is the
horn of Roland," cried the Emperor, "and very surely had there been no
battle, he had not sounded it."
"There is no battle," said Ganelon in fretful tones. "Thou art grown
old and fearful. Thou talkest as a frightened child. Well thou knowest
the pride of Roland, the strong, bold, great and boastful Roland, that
God hath suffered so long upon His earth. For one hare Roland would
sound his horn all day long. Doubtless now he laughs among his peers.
And besides, who would dare to attack Roland? Who so bold? Of a truth
there is none. Ride on, Sire, ride on. Why halt? Our fair land is
still very far in front."
So again, yet more unwillingly, the Emperor rode on.
Crimson-stained were the lips of Roland. His cheeks were sunken and
white, yet once again he raised his horn. Faintly now, in sadness and
in anguish, once again he blew. The soft, sweet notes took on a tone
so pitiful, they wrung the very heart of Charlemagne, where, full
thirty leagues afar, he onward rode.
"That horn is very long of breath," he sighed, looking backward
anxiously.
"It is Roland," cried Duke Naimes. "It is Roland who suffers yonder.
On my soul, I swear, there is battle. Some one hath betrayed him. If I
mistake not, it is he who now deceives thee. Arm, Sire, arm! Sound
the trumpets of war. Long enough hast thou hearkened to the plaint of
Roland."
Quickly the Emperor gave command. Quickly the army turned about, and
came marching backward. The evening sunshine fell upon their pennons
of crimson, gold and blue, it gleamed upon helmet and corslet, upon
lance and shield. Fiercely rode the knights. "Oh, if we but reach
Roland before he die," they cried, "oh, what blows we will strike for
him."
Alas! alas! they are late, too late!
The evening darkened, night came, yet on they rode. Through all the
night they rode, and when at length the rising sun gleamed like
flame upon helmet, and hauberk and flowing pennon, they still pressed
onward.
Foremost the Emperor rode, sunk in sad thought, his fingers twisted
in his long white beard which flowed over his cuirass, his eyes filled
with tears. Behind him galloped his knights--strong men though they
were, every one of them with a sob in his throat, a prayer in his
heart, for Roland, Roland the brave and fearless.
One knight only had anger in his heart. That knight was Ganelon. And
he by order of the Emperor had been given over to the keeping of the
kitchen knaves. Calling the chief among them, "Guard me well this
felon," said Charlemagne, "guard him as a traitor, who hath sold all
mine house to death."
Then the chief scullion and a hundred of his fellows surrounded
Ganelon. They plucked him by the hair and buffeted him, each man
giving him four sounding blows. Around his neck they then fastened a
heavy chain, and leading him as one might lead a dancing bear, they
set him upon a common baggage-horse. Thus they kept him until the time
should come that Charlemagne would ask again for the felon knight.
V
THE RETURN OF CHARLEMAGNE
Roland was dead and bright angels had already carried his soul to
heaven, when Charlemagne and all his host at last rode into the valley
of Roncesvalles. What a dreadful sight was there! Not a path nor
track, not a yard nor foot of ground but was covered with slain Franks
and heathen lying side by side in death.
Charlemagne gazed upon the scene with grief and horror. "Where art
thou, Roland?" he called. "The archbishop, where is he? Oliver, where
art thou?" All the twelve peers he called by name. But none answered.
The wind moaned over the field, fluttering here and there a fallen
banner, but voice to answer there was none.
"Alas," sighed Charlemagne, "what sorrow is mine that I was not here
ere this battle was fought!"
In and out of his long white beard his fingers twisted, and tears of
grief and anger stood in his eyes. Behind him, rank upon rank, crowded
his knights and barons full of wrath and sorrow. Not one among them
but had lost a son or brother, a friend or comrade. For a time they
stood dumb with grief and horror.
Then spoke Duke Naimes. Wise in counsel, brave in battle was he.
"Look, Sire," he cried, "look where two leagues from us the dust
arises upon the great highway. There is gathered the army of the
heathen. Ride, Sire, ride and avenge our wrongs."
And so it was, for those who had fled from the battle-field were
gathered together and were now crowding onward to Saragossa.
"Alas!" said Charlemagne, "they are already far away. Yet they have
taken from me the very flower of France, so for the sake of right and
honor I will do as thou desirest."
Then the Emperor called to him four of his chief barons. "Rest here,"
he said, "guard the field, the valleys and the hills. Leave the dead
lying as they are, but watch well that neither lion nor any other
savage beast come nigh to them. Neither shall any servant or squire
touch them. I forbid ye to let man lay hand upon them till we return."
"Sire we will do thy will," answered the four.
Then, leaving a thousand knights to be with them, Charlemagne sounded
his war trumpets, and the army set forth upon the pursuit of the
heathen. Furiously they rode and fast, but already the foe was far.
Anxiously the Emperor looked to the sun as it slowly went down toward
the west. Night was at hand and the enemy still afar.
Then, alighting from his horse, Charlemagne kneeled upon the green
grass. "Oh Lord, I pray thee," he cried, "make the sun to stop. Say
thou to the night, 'wait.' Say thou to the day, 'remain.'" And as the
Emperor prayed, his guardian angel stooped down and whispered to him,
"Ride onward, Charlemagne! Light shall not fail thee. Thou hast lost
the flower of France. The Lord knoweth it right well. But thou canst
now avenge thee upon the wicked. Ride!"
Hearing these words, Charlemagne sprang once more to horse and rode
onward.
And truly a miracle was done for him. The sun stood motionless in
the sky, the heathen fled, the Franks pursued, until in the Valley of
Darkness they fell upon them and beat them with great slaughter. The
heathen still fled, but the Franks surrounded them, closing every
path, and in front flowed the river Ebro wide and deep. Across it
there was no bridge, upon it no boat, no barge. Calling upon their
gods Tervagan and Apollin and upon Mahomet to save them, the heathen
threw themselves into the water. But there no safety they found.
Many, weighted with their heavy armor, sank beneath the waves. Others,
carried by the tide, were swept away, and all were drowned, King
Marsil alone fleeing towards Saragossa.
When Charlemagne saw that all his enemies were slain, he leapt from
his horse, and, kneeling upon the ground, gave thanks to Heaven. And
even as he rose from his knees the sun went down and all the land was
dim in twilight.
"Now is the hour of rest," said the Emperor. "It is too late to return
to Roncesvalles, for our steeds are weary and exhausted. Take off
their saddles and their bridles, and let them refresh themselves upon
the field."
"Sire, it is well said," replied the Franks.
So the knights, leaping from their horses, took saddle and bridle
from them, and let them wander free upon the green meadows by the
river-side. Then, being very weary, the Franks lay down upon the
grass, all dressed as they were in their armor, and with their swords
girded to their sides, and slept. So worn were they with battle and
with grief, that none that night kept watch, but all alike slept.
The Emperor too slept upon the ground among his knights and barons.
Like them he lay in his armor. And his good sword Joyeuse was girt
about him.
The night was clear and the moon shone brightly. And Charlemagne,
lying on the grass, thought bitterly of Roland and of Oliver, and
of all the twelve peers of France who lay dead upon the field of
Roncesvalles. But at last, overcome with grief and weariness, he fell
asleep.
As the Emperor slept, he dreamed. He thought he saw the sky grow black
with thunder-clouds, then jagged lightning flashed and flamed, hail
fell and wild winds howled. Such a storm the earth had never seen,
and suddenly in all its fury it burst upon his army. Their lances
were wrapped in flame, their shields of gold were melted, hauberks
and helmets were crushed to pieces. Then bears and wolves from out
the forests sprang upon the dismayed knights, devouring them.
Monsters untold, serpents, fiery fiends, and more than thirty thousand
griffins, all rushed upon the Franks with greedy, gaping jaws.
"Arm! arm! Sire," they cried to him. And Charlemagne, in his dream,
struggled to reach his knights. But something, he knew not what, held
him bound and helpless. Then from out the depths of the forest a lion
rushed upon him. It was a fierce, terrible, and proud beast. It seized
upon the Emperor, and together they struggled, he fighting with his
naked hands. Who would win, who would be beaten, none knew, for the
dream passed and the Emperor still slept.
Again Charlemagne dreamed. He stood, he thought, upon the marble steps
of his great palace of Aix holding a bear by a double chain. Suddenly
out of the forest there came thirty other bears to the foot of the
steps where Charlemagne stood. They all had tongues and spoke like
men. "Give him back to us, Sire," they said, "he is our kinsman, and
we must help him. It is not right that thou shouldest keep him so long
from us."
Then from out the palace there came a hound. Bounding among the savage
beasts he threw himself upon the largest of them. Over and over upon
the grass they rolled, fighting terribly. Who would be the victor, who
the vanquished? Charlemagne could not tell. The vision passed, and he
slept till daybreak.
As the first dim light of dawn crept across the sky, Charlemagne
awoke. Soon all the camp was astir, and before the sun rose high the
knights were riding back over the wide roads to Roncesvalles.
When once again they reached the dreadful field, Charlemagne wandered
over all the plain until he came where Roland lay. Then taking him in
his arms he made great moan. "My friend, my Roland, who shall now lead
my army? My nephew, beautiful and brave, my pride, my glory, all are
gone. Alas the day! alas!" Thus with tears and cries he mourned his
loss.
Then said one, "Sire, grieve not overmuch. Command rather that we
search the plain and gather together all our men who have been slain
by the heathen. Then let us bury them with chant, and song and solemn
ceremony, as befits such heroes."
"Yea," said Charlemagne, "it is well said. Sound your trumpets!"
So the trumpets were sounded, and over all the field the Franks
searched, gathering their slain brothers and comrades.
With the army there were many bishops, abbots and monks, and so with
chant and hymn, with prayer and incense, the Franks were laid to rest.
With great honor they were buried. Then, for they could do no more,
their comrades left them.
Only the bodies of Roland, Oliver and Archbishop Turpin, they did
not lay in Spanish ground. In three white marble coffins covered with
silken cloths they were placed on chariots, ready to be carried back
to the fair land of France.
HERO OF SPAIN
THE CID
ADAPTED BY ROBERT SOUTHEY
I
RODRIGO AND THE LEPER
Rodrigo forthwith set out upon the road, and took with him twenty
knights. And as he went he did great good, and gave alms, feeding the
poor and needy. And upon the way they found a leper, struggling in a
quagmire, who cried out to them with a loud voice to help him for the
love of God; and when Rodrigo heard this, he alighted from his beast
and helped him, and placed him upon the beast before him, and carried
him with him in this manner to the inn where he took up his lodging
that night. At this were his knights little pleased.
When supper was ready he bade his knights take their seats, and he
took the leper by the hand, and seated him next himself, and ate with
him out of the same dish. The knights were greatly offended at this
foul sight, insomuch that they rose up and left the chamber. But
Rodrigo ordered a bed to be made ready for himself and for the leper,
and they twain slept together. When it was midnight and Rodrigo was
fast asleep, the leper breathed against him between his shoulders, and
that breath was so strong that it passed through him, even through his
breast; and he awoke, being astounded, and felt for the leper by him,
and found him not; and he began to call him, but there was no reply.
Then he arose in fear, and called for a light, and it was brought him;
and he looked for the leper and could see nothing; so he returned
into the bed, leaving the light burning. And he began to think within
himself what had happened, and of that breath which had passed through
him, and how the leper was not there. After a while, as he was thus
musing, there appeared before him one in white garments, who said
unto him, "Sleepest thou or wakest thou, Rodrigo?" and he answered and
said, "I do not sleep: but who art thou that bringest with thee such
brightness and so sweet an odor?" Said he, "I am Saint Lazarus, and
know that I was a leper to whom thou didst so much good and so great
honor for the love of God; and because thou didst this for his sake
hath God now granted thee a great gift; for whensoever that breath
which thou hast felt shall come upon thee, whatever thing thou
desirest to do, and shalt then begin, that shalt thou accomplish to
thy heart's desire, whether it be in battle or aught else, so that thy
honor shall go on increasing from day to day; and thou shalt be feared
both by Moors and Christians, and thy enemies shall never prevail
against thee, and thou shalt die an honorable death in thine own
house, and in thy renown, for God hath blessed thee therefore go
thou on, and evermore persevere in doing good;" and with that he
disappeared. And Rodrigo arose and prayed to our lady and intercessor
St. Mary, that she would pray to her blessed son for him to watch over
his body and soul in all his undertakings; and he continued in prayer
till the day broke. Then he proceeded on his way, and performed his
pilgrimage, doing much good for the love of God and of St. Mary.
II
THE KNIGHTING OF RODRIGO
Now it came to pass that while the King lay before Coimbra, there came
a pilgrim from the land of Greece on pilgrimage to Santiago; his name
was Estiano, and he was a bishop. And as he was praying in the church
he heard certain of the townsmen and of the pilgrims saying that
Santiago was wont to appear in battle like a knight, in aid of the
Christians. And when he heard this, it nothing pleased him, and
he said unto them, "Friends, call him not a knight, but rather a
fisherman." Upon this it pleased God that he should fall asleep,
and in his sleep Santiago appeared to him with a good and cheerful
countenance, holding in his hand a bunch of keys, and said unto him,
"Thou thinkest it a fable that they should call me a knight, and
sayest that I am not so: for this reason am I come unto thee that
thou never more mayest doubt concerning my knighthood; for a knight of
Jesus Christ I am, and a helper of the Christians against the Moors."
Then a horse was brought him the which was exceeding white, and the
apostle Santiago mounted upon it, being well clad in bright and fair
armor, after the manner of a knight. And he said to Estiano, "I go
to help King Don Ferrando, who has lain these seven months before
Coimbra, and to-morrow, with these keys which thou seest, will I open
the gates of the city unto him at the third hour, and deliver it into
his hand." Having said this, he departed. And the bishop, when he woke
in the morning, called together the clergy and people of Compostella,
and told them what he had seen and heard. And as he said, even so did
it come to pass; for tidings came, that on that day, and at the third
hour, the gates of the city had been opened.
King Don Ferrando then assembled his counts and chief captains, and
told them all that the monks of Lorvam had done, in bringing him to
besiege the city, and in supplying his army in their time of need: and
the counts and chief captains made answer and said, "Certes, O King,
if the monks had not given us the stores of their monastery, thou
couldest not have taken the city at this time." The King then called
for the abbot and the brethren, for they were with him in the host,
and said the hours to him daily, and mass in St. Andre's, and buried
there and in their monastery as many as had died during the siege,
either of arrow-wounds or by lances, or of their own infirmities. So
they came before him and gave him joy of his conquest; and he said
unto them, "Take ye now of this city as much as ye desire, since by
God's favor and your counsel I have won it." But they made answer,
"Thanks be to God and to you, and to your forefathers, we have enough
and shall have, if so be that we have your favor and dwell among
Christians. Only for the love of God, and for the remedy of your own
soul, give us one church with its dwelling-houses within the city,
and confirm unto us the gifts made to us in old times by your
forefathers."
With that the King turned to his sons and his soldiers, and said, "Of
a truth, by our Creator, they who desire so little are men of God. I
would have given them half the city, and they will have only a single
church! Now therefore, since they require but this, on the part of
God Almighty let us grant and confirm unto them what they ask, to
the honor of God and St. Mamede." And the brethren brought him their
charters of King Ramiro, and King Bermudo, and King Alfonso, and
of Gonzalo Moniz, who was a knight and married a daughter of King
Bermudo, and of other good men. And the King confirmed them, and he
bade them make a writing of all which had passed between him and them
at the siege of Coimbra; and when they brought him the writing, they
brought him also a crown of silver and of gold, which had been King
Bermudo's, and which Gonzalo Moniz had given to the monastery in honor
of God and St. Mamede.
The King saw the crown, set with precious stones, and said, "To what
end bring ye hither this crown?" And they said, "That you should
take it, sire, in return for the good which you have done us." But he
answered, "Far be it from me that I should take from your monastery
what the good men before me have given to it! Take ye back the crown,
and take also ten marks of silver, and make with the money a good
cross, to remain with you forever. And he who shall befriend you, may
God befriend him; but he who shall disturb you or your monastery, may
he be cursed by the living God and by his saints." So the King signed
the writing which he had commanded to be made, and his sons and chief
captains signed it also, and in the writing he enjoined his children
and his children's children, as many as should come after him, to
honor and protect the monastery of Lorvam; upon his blessing he
charged them so to do, because he had found the brethren better than
all the other monks in his dominions.
Then King Don Ferrando knighted Rodrigo of Bivar in the great mosque
of Coimbra, which he dedicated to St. Mary. And the ceremony was after
this manner: the King girded on his sword, and gave him the kiss, but
not the blow. To do him honor the Queen gave him his horse, and the
Infanta Dona Urraca fastened on his spurs; and from that day forth he
was called Ruydiez. Then the King commanded him to knight nine noble
squires with his own hand; and he took his sword before the altar,
and knighted them. The King then gave Coimbra to the keeping of
Don Sisnando, Bishop of Iria; a man who, having more hardihood than
religion, had by reason of his misdeeds gone over to the Moors, and
sorely infested the Christians in Portugal. But during the siege he
had come to the King's service, and bestirred himself well against the
Moors; and therefore the King took him into his favor, and gave him
the city to keep, which he kept, and did much evil to the Moors till
the day of his death. And the King departed and went to Compostella,
to return thanks to Santiago.
But then Benalfagi, who was the lord of many lands in Estremadura,
gathered together a great power of the Moors and built up the walls of
Montemor, and from thence waged war against Coimbra, so that they of
Coimbra called upon the King for help. And the King came up against
the town, and fought against it, and took it. Great honor did Ruydiez
win at that siege; for having to protect the foragers, the enemy came
out upon him, and thrice in one day was he beset by them; but he,
though sorely pressed by them, and in great peril, nevertheless
would not send to the camp for succor, but put forth his manhood and
defeated them. And from that day che King gave more power into his
hands, and made him head over all his household.
Now the men of Leon besought the King that he should repeople Zamora,
which had lain desolate since it was destroyed by Almanzor. And he
went thither and peopled the city, and gave to it good privileges.
And while he was there came messengers from the five kings who were
vassals to Ruydiez of Bivar, bringing him their tribute; and they came
to him, he being with the King, and called him Cid, which signifieth
lord, and would have kissed his hands, but he would not give them his
hand till they had kissed the hand of the King. And Ruydiez took the
tribute and offered the fifth thereof to the King, in token of his
sovereignty; and the King thanked him, but would not receive it;
and from that time he ordered that Ruydiez should be called the Cid,
because the Moors had so called him.
III
HOW THE CID MADE A COWARD INTO A BRAVE MAN