Journeys Through Bookland V3

C >> Charles H. Sylvester >> Journeys Through Bookland V3

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

Then Roland spoke again. "To me, my stepfather seems the man, for
there is none among us more cunning in speech than he. Send Ganelon,
my stepfather."

With all his fierceness Ganelon was an arrant coward, and much he
feared to take the message to Marsilius, for well he remembered the
fate of Basant and Basil. Pale with anger and with coward fear,
Ganelon threw his sable cloak from his shoulders and faced the gallant
Roland. "All the world knows," said Ganelon, "that I am thy
stepfather, and that I bear thee no love, but only hatred and
contempt; but to show your malice toward me thus openly is the work of
a fool and a coward. If I return from this dangerous mission, then
will I avenge myself for your insults."

"I had no thought of malice," said Roland, "as all my companions may
bear me witness. The post is one of honor, and you should feel proud
that it is entrusted to you. As for your anger and malice, I have only
contempt for your words and despise them utterly."

[Illustration: GANELON PICKS UP CHARLEMAGNE'S GLOVE]

"Do not think," replied the wrathy Ganelon, "that I go at your bidding
or that anything you might say will move me from my steady purpose. If
the king chooses me his messenger, I will do him service; but as for
you, you shall repent that you ever spoke my name."

This fierce speech was received by Roland with loud laughter, which
was echoed by Oliver and his companions, for all knew well the mighty
prowess of the great paladin. The act, however, served only to enrage
Ganelon the more, and as he turned his back he muttered fiercely, "I
say, you shall repent of this."

Stepping to the throne of Charlemagne, he knelt and said, "Most noble
emperor, from Marsilius no messenger ever yet returned alive.
Willingly will I go to Zaragoz and make for thee thy covenant. One
favor only do I ask, and that is that if I should not return thou wilt
care for Baldwin, my son, and the son of thy sister to whom I am wed.
Confer on him my honors and possessions and bring him up among the
knights of thy court."

Charlemagne put forth his hand and touched the kneeling Ganelon.
"Since the Franks have chosen thee," he said, "enter upon thy journey
with a brave heart. Put aside all fear and take my glove and baton."

Still trembling, half with rage and half with fear, Ganelon said, "But
for Roland would this service never have fallen upon me; and I hate
him and his friend, the doughty Oliver. As for the rest of the nobles,
who have joined so willingly in the cry, I bid them all defiance."

The king answered, "Truly, Count Ganelon, your words were well
tempered and well chosen, but my knights know your deeds never keep
pace with your words, else might they fear your threatenings.
Perchance, in this one instance, however, your ready tongue will serve
us better than your sword."

Then from his hand the king drew off his glove, and as Ganelon essayed
to take it, it dropped upon the floor. The Frankish warriors trembled
at this ill omen and whispered among themselves that it boded no good
to the messenger; but Ganelon picked the glove up quickly, saying,
"Fear nothing from so slight an accident. You shall hear again from
this glove."

"Take the letter, signed and sealed with my signet, and go in God's
name," said the king.

With anger still burning in his heart, Ganelon leaped upon his horse
and set forth upon his dangerous mission. So rapidly did he ride that
he soon overtook Blancandrin and his followers, who were resting by
the wayside, and fell into friendly converse with them. The messenger
of Marsilius was a wily man accustomed to read the emotions of men in
their faces, and ere the vengeful Ganelon had spoken many words his
companion had sounded the depths of the warrior's treacherous soul.

Noting well the kind of man to whom he was speaking, Blancandrin
hesitated not to tell the story of the treachery which Marsilius had
planned. The wily king had no thought of going to Aachen to pay
tribute to Charlemagne, but, on the other hand, sought the opportunity
to destroy the garrisons which Charles the king should leave behind
him and to repossess himself of Spain. In the council at which this
was determined, the cruel Moslems, dead to the love that fathers
should bear their children, had determined to sacrifice their twenty
sons, the hostages who had been left with King Charles. What were the
lives of twenty boys compared with the reestablishment of their own
power and wealth! Now when Ganelon heard the dastardly plan which the
Saracens had made, he opened his heart to Blancandrin and told how he
hated Roland and how gladly he would do anything so he would not be
obliged again to be a witness to his stepson's good fortune.

When each had shown his true nature freely to the other they joined
their wits and laid their plans. Thus when they were come to Zaragoz,
Blancandrin took Ganelon by the hand and led him before King
Marsilius, saying, "O king, thy message have I taken to the haughty
Charlemagne, but no answer did he give me. He has, however, sent the
noble Count Ganelon who shall tell you the decision."

According to the plans which had been matured on the journey Ganelon
said, "God protect the good king, Marsilius. King Charles saith that
if thou wilt lay aside thy Moslem faith and do homage to him at Aachen
thou shalt hold in fealty to him one half the lands of Spain, but if
thou failest in any respect, then will he come with sword and fire and
lay waste the land and carry thee to Aachen to thy death."

No sooner were the words spoken than Marsilius seized a javelin and
aimed it at the messenger's head, but Ganelon, standing his ground
manfully, said, "What shall it bring thee to slay the messenger
because the message was evil? I act but as the mouthpiece of my
master. Under penalty of death have I come, or I should not have left
the Christian camp. Behold, here is a letter which the great Charles
has sent for thy perusal."

So saying, he handed King Marsilius a letter signed and sealed with
the signet of the great king. His hands trembling with anger,
Marsilius opened the letter and read, "I, King Charles, remembering
well what thou didst to my servants, Basant and Basil, summon thee to
send to me thy caliph who sitteth next thy throne on the right for me
to do with him as I list."

The anger of Marsilius burned more strongly, and seizing a spear from
one of his attendants he rushed at Ganelon and would have slain him on
the spot had not Blancandrin interfered.

"Stay thy hand, O my master," he said, "for this man, Ganelon, hath
promised to be our spy and work in our behalf."

Pleased with this show of Christian treachery, the Moslem king said,
"Verily, Ganelon, thou wast near Death's door, but I will pardon thee
and reward thee with one hundred pieces of gold. Take them and be
faithful to us."

Ganelon accepted the price of his treason, saying, "That man is a fool
who taketh not the goods which the gods place before him.

"Now truly, the old king, the aged Charles, is indeed weary of war,
has glutted his passion for wealth and would indeed grant thee peace
and withdraw his army from Spain were it not that his captain, Roland,
and Oliver, his friend, both men of war, are continually inciting the
weary monarch to further warfare. They with the other peers of France
do lead the king as they wish, for he is old and feeble. If only these
and their twenty thousand picked men could be slain, then all the
world would be at peace.

"Now listen to my counsel. Give the hostages to Charles as you had
planned, and grant his every request. Then will he take his armies out
of Spain, leaving only the rear guard to follow in his wake. This
guard, the pride and strength of his army, is commanded by the captain
Roland. As they leave Spain they will go through the narrow pass of
Roncesvalles. Surround the valley with thy hosts and lie in wait for
them. When they come fall upon them and slaughter them to the last
man. The fight will be a bitter one, but thou shalt win." Having made
Ganelon swear to the truth of what he had said and that things should
come to pass as he predicted, Marsilius gave the traitor many jewels
and rich garments and despatched him back to King Charles with the
message they had framed.

When Ganelon came again to Charlemagne he told him that Marsilius had
yielded every point and was already on his way to Aachen, where he
would give up his religion and be baptized into the Christian faith.
Then was the great Charles filled with joy at this bloodless end to
his long campaign, and right willingly he went before his warriors and
told them the great news.

At last night fell upon the camp of rejoicing Christians, and Charles
retired to his pavilion to sleep. But it was for him a terrible night
filled with dreams and dark forebodings. He thought he was in a narrow
pass closely pressed by deadly enemies and with no weapon in hand but
an ashen spear. Count Ganelon, riding by, snatched the spear from his
hand and broke it into splinters. Then again he dreamed that he was
back at home in the royal palace, but that a poisonous viper fastened
itself upon his hands and in spite of all his efforts he could not
remove it; and as he struggled unavailingly a leopard leaped upon him
and bore him to the earth and would have killed him but for a favorite
hound who rushed between and seized the leopard by the throat.
Viciously the two struggled, and Charles watched the terrible combat,
but try as he might he could not see which animal was the victor.

When morning came, and the sun shone over the Christian camp,
dispelling the mists of sleep from the brain of Charles, he knew he
had been dreaming, but still he was not able to shake off the dread
forebodings that weighed on his soul. The camps were struck and the
hosts of Charles prepared to march from Spain.

"Whom shall I leave in command of the rear guard?" said the emperor to
Ganelon.

"Leave Roland," replied the traitor; "he is the only man worthy of so
important a post."

Roland only too willingly accepted the task, saying to Charles, "Give
to me, I pray thee, the bow that is in thy hand. Trust me, I shall not
let it fall as Ganelon let fall thy glove." The emperor handed the bow
to Roland, and thus was he made captain of the rear guard. Oliver, his
friend, remained behind with him and the twelve peers and Turpin, the
Archbishop, besides twenty thousand picked warriors.

"Roland, my dear nephew," said the emperor, "behold, I leave with thee
one half my army. Keep them safely for me."

"Fear nothing," Roland answered; "a good account shall I render of my
charge."

Thus the king parted from Roland and marched away with the bulk of his
army toward his own land. But ever as he passed over the high
mountains and through the deep ravines whose steep sides shut out the
light of the sun and seemed about to topple upon him, his heart grew
heavy with some strange oppression he could not understand. Ever and
anon he turned to his bodyguard and said, "I much fear me that some
terrible danger awaiteth our beloved Roland and the noble rear guard.
I feel that some treachery will be practised against them."

Even when he reached France the heaviness did not depart from his
spirit, and he sat moody and disconsolate, his hoary head bowed upon
his hands, awaiting impatiently news from the rear guard.

No sooner had Marsilius learned that Ganelon was carrying out his plan
and that Roland was to be left behind with only the rear guard, than
he sent swift-riding messengers in every direction to summon his
mighty men to meet him at Roncesvalles to await the coming of Roland.
Before the rear guard reached the pass, a vast army of four hundred
thousand men lay concealed in the rocky and woody fastnesses around
Roncesvalles. Every man pledged to fight Roland and his followers to
the death.

Slowly the little army of Roland crossed the plains and toiled up the
rocky pass and the steep mountain sides whence they could look down on
Roncesvalles, where lay the only road they could follow. What was it
they saw in the narrow valley before them? What could it be but the
sunlight gleaming on the spears of armed men, marching through the
valley and placing themselves in favorable positions upon the sides.
There seemed no limit to the multitude. They were like the blades of
grass in a fair meadow, and the noise that arose from the moving
multitude was like the murmur of the sea.

"Look," said Oliver to Roland; "Ganelon has played us false. What
shall we do? This is a greater army than was ever gathered before for
a single purpose, and they certainly mean our destruction."

"God grant it may be so," said Roland, "for sweet it is to battle for
our country and our king. When we have rested a little we will push
forward against the enemy."

"But," said Oliver, "we are a handful only, while they in number are
as the sands of the sea. Before it is too late sound thy great horn, I
pray thee, that possibly Charles may hear and return to our relief."

"The greater the host the greater the glory in defeating it," replied
Roland. "Never shall it be said that Roland shirked his duty and
brought disgrace upon his followers. We will not call the king back,
but I promise you that the murderous Saracens shall repent the attack
upon us. Already I feel them as good as dead."

Thrice did Oliver urge Roland to sound the horn for relief, but every
time the noble paladin refused, saying, "God and his angels are with
us. They fight upon our side. God will perform wonders for us, and
will not let shame rest upon our banners."

Oliver climbed a great tree whence he could see not only the host in
the valley, but multitudes concealed from the general view as far as
the eye could reach. He begged Roland to climb also and see, but
Roland answered sturdily, "Time enough to know the numbers of our
enemies when we count the slain."

Then Archbishop Turpin gathered the warriors about him, and while the
Franks kneeled on the ground he shrived them clean and blessed them in
the name of God, saying, "It is a right good thing to die for king and
faith, but fear not death, though it certainly now faces you. To-night
shall we meet in Paradise wearing the crowns of the martyrs. Arise
from your knees and in penance for your sins scourge ye the pagans."

Upon his great battle horse, Veillantif, Roland rode to and fro
brandishing his good sword, Durendal, putting his warriors in battle
array. Little need had he to urge faith and constancy, for there was
not a man but loved his commander to the utmost, and cheerfully would
follow him even unto death. When Roland looked upon the pagan host his
face grew fierce and terrible, but as he turned it upon his men a mild
and gentle expression stole over it, and he said, "My lords and
barons, good comrades all, let no man spare his life to-day, but see
only that he sells it dear. The lives of twenty pagans is a poor price
for one of yours. I have promised to give a good account of you, and
tonight the battlefield will tell how I have kept my word. God alone
knows the issue of the combat, but I have no fear. Of a certainty,
much praise and honor await us on earth and a martyr's crown in
Paradise."

So saying, he pricked the noble Veillantif with his golden spurs and
set off at the head of the rear guard through the pass and down into
the valley of death called Roncesvalles. Next following came Oliver,
then Archbishop Turpin followed by the Twelve, and behind pushed
forward the rear guard bearing aloft the snow-white banner of their
king and shouting fiercely their battle cry, "Montjoy! Montjoy!"
[Footnote: Montjoy was the name given during the Middle Ages to any
little rise of ground which lay on the line between two territorial
divisions. As such a spot was a common meeting place of hostile
armies, the term Montjoy came to be used as a war cry.]

Savage and bloody was the battle, beyond the words of man to describe.
Roland's ashen spear crashed through the brazen armor, skin, and bone
of fifteen pagans before it shivered in his hands and he was compelled
to draw the fair Durendal from its sheath.

Roland saw Oliver fighting with only the lesser half of his spear, and
riding to him exclaimed, "Draw thy sword, comrade, and slay the
enemy."

But Oliver replied, "Not so long as a handful of the stump remains.
To-day are weapons precious."

All Twelve and the whole rear guard fought like men possessed, and
before each lay a tale of pagan slain. No man sought to protect
himself except by the slaughter of his enemies.

"Thank God," said Archbishop Turpin, as he rested for a moment, "thank
God that I live to see the rear guard fight to-day."

The sun climbed the heavens, and it was noon, and not a Christian gave
way. Wheresoever he planted his foot there he stayed until he could
advance or until he died. The noble guard hewed down the pagans by the
hundreds until the earth was heaped with the slain. Where Roland stood
wielding Durendal, dripping with blood from point to hilt, lay a
circle of dead Moslems, for from every side the multitude came to
compass the death of Roland.

[Illustration: WHERESOEVER HE PLANTED HIS FOOT, THERE HE STAYED]

Though two hundred thousand of the pagans lay dead, many thousand
Christians mingled with them. Of the Twelve but two remained, when the
hosts of Marsilius began to flee and he looked with dismay upon the
slain. Then would Roland have won his battle in spite of numbers but
that from the mountainside came the sound of trumpets, and down into
the valley came twenty fresh battalions of Saracens, eager for the
fray. Yet Roland and the remainder of his scattered force kept even
these new legions long at bay, laughing in scorn at the Saracen
warriors and calling out grim jests at them as though the deadly
battle were a friendly game. So marvelously did the Christians fight
that the pagans almost yielded, for it seemed to them as though God
and his angels must be fighting for the Christians.

Yet slowly and surely was the rear guard dwindling away. Dead were the
noble Twelve and dead all the brave knights that were the immediate
companions and guard of Roland, the flower of the rear guard.

"Comrade," said Roland to Oliver, "now will I blow my horn, which
perchance Charles may hear and come to us."

"Thou art now too late," said the angry Oliver. "Hadst thou but taken
my advice thou hadst saved much weeping among the women and children
of France. Charles would not have lost his rear guard nor France her
valiant Roland."

"Blow thy horn," said the Archbishop Turpin, "and talk not of what
might have been. It is now too late for Charles to save our lives, but
he may avenge them."

Then Roland put his horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rose
up against the sides of the mountains and was echoed across the
valleys over hill and dale till it reached the king among his
courtiers in his great hall.

"What is that I hear?" he said; "surely our men are fighting to-day."

Said Ganelon, "What you hear is but the sighing of the wind in the
trees."

Still more weary grew Roland, and he took the horn again and winded it
with all his strength.

[Illustration: ROLAND FEEBLY WINDED HIS HORN]

So loud, so long and so mighty was the blast that the veins stood out
like whipcords on his brow; and even then he stopped not, but blew
until his temples broke and the blood streamed down his face.

Charles heard the mighty blast in his palace and cried, "That is the
horn of Roland; I know it. He is hard pressed in battle or he would
not sound it."

Then answered the treacherous Ganelon, "If that be the horn of Roland,
he hunteth perchance in the woods. Too brave is he to sound it in
battle. My lord the king groweth old, and his fears are childish. What
a merry jest would it be should the king call his thousands and go to
the succor of Roland only to find him hunting the hare."

In pain and great weariness now, almost spent with loss of blood and
the agony of his bursting temples, Roland again feebly winded his
horn. In his palace Charles heard the feeble echo, and springing from
his seat while the salt tears streamed from his eyes and rushed down
his snowy beard, cried, "Oh Roland, my brave captain, too long have I
delayed. Sorry is thy need, I know, by the wailing of thy horn. Men,
to arms! Straightway will we go to help Roland. Seize that man," he
said pointing to Ganelon; "bind him fast in chains, and keep him till
I return. Then shall we judge whether by his treason he hath duped
us."

Fierce was the cruel throbbing in the brain of Roland as he turned
wearily again to his fight, but his good sword leapt savagely out, and
the redoubtable pagans fell around him in heaps. Those who were left
of the rear guard cut down great masses of the pagans as a reaper cuts
down ripening corn at the harvest time, but one by one the weary
reapers fell ere the harvest could be gathered in. Yet beside each
dead Frank was a sheaf of pagan dead to show how well he had reaped
his little field.

Then a pagan king, seeing where Oliver was fighting, stole up behind
and smote him through the back a deadly wound, but Oliver turned, and
with the fierce strength of a dying man swung his huge sword
Haltclere, and before the pagan could know his triumph struck the
king's helmet and cleft his head from forehead to teeth. Even now,
with the pains of death so fastened upon him that his vision was
blotted out, Oliver struck valiantly on every hand, shouting "Montjoy,
Montjoy."

Roland heard the feeble shout and cut his way through to help his
companion from his horse; but Oliver, not knowing him, struck Roland
such a mighty blow that he shattered his helmet on his throbbing head.
In spite of all his pain, Roland lifted Oliver gently down from his
horse, saying, "Dear comrade, I fear a deadly evil has happened to
thee."

"Thy voice is that of Roland, but I cannot see thy face."

"It is I, Roland, thy comrade."

"Forgive me that I smote thee," said Oliver; "it is so dark that I
cannot see thy face. Give me thy hand. God bless thee, Roland. God
bless Charlemagne and France."

So saying, he fell upon his face and died. With a heavy heart Roland
turned from his fallen comrade and looked about for his valiant rear
guard. Only two men were left beside himself. Turpin the Archbishop,
Count Gaulter and Roland set themselves back to back while the pagans
ran upon them in a multitude. Twenty men Roland slew, Count Gaulter
six, and Turpin five. Then another charge of a thousand horsemen
throwing spears and javelins bore down upon them. Count Gaulter fell
at the first charge, and the archbishop's horse was killed; and there
upon the ground Turpin lay with four wounds upon his forehead and four
upon his breast.

Yet strange to say in those fearful charges Roland got never a wound,
although in his broken temples his brain was parting asunder, and the
pain was more than he could bear. Once more he winded his feeble horn,
and Charles heard it as he came with his army to the relief of the
rear guard. "Spare not spur nor steed for Roland's sake. I hear the
sighing of his horn and know that he is in a last distress. Sound all
our clarions loud and long."

The mighty mountains tossed the sound from peak to peak and carried it
down into the valley of Roncesvalles where the pagans heard the echoes
and knew that Charles was approaching for revenge.

"There is but one man more to slay," they cried. "Let us slaughter him
and flee."

Then four hundred of the mounted Moslems charged at Roland, flinging
their long javelins but venturing not to approach within reach of his
sword, for they thought no man born of woman could slay this Roland.
Veillantif dropped down dead, and Roland, his armor pierced with spear
points, fell beneath him with a last great "Montjoy."

Spent with the fall, he lay there in a swoon, though not a single
spear had touched his body. When the pagans looked on him they thought
him dead, and fled through the pass, leaving the gloomy field in
possession of the dead and wounded.

When the spirit of Roland came back from its swoon he looked about him
and saw that the pagans had fled. With great pain he drew himself from
beneath his horse and staggered to his feet, for scarcely could he
stand from the pain beating in his temples. He dragged his bruised and
weary body, searching everywhere among the slain. Round about each
Christian lay a heap of pagan slain, and as Roland's eye wandered o'er
the bloody field he said, "Charles will see that the rear guard has
done its duty." At last he found where Oliver lay, and lifting the
body tenderly in his arms, he said, "Comrade dear, ever wast thou a
friend to me, kind and gentle. No better warrior ever broke a spear or
wielded a sword. Now do I repent the only time that I failed to heed
thy counsel. God rest thy soul. A sweeter friend and truer comrade no
man ever had."

Then Roland heard a feeble voice, and turning, saw the Archbishop
Turpin dying on the ground, a piteous sight, his face all marred with
wounds and his body well-nigh cut in twain. Yet Turpin raised his hand
and blessed the dead about him, saying, "Thank God, dear Roland, the
field is thine and mine. We have fought a good fight."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27