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Edgar Rice Burroughs - "The Efficiency Expert"

Edgar Wallace - "The Clue of the Twisted Candle"

George Meredith - "The Ordeal of Richard Feverel, v6"

Georg Ebers - "The Emperor, Part 1, Volume 5."

Journeys Through Bookland V3

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




Then he joined his hands as though in prayer, but his strength failed
him and he fell back fainting. Roland crawled away towards a little
rill where water was flowing, but his own weakness was so great that
when he came feebly to where the Archbishop lay he found him with his
hands still clasped, but now at rest; for neither thirst nor pain
would trouble him again. All alone in that field of death Roland wept
with his slaughtered friends.

When Roland found death was drawing near he took Durendal in one hand
and his good horn in the other and crept away to a green hillock,
where he lay down in his armor. While he lay there in agony a Saracen
appeared plundering the dead and as he stole by Roland he saw the
glitter of Durendal's hilt and put out his hand and snatched the
sword. Roland opened his eyes and saw the thief before him with the
sword in his hands, and turning suddenly he raised his horn and dealt
the fellow so heavy a blow upon the skull that he stretched him dead
upon the ground. Then, recovering Durendal, he clasped it in his hands
and said, "Oh Durendal, keen of edge and bright of blade, God sent
thee by his angels to Charles to be his captain's sword. Charles girt
thee at my side, and many a country hast thou helped to conquer in my
hands. Though it grieveth me sore to part with thee, yet would I
rather break thee asunder than that thou shouldst fall into the hands
of an enemy of France."

So, praying God to give him strength, he struck the sword so mightily
upon a gray stone of granite that the stone was chipped and
splintered, but the good sword broke not nor was its good edge turned
in the least. A second time he struck the stone, and though under the
blow it was cleft in twain, the blade leaped back unharmed. On the
third blow he powdered the stone, but failed to turn the blade of
polished steel.

Then Roland knew that the sword was indeed holy, and holding the cross
upon its hilt before his eyes, he said, "Oh Durendal, I am to blame.
The angels brought thee and they will keep thee safe for Charles and
France."

Now indeed Roland felt the throes of death approach, and turning his
face toward Spain and toward his enemies he placed his sword and horn
beneath him, and lifting his weary hands to heaven he closed his eyes.
Death and silence brooded o'er the valley; the mists of night came up,
and darkness hid the scene.

Charles and his followers had ridden hard and did not draw rein till
they reached the mountain top and looked down into the valley of
Roncesvalles. They blew the clarions loud, but no answering sound was
heard save the echoes from the mountain sides. Then down through the
mists and darkness they rode and saw the awful carnage. Roland and
Oliver dead, Archbishop Turpin and the noble Twelve, and all the
twenty thousand stretched among the heaps of pagan corpses.

Charles fell upon his face and wept, for he had brought up and
nourished Roland from a babe, had taught him war and made him the
bravest of knights and captain in his army. But anger burned in his
bosom and dried his tears, so that when his officers approached and
told him that they had found the tracks of the flying pagans he was
ready to follow fiercely along their track.

Looking up, he saw that the sun was still some hours high, for God had
miraculously stayed its passage that the Christians might be avenged.
They overtook the flying enemy in the valley of Tenebrus, close by the
swift torrent of the Ebro, and there with the swollen river in front
and the fierce Franks on the flanks and rear the pagans were slowly
cut to pieces. Only Marsilius and a little band, who had gone another
way, escaped. Every Saracen in Tenebrus had perished before the Franks
gave up their bloody work. Back to Roncesvalles went King Charles,
where he buried the dead, all excepting Roland and Oliver, whose
bodies he embalmed and carried in his richest chariots on his return
journey.

Bitterly mourned the king in spite of the richness of his revenge. "Oh
my Roland," he cried, "little pleasure have I in the land we have
conquered. When I come again to my palace and people ask tidings, what
can I say but that we have conquered cities, provinces and countries
and left Roland dead? Then will there be no rejoicing. Sadness will
fall upon our land, and every one will say the war has been in vain.
Oh Roland, my friend, would God that I had died for thee."

When Charles had returned to Aachen he haled Ganelon before him and
flatly accused the knight of treachery. This Ganelon denied, and the
king set him on trial. By using the price of his treason, Ganelon
secured among the judges thirty of his kinsmen, who by spending riches
lavishly procured judgment for him, all voting him no traitor
excepting a gentle youth, Tierry, who persisted in impeaching Ganelon
as a felon and traitor who had betrayed Roland and the twenty
thousand. Moreover, he accused the judges of treason and false
judgment and offered to prove his charges upon any champion the
accused should bring forth.

Tierry was a slender little lad, slight of limb and feeble in
strength, and the champion selected by the accused was Pinabel, a
giant among the Franks. All pitied Tierry and urged that some more
doughty champion take up the cause, but King Charles said, "God will
show the right."

So the lists were made ready and the combat began. Long and terrible
was the fight, for the little champion seemed endowed with more than
human strength and courage. Yet ever was he beaten back, and ever it
seemed that he must be crushed to death under the terrific blows of
the mighty Pinabel. At last a blow came which cut his helmet in two
and split off his right cheek. Then with vision clouded by the blood
and with fast-failing strength, Tierry aimed a blow with all his force
straight at the head of Pinabel. God gave force to the weakening arm
and directed the stroke so that it cleft the steel helmet and the
skull, and entered the brain of Pinabel, who fell gasping to the earth
and died there in his sins.

Then all the people with one accord shouted, "God hath spoken the
word. Again has the right triumphed in trial by battle. Away with
Ganelon and his fellows."

King Charles from his judgment hall pronounced sentence. "Take the
thirty false judges and hang them. Let not one escape," decreed the
king.

As for Ganelon, ten times worse was his punishment. Ropes were tied to
the wrists and ankles of Ganelon and fastened to four prancing horses.
Whining and begging for his life, the traitor lay extended while the
horses, proud of their part, stood with noble arching necks ready
without whip or spur to drag the coward traitor limb from limb. The
halters were cast off, the horses sprang away, and Ganelon had paid
his penalty.

Then to his lonely chamber retired the king, very old and decrepit,
for years of grief had done more to age Charlemagne than years of war.

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