  NOTE,—The greatest legendary hero of France is Roland, one of Every nation possesses a few of these great characters whose lives have furnished incidents without number to enrich the literature of the land. Roland shines as one of the finest of national heroes. Charlemagne, old and gray, grown weary with fighting and the conquest of Europe, sat at ease among his noble councilors in the shade of a great tree in northern Spain. Around him were camped the mighty hosts that he had led against the Saracens, and now the leaders were talking over their plans for the future. Only one strong castle, the great fortress of Zaragoz, on a steep and rugged mountain top, held out against him after his seven years of combat against the Mohammedans in Spain. So heavy were the walls of this stronghold and so difficult the guarded paths that led up to it that it seemed impossible for man to take it. One after another, the valorous knights, the twelve great paladins of Charlemagne gave their opinions, but no conclusion could be reached. Among these hardy warriors was Roland, favorite nephew of the king, and greatest of all the paladins. Next him sat Oliver, the friend of his soul, closer knit in bonds of friendship than ever the ties of blood bound brother to brother. Others there were of valiant men who had often proved their courage against their pagan enemies. None, however, matched in massiveness and kingly bearing the great Charles himself, who sat now on his chair of gold over which twined a flowering rose vine. In the boughs of the towering pine the birds sang blithely, unconscious of the tragic events planning below them. While they sat there in council there appeared among them a herald bearing the white flag of peace. Behind him came Blancandrin, chief noble and councilor of Marsilius, the ruler of the fortress about which King Charles and his paladins had been talking. "My Lord the king," said Blancandrin, kneeling at the feet of the stately old monarch, "I come as a messenger of peace from my master, King Marsilius, who now, after these years, sees in you the great king whom all men may worship. Rich gifts bear I to your glorious majesty, —bears, lions and hounds in numbers, falcons trained to hunt and keen for their prey, and four hundred powerful mules drawing fifty chariots full of gold, rich tapestries and precious jewels, wealth which even Charles the Great need not scorn to take. "For all this richness my master begs only peace from thee, and privilege to reign over Spain as thy loyal vassal. On the Feast of Michael will Marsilius go to thy palace at Aachen and render homage unto thee, and thenceforth shalt thou be his lord, and thy God shall be his God, only so that thou removest thine armies from out this kingdom." The king listened in silence and bowed his head in meditation. For a quarter of an hour was no word spoken, for gravely Charlemagne considered every question placed before him, and weighed well his words; for once he had given pledge no power could make him change. At last he turned upon the messenger his face clothed in its aureole of silvery hair, and said, "What assurance have I that Marsilius will keep his word and be my faithful subject?" "Most noble king," said Blancandrin, "we have with us twenty boys, sons of twenty of the greatest nobles of our land. Take them all and keep them as hostages till my master pays homage to thee at Aachen as he has promised. Deal gently with these young men of ours, I pray thee, for they are dear to our hearts and are of the very flower of our kingdom." That night the king lodged the messengers sumptuously, with due care, however, that they learned none of the secrets of his camp, for in his heart he felt that some treachery was planned. When morning came, Blancandrin was sent on his journey back to Marsilius with word that messengers from Charlemagne would soon follow. The great king called together his paladins and all the leaders of his force to consider the proposal that Blancandrin had brought. Among them were Turpin, the Archbishop, and Roland with his inseparable companion, Oliver. And in the group, too, might be seen the lowering brow and sneaking face of Ganelon, the traitorous friend of Charlemagne. The king laid before them in full the message of Marsilius and bade them say what they thought of the strange proposal. With one accord all shouted, "Beware of treachery from King Marsilius." Roland, towering above all the other warriors, spoke for himself: "Trust not the heathen king. Have no parley with him. Remember what seven years of warfare have cost us in blood and treasure, and without hesitation go on to finish the work we have begun. Proceed at once to lay siege to Zaragoz, conquer this last great stronghold and free Spain utterly from Mohammedan rule. Remember the treachery Marsilius once before practiced against our good messengers, whom he slew under the flag of truce. Go and avenge their death." But the fierce Ganelon slyly crept to the king's side and whispered in his ear, "Hear no word of any babbling fool. This Roland, though my stepson, is a babbling idiot. He thinks only of battle and his own glory. So brave and strong is he that he can protect himself and cares nothing for kinsmen or friends. Marsilius promises everything we could demand or secure, and what shall it profit us to sacrifice our noble soldiers in useless warfare when we can gain everything we seek by this bloodless surrender?" To others, also, the specious reasoning of Ganelon appealed, and so many joined in urging peace that at last Charles said, "Well and good; but who among you will bear to Marsilius my glove and staff and make the covenant with him?" Then Roland said, "If so be it that the king would have a messenger, send me." But Oliver straightway interfered. "Send Roland on a peaceful mission? He would only embroil us in further trouble. My hot-blooded friend has no skill in parleying. Send me, I pray you, my Lord the king." Others offered their services, and the king stroked his silvery beard in silent meditation. "No, neither of you, nor any who have yet offered, not even Archbishop 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 "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. 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 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." 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 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. |
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