Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race Part 17

The Saracens Perish

Thus the battle continued, most valiantly contested by both sides, and the Saracens died by hundreds and thousands, till all their host lay dead but one man, who fled wounded, leaving the Frenchmen masters of the field, but in sorry plight--broken were their swords and lances, rent their hauberks, torn and blood-stained their gay banners and pennons, and many, many of their brave comrades lay lifeless. Sadly they looked round on the heaps of corpses, and their minds were filled with grief as they thought of their companions, of fair France which they should see no more, and of their emperor who even now awaited them while they fought and died for him. Yet they were not discouraged; loudly their cry re-echoed, "Montjoie! Montjoie!" as Roland cheered them on, and Turpin called aloud: "Our men are heroes; no king under heaven has better. It is written in the Chronicles of France that in that great land it is our king's right to have valiant soldiers."

A Second Saracen Army

While they sought in tears the bodies of their friends, the main army of the Saracens, under King Marsile in person, came upon them; for the one fugitive who had escaped had urged Marsile to attack again at once, while the Franks were still weary. The advice seemed good to Marsile, and he advanced at the head of a hundred thousand men, whom he now hurled against the French in columns of fifty thousand at a time; and they came on right valiantly, with clarions sounding and trumpets blowing.

"'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin, 'Be ye valiant and steadfast, For this day shall crowns be given you Midst the flowers of Paradise.

In the name of G.o.d our Saviour, Be ye not dismayed nor frighted, Lest of you be shameful legends Chanted by the tongue of minstrels.

Rather let us die victorious, Since this eve shall see us lifeless!-- Heaven has no room for cowards!

Knights, who n.o.bly fight, and vainly, Ye shall sit amid the holy In the blessed fields of Heaven.

On then, Friends of G.o.d, to glory!'"

And the battle raged anew, with all the odds against the small handful of French, who knew they were doomed, and fought as though they were "fey."[13]

Gloomy Portents

Meanwhile the whole course of nature was disturbed. In France there were tempests of wind and thunder, rain and hail; thunderbolts fell everywhere, and the earth shook exceedingly. From Mont St. Michel to Cologne, from Besancon to Wissant, not one town could show its walls uninjured, not one village its houses unshaken. A terrible darkness spread over all the land, only broken when the heavens split asunder with the lightning-flash. Men whispered in terror: "Behold the end of the world! Behold the great Day of Doom!" Alas! they knew not the truth: it was the great mourning for the death of Roland.

Many French Knights Fall

In this second battle the French champions were weary, and before long they began to fall before the valour of the newly arrived Saracen n.o.bles. First died Engelier the Gascon, mortally wounded by the lance of that Saracen who swore brotherhood to Ganelon; next Samson, and the n.o.ble Duke Anseis. These three were well avenged by Roland and Oliver and Turpin. Then in quick succession died Gerin and Gerier and other valiant Peers at the hands of Grandoigne, until his death-dealing career was cut short by Durendala. Another desperate single combat was won by Turpin, who slew a heathen emir "as black as molten pitch."

The Second Army Defeated

Finally this second host of the heathens gave way and fled, begging Marsile to come and succour them; but now of the victorious French there were but sixty valiant champions left alive, including Roland, Oliver, and the fiery prelate Turpin.

A Third Appears

Now the third host of the pagans began to roll forward upon the dauntless little band, and in the short breathing-s.p.a.ce before the Saracens again attacked them Roland cried aloud to Oliver:

"'Fair Knight and Comrade, see these heroes, Valiant warriors, lying lifeless!

I must mourn for our fair country France, left widowed of her barons.

Charles my King, why art thou absent?

Brother mine, how shall we send him Mournful tidings of our struggle?'

'How I know not,' said his comrade.

'Better death than vile dishonour.'"

Roland Willing to Blow his Horn

"'Comrade, I will blow my war-horn: Charles will hear it in the pa.s.ses And return with all his army.'

Oliver quoth: ''Twere disgraceful To your kinsmen all their life-days.

When I urged it, then you would not; Now, to sound your horn is shameful, And I never will approve it.'"

Oliver Objects. They Quarrel

"'See, the battle goes against us: Comrade, I shall sound my war-horn.'

Oliver replied: 'O coward!

When I urged it, then you would not.

If fair France again shall greet me You shall never wed my sister; By this beard of mine I swear it!'

"'Why so bitter and so wrathful?'

Oliver returned: ''Tis thy fault; Valour is not kin to madness, Temperance knows naught of fury.

You have killed these n.o.ble champions, You have slain the Emperor's va.s.sals, You have robbed us of our conquests.

Ah, your valour, Count, is fatal!

Charles must lose his doughty heroes, And your league with me must finish With this day in bitter sorrow.'"

Turpin Mediates

Archbishop Turpin heard the dispute, and strove to calm the angry heroes. "Brave knights, be not so enraged. The horn will not save the lives of these gallant dead, but it will be better to sound it, that Charles, our lord and emperor, may return, may avenge our death and weep over our corpses, may bear them to fair France, and bury them in the sanctuary, where the wild beasts shall not devour them." "That is well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.

The Horn is Blown

Then at last Roland put the carved ivory horn, the magic Olifant, to his lips, and blew so loudly that the sound echoed thirty leagues away. "Hark! our men are in combat!" cried Charlemagne; but Ganelon retorted: "Had any but the king said it, that had been a lie."

A second time Roland blew his horn, so violently and with such anguish that the veins of his temples burst, and the blood flowed from his brow and from his mouth. Charlemagne, pausing, heard it again, and said: "That is Roland's horn; he would not sound it were there no battle." But Ganelon said mockingly: "There is no battle, for Roland is too proud to sound his horn in danger. Besides, who would dare to attack Roland, the strong, the valiant, great and wonderful Roland? No man. He is doubtless hunting, and laughing with the Peers. Your words, my liege, do but show how old and weak and doting you are. Ride on, sire; the open country lies far before you."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Charlemagne heard it again"]

When Roland blew the horn for the third time he had hardly breath to awaken the echoes; but still Charlemagne heard. "How faintly comes the sound! There is death in that feeble blast!" said the emperor; and Duke Naimes interrupted eagerly: "Sire, Roland is in peril; some one has betrayed him--doubtless he who now tries to beguile you! Sire, rouse your host, arm for battle, and ride to save your nephew."

Ganelon Arrested

Then Charlemagne called aloud: "Hither, my men. Take this traitor Ganelon and keep him safe till my return." And the kitchen folk seized the felon knight, chained him by the neck, and beat him; then, binding him hand and foot, they flung him on a sorry nag, to be borne with them till Charles should demand him at their hands again.

Charles Returns

With all speed the whole army retraced their steps, turning their faces to Spain, and saying: "Ah, if we could find Roland alive what blows we would strike for him!" Alas! it was too late! Too late!

How lofty are the peaks, how vast and shadowy the mountains! How dim and gloomy the pa.s.ses, how deep the valleys! How swift the rushing torrents! Yet with headlong speed the Frankish army hastens back, with trumpets sounding in token of approaching help, all praying G.o.d to preserve Roland till they come. Alas! they cannot reach him in time!

Too late. Too late!

Roland Weeps for his Comrades

Now Roland cast his gaze around on hill and valley, and saw his n.o.ble va.s.sals and comrades lie dead. As a n.o.ble knight he wept for them, saying:

"'Fair Knights, may G.o.d have mercy on your souls!