A Book of Myths
held to their idols, worshipped "Mahommed, Apollo, and Termagaunt,"
and looked forward with horror to a day when the mighty Charlemagne
might, by the power of the sword, thrust upon them the worship of the
crucified Christ. Ere Charlemagne had returned to his own land,
Marsile held a council with his peers. To believe that the great
conqueror would rest content with Saragossa still unconquered was too
much to hope for. Surely he would return to force his religion upon
them. What, then, was it best to do? A very wily emir was Blancandrin,
brave in war, and wise in counsel, and on his advice Marsile sent
ambassadors to Charlemagne to ask of him upon what conditions he would
be allowed to retain his kingdom in peace and to continue to worship
the gods of his fathers. Mounted on white mules, with silver saddles,
and with reins of gold, and bearing olive branches in their hands,
Blancandrin and the ten messengers sent by Marsile arrived at Cordova,
where Charlemagne rested with his army. Fifteen thousand tried
veterans were with him there, and his "Douzeperes"--his Twelve
Peers--who were to him what the Knights of the Round Table were to
King Arthur of Britain. He held his court in an orchard, and under a
great pine tree from which the wild honeysuckle hung like a fragrant
canopy, the mighty king and emperor sat on a throne of gold.
The messengers of Marsile saw a man of much more than ordinary stature
and with the commanding presence of one who might indeed conquer
kingdoms, but his sword was laid aside and he watched contentedly the
contests between the older of his knights who played chess under the
shade of the fruit trees, and the fencing bouts of the younger
warriors. Very dear to him were all his Douzeperes, yet dearest of all
was his own nephew, Roland. In him he saw his own youth again, his own
imperiousness, his reckless gallantry, his utter fearlessness--all
those qualities which endeared him to the hearts of other men. Roland
was his sister's son, and it was an evil day for the fair Bertha when
she told her brother that, in spite of his anger and scorn, she had
disobeyed his commands and had wed the man she loved, Milon, a poor
young knight.
No longer would Charlemagne recognise her as sister, and in obscurity
and poverty Roland was born. He was still a very tiny lad when his
father, in attempting to ford a flooded river, was swept down-stream
and drowned, and Bertha had no one left to fend for her and for her
child. Soon they had no food left, and the little Roland watched with
amazed eyes his famished mother growing so weak that she could not
rise from the bed where she lay, nor answer him when he pulled her by
the hand and tried to make her come with him to seek his father and to
find something to eat. And when he saw that it was hopeless, the child
knew that he must take his father's place and get food for the mother
who lay so pale, and so very still. Into a great hall where
Charlemagne and his lords were banqueting Roland strayed. Here was
food in plenty! Savoury smelling, delicious to his little empty
stomach were the daintily cooked meats which the Emperor and his court
ate from off their silver platters. Only one plateful of food such as
this must, of a surety, make his dear mother strong and well once
more. Not for a moment did Roland hesitate. Even as a tiny sparrow
darts into a lion's cage and picks up a scrap almost out of the
monarch's hungry jaws, so acted Roland. A plateful of food stood
beside the King. At this Roland sprang, seized it with both hands, and
joyfully ran off with his prey. When the serving men would have caught
him, Charlemagne, laughing, bade them desist.
"A hungry one this," he said, "and very bold."
So the meal went on, and when Roland had fed his mother with some
pieces of the rich food and had seen her gradually revive, yet another
thought came to his baby mind.
"My father gave her wine," he thought. "They were drinking wine in
that great hall. It will make her white cheeks red again."
Thus he ran back, as fast as his legs could carry him, and Charlemagne
smiled yet more when he saw the beautiful child, who knew no fear,
return to the place where he had thieved. Right up to the King's chair
he came, solemnly measured with his eye the cups of wine that the
great company quaffed, saw that the cup of Charlemagne was the most
beautiful and the fullest of the purple-red wine, stretched out a
daring little hand, grasped the cup, and prepared to go off again,
like a marauding bright-eyed bird. Then the King seized in his own
hand the hand that held the cup.
"No! no! bold thief," he said, "I cannot have my golden cup stolen
from me, be it done by ever so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent thee
out to steal?"
And Roland, an erect, gallant, little figure, his hand still in the
iron grip of the King, fearlessly and proudly gazed back into the eyes
of Charlemagne.
"No one sent me," he said. "My mother lay very cold and still and
would not speak, and she had said my father would come back no more,
so there was none but me to seek her food. Give me the wine, I say!
for she is so cold and so very, very white"--and the child struggled
to free his hand that still held the cup.
"Who art thou, then?" asked Charlemagne.
"My name is Roland--let me go, I pray thee," and again he tried to
drag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:
"Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a clever
thief."
Then anger blazed in Roland's eyes.
"My mother is a lady of high degree!" he cried, "and I am her page,
her cupbearer, her knight! I do not speak false words!"--and he would
have struck the King for very rage.
Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked--"Who is this child?"
And one made answer: "He is the son of thy sister Bertha, and of Milon
the knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone."
Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he found
that his sister had so nearly died of want, and from that day she
never knew aught but kindness and tenderness from him, while Roland
was dear to him as his own child.
He was a Douzepere now, and when the envoys from Saragossa had
delivered their message to Charlemagne, he was one of those who helped
to do them honour at a great feast that was held for them in a
pavilion raised in the orchard.
Early in the morning Charlemagne heard mass, and then, on his golden
throne under the great pine, he sat and took counsel with his
Douzeperes. Not one of them trusted Marsile, but Ganelon, who had
married the widowed Bertha and who had a jealous hatred for his
step-son--so beloved by his mother, so loved and honoured by the
King--was ever ready to oppose the counsel of Roland. Thus did he
persuade Charlemagne to send a messenger to Marsile, commanding him to
deliver up the keys of Saragossa, in all haste to become a Christian,
and in person to come and, with all humility, pay homage as vassal to
Charlemagne.
Then arose the question as to which of the peers should bear the
arrogant message. Roland, ever greedy for the post of danger,
impetuously asked that he might be chosen. But Charlemagne would have
neither him nor his dear friend and fellow-knight, Oliver--he who was
the Jonathan of Roland's David--nor would he have Naismes de Baviere,
nor Turpin, "the chivalrous and undaunted Bishop of Rheims." He could
not afford to risk their lives, and Marsile was known to be
treacherous. Then he said to his peers:
"Choose ye for me whom I shall send. Let it be one who is wise;
brave, yet not over-rash, and who will defend mine honour valiantly."
Then Roland, who never knew an ungenerous thought, quickly said:
"Then, indeed, it must be Ganelon who goes, for if he goes, or if he
stays, you have none better than he."
And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said to
Ganelon:
"Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voice
of all the Franks have given to thee."
But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be an
honour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:
"You and your friends have sent me to my death!" he cried. "But if by
a miracle I should return, look you to yourself, Roland, for assuredly
I shall be revenged!"
And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:
"I had taken thee for another man, Ganelon. Gladly will I take thy
place. Wilt give me the honour to bear thy staff and glove to
Saragossa, sire?" And eagerly he looked Charlemagne in the face--eager
as, when a child, he had craved the cup of wine for his mother's sake.
But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.
"Ganelon must go," he said, "for so have I commanded. Go! for the
honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor."
Thus, sullenly and unwillingly, and with burning hatred against
Roland in his heart, Ganelon accompanied the Saracens back to
Saragossa. A hate so bitter was not easy to hide, and as he rode
beside him the wily Blancandrin was not long in laying a probing
finger on this festering sore. Soon he saw that Ganelon would pay even
the price of his honour to revenge himself upon Roland and on the
other Douzeperes whose lives were more precious than his in the eyes
of Charlemagne. Yet, when Saragossa was reached, like a brave man and
a true did Ganelon deliver the insulting message that his own brain
had conceived and that the Emperor, with magnificent arrogance, had
bidden him deliver. And this he did, although he knew his life hung
but by a thread while Marsile and the Saracen lords listened to his
words. But Marsile kept his anger under, thinking with comfort of what
Blancandrin had told him of his discovery by the way. And very soon he
had shown Ganelon how he might be avenged on Roland and on the friends
of Roland, and in a manner which his treachery need never be known,
and very rich were the bribes that he offered to the faithless knight.
Thus it came about that Ganelon sold his honour, and bargained with
the Saracens to betray Roland and his companions into their hands in
their passage of the narrow defiles of Roncesvalles. For more than
fifty pieces of silver Marsile purchased the soul of Ganelon, and when
this Judas of the Douzeperes returned in safety to Cordova, bringing
with him princely gifts for Charlemagne, the keys of Saragossa, and
the promise that in sixteen days Marsile would repair to France to do
homage and to embrace the Christian faith, the Emperor was happy
indeed. All had fallen out as he desired. Ganelon, who had gone forth
in wrath, had returned calm and gallant, and had carried himself
throughout his difficult embassy as a wise statesman and a brave and
loyal soldier.
"Thou hast done well, Ganelon," said the king. "I give thanks to my
God and to thee. Thou shalt be well rewarded."
The order then was speedily given for a return to France, and for ten
miles the great army marched before they halted and encamped for the
night. But when Charlemagne slept, instead of dreams of peace he had
two dreams which disturbed him greatly. In the first, Ganelon roughly
seized the imperial spear of tough ash-wood and it broke into
splinters in his hand. In the next, Charlemagne saw himself attacked
by a leopard and a bear, which tore off his right arm, and as a
greyhound darted to his aid he awoke, and rose from his couch heavy at
heart because of those dreams of evil omen.
In the morning he held a council and reminded his knights of the
dangers of the lonely pass of Roncesvalles. It was a small oval plain,
shut in all round, save on the south where the river found its outlet,
by precipitous mountain ridges densely covered with beech woods.
Mountains ran sheer up to the sky above it, precipices rushed sheer
down below, and the path that crossed the crest of the Pyrenees and