Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages

Cunning Ganelon then said that he was sure that Iwo had his price, and might be induced to sell the brothers to the emperor. Karl tried the plan, and won Iwo to his side, on paying him a ton’s weight of gold.

This done, the faithless traitor went to Montalban, and said that he brought good news from Paris; he had persuaded the emperor to let bygones be bygones, and all would now be well if the four brothers would only go to Falkalone unarmed, and in the garb of penitents, and there beg forgiveness. The emperor had promised, Iwo said, to grant them a full pardon, and to restore them to their ancient dignities.

When the brothers were about to start for Falkalone, Clarissa entreated them to beware lest the message were a treacherous one, adding that she knew her father would sell his own child for gold. Reinold sternly told her she was an unnatural daughter, and bade her hold her peace. He then rode on; but Adelhart remained behind for a moment, and hid four swords, which his sister-in-law handed him, under the skirts of his penitent’s robe.

As the brothers were riding on their asses up the steep and narrow path that led to Falkalone, they were set upon by an armed band of warriors. Adelhart divided the swords with which Clarissa had provided him, and they defended themselves so well, that the count of Châlons, fearful of losing more men, determined to draw a cordon round the place where the brothers had taken their stand, and starve them out.

The four weary men sat down to rest. They looked anxiously all round to see whether help would not come. The hot day was over, and evening coming on apace, when all at once they saw a well-known banner on the opposite hill. It was waved by a horseman who was galloping towards them, accompanied by a small band of armed men. Reinold immediately recognised his Bayard, and his cousin the necromancer.

The battle at once began in the plain below. Before it had lasted long, Bayard had caught sight of its master; with a loud neigh of pleasure the noble horse broke through the enemy’s ranks and galloped up to Reinold. Malagis dismounted, threw his cousin the reins, and at the same time handed him his sword Flammberg, which Clarissa had sent. Reinold flung himself into the saddle, and rode down to the place of combat, followed by his brothers, who had in the meantime caught some of the riderless chargers that were flying from the field. The brothers gained a glorious victory, and the count of Châlons only succeeded in saving the remnant of his forces by retreating under cover of the darkness.

“Who told the magician? Who is the traitor?” cried the emperor, when he heard what had happened.

After many conjectures had been hazarded, every one came to the conclusion that none other than Iwo had betrayed the true state of matters to Malagis, and one of the courtiers added that the prince of Tarasconia had taken refuge in the monastery of Beaurepart. Upon which the emperor said grimly, that even the walls of the sanctuary should not protect him from his vengeance, and immediately despatched Roland to capture Iwo, and see him hanged.

When Reinold first returned to Montalban, it was his firm intention to punish his father-in-law’s treachery with death; but Clarissa’s entreaties prevailed, and he promised to spare him. It was for fear of his vengeance that Iwo had taken refuge in the monastery. He never thought of the emperor turning against him. Reinold did not hide his satisfaction when he learnt that Karl had sent to take Iwo out of the monastery, that he might hang him at Monfaucon. But Clarissa was much troubled in spirit when her husband told her the news.

“Ah, my baby,” she said, bending over her child, “perhaps you will grow up to be a hero like your father, and then people will point at you and say, ‘Yes, he is very brave, and a true hero; but still, he is the grandson of a man who died on the gallows,’ and then you will creep away from the assembly of noble men, and try to hide your shame in the wilderness.”

Reinold sat for some minutes in thoughtful silence; then springing to his feet, he kissed his wife, and said:

“You are as wise and good as one of God’s angels. The traitor shall be saved.”

He hastened to the stable, mounted his horse, and galloped away to the forest of Monfaucon. There he found Iwo standing at the gallows with the cord round his neck. Reinold knocked down one of the executioners, cut the cord round Iwo’s neck, exclaiming, “Be off, you rascal, lest you be hanged after all,” and then beat back the other executioner, who would have recaptured the prince of Tarasconia. Count Roland now came to the rescue, but was soon forced to measure his length upon the ground, and Reinold rode away, saying, “It was your horse’s fault, good cousin, not yours.”

Several of the paladins, who had witnessed the short combat between the heroes, began to make jesting remarks about what had occurred. Roland had never been unhorsed before, except once or twice by Oliver, and he took the matter grievously to heart. He rode away in silence; not to Paris, but in the direction of Montalban, that he might seek vengeance for his overthrow.

As he was riding through a wood, he met a man with a crossbow, who was shooting a deer, and at once recognised him to be Richard, Reinold’s brother. He took him prisoner, and in spite of Richard’s remonstrances, and his reminders of their relationship, took him to Paris, and delivered him to the emperor. Karl was delighted at the lucky chance, at once condemned Richard to be hung at Monfaucon, and asked which of his paladins would undertake the task of seeing the sentence carried out. They all refused, saying that hanging was not a seemly death for a knight to die. At length Rype, a new-made knight, offered his services to the emperor. A pious pilgrim who was present at the discussion, begged that execution might be delayed until he had had time to pray for the weal of the poor sinner at St. Denys.

But instead of going to St. Denys, the holy man went to Montalban, and told Reinold all that had happened, bidding him make haste if he would arrive at Monfaucon in time to save Richards life. Having said this, Malagis—for the pilgrim was none other than he—went to the kitchen to ask for some food, for he was tired and hungry after his long and arduous journey on foot.

Reinold, Adelhart, Wichart, and their men soon reached the gallows at Monfaucon. There was no one there, so they stretched themselves out on the grass and fell asleep. When Rype came with his prisoner, they were still asleep; but Bayard, hearing them, awoke his master with a kick. In another moment the brothers had fallen upon the imperial troops, whom they soon put to flight. They then set Richard free, and hung Rype with the same rope he had brought for his prisoner.

The emperor, finding that all his former attempts to avenge his son’s death had been in vain, determined on a new plan of action. He called out a large army, and marched to lay siege to Montalban.

The fortress was strictly invested. The besieged ventured on making an occasional sally on the enemy without the walls, for the purpose of getting provisions, etc. Much blood was shed on either side, but nothing decisive took place. The siege went on for years, and neither party gave way. At length the garrison of Montalban began to feel the want of provisions, and Reinold made up his mind to a desperate step. He broke through the besiegers’ camp and carried off a number of provision wagons. Malagis had rendered such action possible by slipping out of the fortress unnoticed and sprinkling some of his sleeping powder over part of the camp. As he was about to scatter another pinch, he was seized by the collar, and, looking round, saw that it was strong Olivier, one of the twelve paladins, who was dragging him away. The rough attack had knocked the powder out of the necromancer’s hand, and it had fallen on the ground. Instead of laying his hand on his sword, the little man caught hold of the bag of hellebore snuff he had hidden within his garment, and threw a pinch into Olivier’s face. The hero sneezed and sneezed, and still he sneezed; but the more convulsively he sneezed, the tighter he clutched his prisoner, whom he at length dragged into the emperor’s presence.

“A-chew! your Highness!” he said and sneezed; “I bring you—a-chew!—the wicked-a-chew!—necromancer—a-chew!—do with him—a-chew!—as you will.” Here such an agony of sneezing came upon poor Olivier that he could say no more.

The emperor thanked and pitied the worthy paladin, and ordered that the magician should be bound, and guarded to Monfaucon, where he was to be hanged.

“Sire,” whimpered Malagis, “pray let me live this one more night, and let me have a good supper, for I have not tasted food for the last four and twenty hours.”

Meanwhile the paladins and many other knights had entered the royal tent. They one and all joined their entreaties to those of the poor little man. Seeing that the emperor seemed inclined to yield, Malagis said in a grave and solemn tone,—

“Your Majesty, I swear on my honour that I will not go away from here without your own consent, nor will I go unless you bear me company.”

Karl then promised to let him have the twenty-four hours’ grace, and several of the knights offered their services as guards.

The lords sat down to supper, and devoted their whole attention to the good food and wine that were set before them, while Malagis, curled up in a corner close at hand, appeared to do the same. When supper was over, the necromancer was taken to the place that was to serve him as prison, and the noble knights, who had undertaken to keep watch and ward, took up their places for the night.

At midnight Malagis had recourse to his knowledge of the black art. He made a deep magic sleep fall upon the camp, and all within its bounds, save and except himself. Then, stepping softly, he made his way to the emperor’s bedside, and dropped a few drops of some medicament into Karl’s mouth, which insured his sleep lasting for twelve good hours. After which he lifted him up, and carried him pickaback to the castle. The great gate was flung open at the sound of his well-known voice, and great was the astonishment of Reinold when he saw what burden he carried on his shoulders.

“Here is the pledge of peace,” said Malagis. “It has cost me much hard work to bring it here. See that my labour bears fruit.”

The emperor was carried to the best guest-room the castle contained, and the Lady Clarissa did all that lay in her power for the comfort of the great man.

Karl did not awake till noon. At first he thought he must be dreaming when he saw Reinold, Malagis, and strange servants about him. The truth dawned upon him gradually, and a bitter truth it was. Hunger forced him to accept the food Clarissa brought, though he would much rather not have eaten it. Reinold tried by every means in his power to induce the emperor to give up his plans of vengeance, and make peace with him. But his efforts were vain. Then it occurred to him that a proud, haughty nature, that could not be bent by harshness, was often softened by kindness. He set Kaiser Karl at liberty, and the emperor went away from Montalban without a word or sign that betokened reconciliation.

When Reinold re-entered the castle, he found his cousin Malagis burning boxes, bags, and all kinds of written papers. Much surprised, he asked what he was doing, and Malagis replied:

“I am burning all that the noble art of necromancy has taught me. I shall need these things no more, for my services are useless to such a madman as you. I am now going away into the wilderness to join the holy penitents, there I shall repent with them in sackcloth and ashes.”

He was as good as his word, for he took his departure soon afterwards, never to return.

When the emperor went back to his camp, he related all his adventures. The paladins one and all entreated him to make peace with the heroic brothers, but he refused, saying that his murdered son’s blood still cried aloud for vengeance. So the castle still remained beleaguered, and fortune seemed to have deserted the garrison with the departure of the little necromancer. The store of provisions grew less every day. Hunger stared the brave men in the face. Reinold, after much consideration, thought of a way of escape, and made all needful preparations. One evening, when darkness had begun to set in, he took leave of his weeping wife, and, accompanied by his brothers and a small band of determined men, made his way cautiously and silently through the enemy’s lines, and set out for a strong castle in the forest of Ardennes.

Next morning the emperor was told what had happened, and he did what Reinold had expected. He at once ordered the siege of Montalban to be raised, and started in pursuit of the fugitives. He soon came up with them, but they defended themselves so well, and took such wise measures to ensure their safety, that they succeeded in reaching the stronghold for which they were bound.

Death of Bayard and Reinold

The heroes fought as bravely as ever in defence of their new place of refuge, emboldened by the knowledge that their dear ones at Montalban were now free; but however courageous a man may be, hunger and disease are foes under whose attacks it is impossible to hold out for ever.

In the time of their sorest distress, Aya went to the imperial camp, and entreated her brother to have mercy on her children. The emperor refused to listen to her, and harshly bade her go out of his presence. But she returned again and again to the charge, and at last Karl said:

“Very well, listen to my offer, and let Reinold accept it if he will. The horse Bayard, that Malagis brought up out of hell, has done me more harm than any other creature, excepting Reinold himself. Now I will pardon your four sons, and restore their fiefs, if Reinold will give the brute to me, to be killed as I think best. I give you my word as an emperor that I will accept Bayard’s life in expiation of my son’s death.”

When Aya returned to the castle, and showed the parchment on which she had had the terms of the proposed treaty written out in full, Reinold refused to give up his dearest and most faithful friend.

“Think of your wife, your children, and your brothers—the gallows at Monfaucon are prepared—an inscription will be placed there that will be read by future generations: ‘He gave them all up to die a shameful death for the sake of a dumb animal.’”

“Mother,” cried the hero, and rushing up to Bayard, he fed his faithful friend with a last piece of bread, and, bursting into tears, threw his arms round its slender neck. The horse whinnied softly, and laid its head trustingly on his shoulder.

“I cannot do it, mother, I cannot do it,” cried Reinold. “Bayard and I must live and die together.”

“Very well, my son,” she said; “but remember that when all my children and grandchildren are hanging on the gallows, your mothers heart will break.”

“Mother,” he answered, in a strange, hollow voice, “have your will. You have conquered, but I shall not survive it.”

He then signed the treaty, and Aya returned with it to the imperial camp.

A crowd was assembled on the bridge in Paris, for the news had gone abroad that the famous Bayard was to be drowned. Kaiser Karl was there also with his paladins.

The noble horse was led to the middle of the bridge, with iron weights fastened to its feet, and at a signal was suddenly pushed over the edge, and fell with a splash into the Seine. In spite of the weights upon its legs, it rose to the surface, once, twice, thrice.

“That horse is the devil incarnate,” cried the emperor furiously. “Ha, Count Reinold, beware, its eyes are fixed on you; if you are keeping it alive by any enchantment, it will be the worse for you. I will tear up the treaty.”

With a low cry of terror Aya flung her arms round her son, drawing down his head, so that he did not see how Bayard rose a fourth time, and then, not seeing its master’s face, sank, to rise no more.

The hero felt that all his happiness was gone with Bayard. He thrust his mother aside, flung at the emperor’s feet the letters patent entitling him to his fiefs, and breaking his sword Flammberg, threw it into the Seine, muttering,—

“Lie there with my Bayard, and may God forget to be gracious to me, if I ever mount a horse or draw a sword again.”

Then he turned, and fled into the depths of the wild forest, until at last he sank exhausted on the ground. There he remained for two days and a night, overwhelmed and mad with misery.

After that he went home to Montalban. Meeting a pilgrim on the way, he gave him his golden spurs and all his ready money for his grey robes and felt hat.

Lady Clarissa wept when she heard the end of the noble horse, for she had loved Bayard; but she wept still more bitterly, when Reinold took leave of her for ever.

“Who will teach our sons,” she cried, “to be true knights and noble men, if you go and leave them thus?”

“Our cousin Count Roland will do so,” he answered, “and you will do your part, dear wife.” He kissed the tears from her eyes, and continued: “Accept no fief from Kaiser Karl. Go with our children to our own lands on the other side of the mountains. The tyrant has no power there, for the lands are your own. As for me, I am about to start on a pilgrimage to the grave of our Lord, to see whether I may find forgiveness. You will never see me again.”

Saying this, he tore himself away, and set out at once upon his long and toilsome journey.

Reinold went to the Holy Land, where he found a fierce war raging between the Christians and Infidels. He was true to his vow. He neither mounted a horse, nor wielded a sword; but still he fought like a hero with an enormous club, and helped in the taking of Jerusalem. After he had prayed at the Holy Sepulchre, he returned to his native land; but not to his wife and children, nor yet to his brothers, for he had died to all earthly ties and joys. He went to Cologne, where the cathedral was being built. There he lived a hard, ascetic life, and worked as a labourer at the building. He did not even stop working during the hour of rest in the middle of the day, although his wages were only a penny a day. This conduct aroused the anger of the stone-masons, so they rose in a body, killed him, and threw his body into the Rhine. But the river would not keep it, the corpse floated on the surface of the water, and was drawn to land by some pious souls. And now several miracles were wrought upon those who touched his body, which showed that he had been a holy man. The emperor, hearing of the wonders that had taken place, had the murderers tried and executed, and sent orders that the body of the saint should be brought to Aix-la-Chapelle (Aachen), or to Paris. No sooner was the body laid upon the cart which was to convey it, than the vehicle moved of its own accord, and rolled on and on, no matter how bad the roads, till it arrived at Dortmund in Westphalia, where it stopped, that being the spot the saint had evidently chosen as his last resting-place. The Reinaldi-Church at Dortmund was built in his honour.

The Legend gives the exact date of the miracle, 7th of January, 811.

II. ROLAND

Siege of Viane (Vienne)

Kaiser Karl had not been married very long. He held a great assembly of the notables. Count Gerhart appeared amongst the rest, for he expected that this would be the time chosen by the emperor to invest him with the promised fief of Viane (Vienne in France), and perhaps also with that of Burgundy. When he received the letters patent relating to the first of these, he stooped, and, in fulfilment of ancient custom, would have kissed the emperor’s foot; but he staggered, for the empress had stuck out her foot, which he involuntarily touched with his lips in falling.

“He must have drunk too much Burgundy before he would have kissed the foot of the Lady, whose rosy mouth he formerly disdained. Wine teaches humility,” murmured the courtiers.

Gerhart sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushing with anger. He waited in expectation of the second letter; but the emperor told him that he could not have the fief of Burgundy, for the empress, who was also the widow of the last duke, was strongly against it. The count took his leave with a low bow, and set out for Vienne, his heart boiling with rage. Arrived there, he called out his troops, and sent to ask his brother, the mighty lord of Apulia, for help against his sovereign. He knew that the emperor’s heart would henceforth be turned against him, for was not the empress that same widowed duchess of Burgundy whose proffered love he had rejected?

The brothers took the field at the head of a great army. With them came their younger brother Rainier, his son Olivier, a bold warrior, and his daughter Auda, who was marvellously beautiful, and brave as one of the Northern valkyrs.

Karl besieged the stronghold on the river Rhone where they had taken up their abode. The place seemed impregnable, for it was defended by brave men, rocks, and river. Sometimes the besiegers tried to take the citadel by storm, and sometimes part of the garrison would make an attack on the enemy beneath the walls. On such occasions, Auda would now and then accompany her friends dressed in full armour, and would fight with the best. Once when she had done so, she found that her opponent was none other than strong Roland. He disarmed her without even drawing his sword, and took her prisoner. Her brother Olivier, seeing what had happened, at once came to the rescue. While the heroes were engaged in single combat, Auda made good her escape, and took refuge in the castle, where she was soon afterwards joined by the rest of the party. The siege continued. The Lady Auda often stood on the battlements, and helped to fling stones on the heads of those warriors who came within reach of their missiles. One day Roland came with the rest, and, seeing the maiden, asked her name and parentage. When she had told him, and he had answered by informing her that he was Count Roland, a nephew of the emperor, he went on to say that he loved her, and would never cease to woo her, even though it were at the cost of his life. At this moment Olivier appeared, and flung a spear at him, upon which Roland challenged him to single combat on an island in the Rhone.

The heroes and their horses were ferried over the river to the island, and there they fought. Each of the combatants displayed the most heroic valour. At length, when evening was drawing on, a fleecy cloud hovered over them, and, coming between them, forced them apart. An angel wrapped in rosy light came out of the cloud, and said:

“Wherefore do you fight, Christian against Christian? Why would you shed a brother’s blood? I call upon you to be reconciled in the name of the Saviour who died upon the cross. Be of one heart and of one mind, and turn your arms against the adversaries of the true faith.”

The angel then waved a palm branch as a sign of farewell, and vanished.

The two men exchanged a hearty shake of the hand, and sat down to talk over matters of much moment to both of them. Before they separated, Olivier had promised to use his influence with his sister in Roland’s favour, and the latter had given his word to fight no more against Vienne, and its defenders.

Now the emperor was very fond of hunting, and used to go on many an expedition into the neighbouring country in search of game. On one such occasion he and his companions were attacked and hard pressed by a party of Viennese under the leadership of Olivier. At one moment it seemed as if Karl must lose his life in the struggle. Olivier, seeing this, protected him with his shield. When the combat was over, the emperor and Olivier had some talk together, and the former was so touched and pleased with the noble and generous disposition of the young man, that he not only promised to make peace, but to appoint Olivier one of his paladins, to forgive Gerhart, and to restore the fiefs he held under him.

There was great joy in Vienne and all the neighbouring country when the news of the peace was spread abroad. Smiling faces were everywhere to be seen, and happiest of all was perhaps Kaiser Karl himself. A few days later a time was fixed for the public betrothal of Roland and Auda. Great preparations were made, and all was done to make the day a joyful one.

While the heroes were sitting at the feast in the royal tent, messengers appeared from the banks of the Garonne, who brought the sad news that the Moorish king Eigoland had come from Africa with a large army of blacks, had fallen upon Gascony, and laid waste the country with fire and sword.