FIERABRAS
NATIONAL LEGEND
FROM A 12th CENTURY CHANSON DE GESTE
MODERN FRENCH BY MARY LAFON, 1857
ENGLISH TRANSLATION BY NOL DREK, 2023
CHAPTER 1 - OLIVER
The Emperor of France had raised his banner, and from Flanders, Spain,
Germany, and from Friesland, Brittany, and Lombardy, his valiant
knights had immediately come. The army of Charlemagne found itself
assembled in the meadows of Hurbaria and their tents and pavilions
with golden heads covered a league and a half of ground. There was
Duke Renier with his bravest men, lord Simonel in good company, and
Gerard of Vienne surrounded by all his barons.
It was to the latter that Charlemagne gave the command that
year. Unfortunately, he had been less well inspired by welcoming a race
that God curses, that of Ganelon, who always did treacherous deeds. The
host, beautiful and richly furnished, rode so long from morning to
evening that they passed towns and villages, and entering the heathen
land, left nothing standing there. They took Constantinople and all
the land that depends on it. Then they passed on, after having left a
good garrison there. Roland led the vanguard composed of young barons,
with the valiant Oliver to whom Charlemagne had entrusted the banner
of Saint-Denis, Ogier the Dane and his peers, and Richard of Normandy.
The Emperor brought up the rear, followed by his white-headed old
comrades-in-arms with flowery chests.
All ride with ardor, determined to shed every last drop of
their blood to conquer Christ's crown of thorns and the holy shroud
which enveloped him, but before the sun of the next day has set,
Charlemagne will be in mourning and wrath, for a Turk of Margoyle saw
our shining lances and ran in terror to the Emir's palace. "Oh! Lord,"
he cried, "how deceived you are! Behold, the Emperor of France has just
invaded your land, where he has set everything to fire and sword. He is
encamped in the valleys of Marimonde with so many armed barons and
vassals, that no man born of a mother has ever seen such a great
gathering."
At these words, Fierabras turns black with anger. He grinds his
teeth and frowns with such a terrible look that even the pagans were
terrified. "My weapons! My horse!" he shouted in a voice trembling
with fury, "and you others, take your lances, because I swear by
Mahomet, who has my heart, not to draw reins until I have discovered
these Frenchmen!"
At these words, Fierabras jumps on his horse without touching
the stirrups. He was a free courser from Spain, of noble stock and well
trained. With his hooves and teeth, he had killed more than sixty men
in battle. Fierabras would not have traded him for all the gold ten
cities could hold. He galloped off at the head of his pagans, and when
he was on the mountain from which Constantinople can be seen, he saw
that everything was indeed ravaged and destroyed. Of all his
Mussulmans, only one fugitive remained, who fell pale and bleeding at
the feet of his horse.
Quivering with rage at the sight, Fierabras swears by the
prophet that, if he can find Charlemagne in the woods or in the valley,
he will knock his head off with a stroke of his sharp sword, that he
will sow on the grass the brains of Roland and will send his head and
that of Oliver to the beautiful Floripar. Then he girds his three swords
Florence, Baptism, and Garamante, and, steadying himself on his ivory
saddle, hangs from his neck his shield of steel wrought with gold, the
fifteen points of which were adorned with diamonds more radiant than
flame. Attached to his saddle tree were barrels full of the balm with
which Jesus Christ was anointed, a balm which immediately healed the
most dangerous wounds, and, spurring his horse as swift as a
sparrowhawk, he galloped towards Marimonde. There, after crossing the
water at a ford covered with wood, he lies in ambush with a hundred
thousand men in the forest which Charlemagne must cross.
At dawn, in fact, the Emperor broke camp. The tents are folded,
the pack animals are loaded, the French arm themselves, and the host
sets off. The Emperor then called Roland, his nephew, the brave Count
Oliver, the Duke Beuves of Chartres, the Lord Naimon of Bavaria, the
brave Thierri of the Ardennes, Bérard of Montdidier, Arnaud of Fréjus
and Renier his brother, and a crowd of other counts whom I have not
the leisure to name, and he said to them, "Barons, I have just heard
that the pagans are guarding the ford. Advance with caution and do not
allow yourself to be surprised by these perfidious Saracens."
"Lord," replied Oliver, "I will guide the vanguard today, if
such is your good pleasure, claiming only this honor as the price of my
services."
"Faith," said the Emperor, "I would seek no other, for I could
not find anyone better."
"Sire," continued Andrieu, father of Ganelon, "he should go as
far as possible and show his prowess as a good knight." Then the
traitor murmurs between his teeth, "God forbid we ever see you again!"
Meanwhile Oliver mounts his bay horse and leaves with seven
thousand knights, who spread over the plain and left no house unburned
nor any tree standing. While the foragers were still going and had
already made a journey of fourteen leagues, Galot of Monroquier, whom
Fierabras had sent to scout ahead, ran back to the emir, and this was
the news he brought him. "Charlemagne," he said, quite agitated, "has
just crossed the valley of Gongomier; tomorrow he will want to cross
that of Marimonde! All the Saracens he meets he puts to the sword. He
says he will flay your father, the Almiran, alive, that after burning
him, he will throw his ashes to the wind, that he will take back the
relics conquered by us long ago in Rome, and will smash the idol of
our god Mahomet to a thousand pieces."
Hearing these words, Fierabras shook his head, and his
contracted features expressed such rage that the trembling Saracens
dared not meet his gaze. Without further ado, he put fifty thousand men
in ambush in the forest and rushed with an equal number of horsemen to
meet Oliver.
The noble baron had done his job bravely. At the head of his
seven thousand knights, he had just opened a passage at the point of
lances and taken the castle of Marimonde, which they found full of herd
animals and booty. Chasing the Saracens before them like timid deer,
and laden with their spoils, they advanced proudly, when they met
other Saracens who, armed with their arrows and their curved sabers,
came running up screaming like madmen.
On seeing each other, the two armies uttered loud cries and,
challenging each other, charged with rage. There they traded good
blows with lance and sword, and there were many a split shield and
many a broken hauberk. Oliver cut them down like a reaper cuts down
wheat, and they fell everywhere like the rain of May or June.
Brandishing his long javelin, a pagan of gigantic size
encouraged the Saracens and valiantly defended the pass. Oliver saw
this devil who terrified everyone, and, turning his horse, he ran with
his lance lowered and attacked him again and again. The Mussulman
rolled on the ground, bloody and black. More than seven hundred
Frenchmen then passed over his corpse, which was split open by the iron
hooves of the horses.
It did not take too much to terrify the pagans. Here they are,
retreating and fleeing over mountains and through valleys, closely
pressed by Oliver, who can be seen in front of his men, riding at full
speed and holding Hauteclere in his fist by the nielloed gold pommel.
Of the fifty thousand who had come, scarcely twenty thousand
escaped. The whole way was covered with armor and corpses. When Oliver
halted to collect the booty and wait for the army, he expected to have
time to let his men eat and rest, but it happened otherwise. While the
vassals were killing the cattle they had captured, a messenger covered
in blood arrives at the Saracens' camp and cries hoarsely, "Esclamar
of Damietta, you and your men mount your horses, and waste no time! A
baron of France called Oliver has just passed through Constantinople
at the head of seven thousand knights, and he has sacked and
devastated more than ten leagues of good country!"
At this news, Esclamar almost lost his senses. "Coward," he
said to the Saracen, "do you think I am afraid of those French barons?
By Mahomet, my god who will judge us all, if I could not avenge the
dead and recover the spoils, I would be a very despicable leader! Let
us go!" He shouted at the same time to his men, "Arm yourselves
immediately and see where these airy banners of France are flying!
Remember to strike well, sons of believers, for by Mahomet, the only
true prophet, if I see someone fleeing, I will burn him alive or hang
him mercilessly in the wind! I do not want Fierabras to be able to
reproach me for fleeing or retreating before the French."
"Lord," replied the Saracens, "you will be pleased with us."
The pagans mount their horses and depart with ardor. May God
now remember Oliver and ours!
CHAPTER 2 - ROLAND
Followed by fifty thousand riders mounted on Arab horses which run
faster than a partridge flies, Esclamar descends towards Marimonde and
meets Oliver in the middle of the gardens. In the blink of an eye, he
measured his strengths and makes his plan. He divided his cavalry into
five corps, each of ten thousand men, and descended on the French to
the sound of more than four hundred trumpets.
Ours, covering themselves with their shields and drawing their
swords, bravely received the shock, which was nevertheless so terrible
that it could be heard more than a league away. Oliver, leaving the
reins to his horse, had struck Amaravis so roughly that he had planted
in his body, from one side through to the other side, the iron and the
wood of his lance. The Saracen fell on the grass, and Oliver, snatching
his lance and pennon from the body with joy, began to shout proudly,
"Montjoie! The banner of Saint Denis!..."
At this cry, Esclamar rode up on his horse, black as the
darkness, and he answered him by killing Gautier with one blow. Then he
also struck down Reynold of Saint Denis, and exclaimed, brandishing his
scimitar, "Marimonde! Marimonde! Strike, valiant horsemen, and the
French are defeated!... and Charlemagne, the old man with the flowery
beard, will be sorrowful in his soul!..."
This challenge was heard by Oliver, who knows the Saracen well.
He runs to attack him with his haughty sword and strikes him, but does
not injure him because the pagan spurs his horse with both heels and
runs away. The valiant earl then vented his wrath on the son of
Arapatis, to whom, with a blow of his very well burnished sword, he
split his head in two, in spite of the helmet and steel cap. Condrant
and Opine the grey-haired suffered the same fate. In a short time, he
had cut to pieces about sixty of these disbelievers. Then, pausing to
catch his breath, he exclaimed, "Montjoie! Montjoie! Saint Denis!
Strike, French knights! Put to death all these accursed people who
will not believe in the God who was crucified on Calvary!"
Great was the battle and long it lasted. The French, fearing
nothing, struck vigorously. You would have seen them all covered with
brains and blood, and forming a rampart of steel with their swords.
There is no Saracen so richly armed that Oliver does not strike him
down lifeless, if he finds him in his path. With a single backhand from
Hauteclere, his sword with a nielloed gold hilt, he decapitated
Arserot, son of Brulhan of Montmirat's sister.
The head, enclosed in the helmet, falls on the grass, and the
trunk, remaining on the saddle as if he had been tied there and with
his clenched hands still holding the reins, is carried off by the
horse. This time the pagans recoil, fear overtakes them, and they say
to each other, "We are all going to be chopped up!"
They surely would have been, had the troops in the ambuscade
remained under the elm trees but, at the moment when the cursed ones
all fell apart, the fifty thousand men placed by Fierabras in the
forest suddenly appeared on the field of battle. Count Oliver saw them
come, and hastened to ask for help from heaven in these terms, "Holy
Mary, full of sweetness and pity, worthy and blessed flower from which
came our salvation, pray to the dear son whom you carried in your womb
to lend his strength for a moment to me and to my men!" After this
prayer, Oliver took his horn and sounded it loudly to rally his men.
Estimating their number at a glance, he found that he had less than a
thousand, several of those who remained were wounded, but they did not
stop saying to him, "Do not doubt us, lord. We will fight like the
others!"
Oliver wept for joy at these words, and, when he had thanked
God the king of majesty for it, he placed himself at the head of his
people, quickly spurred his horse, and swooped down on the enemy. The
fight and the carnage then began again on all sides. At the same
moment, here is Esclamar who returns unexpectedly, brandishing his
square iron lance wrapped in snakeskin, and who strikes Oliver with so
much force that he pierced his hauberk, more than twenty rings of his
mail fell into the meadow. The quilted tunic was not worth as much as
ten deniers.
With the force of the blow, he kissed his horse's mane and
nearly knocked him off his horse. He managed to stay in the saddle, but
a stream of crimson blood gushing from his left side immediately
reddened the saddle and the stirrups.
All pale and staggering, the Count withdrew for a moment from
the fight to bandage his wound with the cloth of his pennon and, as
soon as he thinks he has quenched the blood, firming himself in his
stirrups, he runs on Esclamar with high bridle and lowered spear.
He was so terrible that the pagans drew back a stroke,
murmuring, "This man is mad, or he is a devil escaped from hell!"
However, Oliver, riding without reins, meets Esclamar in the
middle of a passage and earns more praise for himself than if he had
conquered all the gold of ten cities. He only struck him once on his
pearl-encrusted helm, but the sword, slipping on the steel, shattered
the armor and disemboweled the Saracen.
Seeing him rolling on the ground, the Turks uttered loud cries
and rained down on our Frenchmen, who nevertheless gained more than an
acre of ground by pushing them back with a cloud of sharp, feathered
arrows and bolts. Unfortunately, the pagans surrounded them on all
sides, and they were thirty against one. It is therefore to be
believed that not one of ours would have returned, if a messenger had
not run to the host of Charlemagne, and had not apprised Roland, his
nephew, about what was happening.
At this news, Roland, who by good fortune was still armed,
jumps on Valentin. The old Duke Naimon hastened to follow him with ten
thousand men-at-arms. Many others volunteer to join them, Bérard of
Montdidier, Estout of Langres, and the scholar Turpin. The only ones
missing from the vanguard were Aloris and Aldrat, cousins of Ganelon,
who whispered their wishes to the devil that the succor would arrive
too late.
These impious wishes, thank heaven, were not to be granted.
Duke Roland, inflamed with anger to know that Oliver, his companion, is
in danger and wounded, rides at full speed accompanied by the French,
who carry their lances high and deploy their gonfanons. Seeing his men
so well disposed. Roland turned and shouted to them at the top of his
voice, before rushing into the fray, "Now, lords, strike hard!"
"We will," they all answered. And throwing themselves on the
pagans, they made them retreat an acre. In this charge, they cut
through the entire Muslim army, leaving the ground strewn with dead and
wounded. It was a pleasure to see, ahead and far in front of all the
others, Bérard of Montdidier, Guy of Burgundy, Archbishop Turpin, Count
Guilamar, and Estout, the baron without fear.
Roland, whom no one was ever ahead of, was even farther in
front, so he first met Oliver, who, seriously wounded, had his flanks
tied tight with a bloody belt. If the duke was hurting, he did not ask,
he began by reproaching his friend, like an angry man.
"By God, companion!" he said, "I have reason to be irritated
with you, who marched without me at the head of the vanguard. Know that
it is a mistake for which I cannot forgive you."
"Forgive me, however, sir," replied Oliver, "in the name of the
God who created us! I was wrong, I agree, and deserve the blame."
After these words, they turned against the Saracens, and,
running at them at a gallop, made their arms, hands, and heads fly over
the grass with blows from their swords.
The battle was over and the field gained, when twenty thousand
men arrived on one side to help the pagans, sent by Fierabras, and on
the other side were Brulhan of Montmirat and Tenas of Nubia, nephew of
the emir, who led twice as many horsemen armed with green helms and
adorned with pearls. May God therefore help our people and be good to
them, because they are going to have a hard battle!
All these accursed men, clad in iron, descend at a gallop from
the mountains and swoop down on the French who valiantly receive them.
Soon the plain was covered with new corpses. Oliver, by my faith,
avenged himself for his injury! Brandishing Hauteclere with the
shining pommel, he struck King Tribuat, nephew of Piadutz and slashed
him to the waist. Roland, meanwhile, was handling Durendal so well
that he mowed down the Turks by the hundreds.
But the number of enemies continued to grow. Soon each of our
people had three hundred to fight. Weakened by his wound, Oliver could
no longer raise his arm, and not a Frenchman would have returned to the
camp if Charlemagne had not come to their aid just in time. Suddenly
appearing with twenty thousand white-headed barons, who struck hard,
he made Joyeuse shine, and, after a terrible shock, the pagans fled
and regained the mountains, leaving twenty thousand of their fallen
under our sharp spears. The sun was setting at this moment, the shadow
was about to cover the countryside, and the Emperor sounded the
retreat.
Here are ours back in their tents. The barons are about to
disarm, and Charlemagne laments Oliver's wound. The son of Renier of
Genoa, indeed, is seriously sorry, he has lost so much blood that he
seems unrecognizable. His father, who adored him, disarmed him himself,
and five doctors come to stop the crimson blood flowing from his sides.
The doctors washed his side and immediately probed the wound. The
intestines had not been damaged, but the venom of the iron had
remained in the wound and irritated it so cruelly that Oliver could
not last and had to be put to bed and left alone in his tent.
Charlemagne, who loved him dearly, was saddened and angry to
the last degree. In his anger he lashed out sourly at the young
knights, and said aloud that they were not worth two beaten denier
coins, and that the old were better than the young. Imagine Roland's
fury at these words! He nearly said to his uncle, "You are lying!"
Inflamed with anger, he retired to his tent, and Charlemagne, sad and
gloomy, went to his pavilion.
CHAPTER 3 - THE CHALLENGE
No less furious at this moment was Fierabras of Alexandria. Hearing of
the death of Esclamar, of Tenas of Nubia, of the nephew of Piadutz,
and the massacre of his people who had left forty thousand corpses in
the valley, he grew pale with rage, swore by the prophet to avenge
himself for this disaster, and, springing on his good horse of Spain,
rode alone, with his swords and lance, to the tents of the French.
There will never be a more valiant jouster spoken of in the
world. He was already lord of the towers of Palermo when he stormed
Rome, ruined its walls, burned Saint Peter, put the pope, legates, and
cardinals to the sword, and led the inhabitants into slavery. Ready to
challenge all our people to avenge the affront of the day before, he
comes, clad in iron and proud of his big heart, to stop a little
before dawn in front of our pavilions.
At the whitening of dawn, Charlemagne goes to hear mass. Then
he calls his barons and says to them, "Eat quickly, because we have to
get moving again if we want to lodge tonight in the meadows of
Marimonde."
The horn immediately sounds everywhere. The tables are
covered, and counts and barons take their places side by side, but
before the pages have poured out the water for them to wash with, they
will have worry and surprise.
The morning meal over, Charlemagne exits his tent and sees a
richly armed Saracen at the top of a hill. It was Fierabras of
Alexandria, who, proudly positioned on his long-maned black horse,
cried out with all his voice, as soon as the first rays of the sun
struck the golden eagle of the imperial tent, "Where are you, King of
Paris? If you can hear me, send your best jousters here. Send Roland,
or Oliver who is so strong and so bold, or the bravest of your twelve
peers. By Mahomet, let six of them come together, I will not refuse
them! If he dares not respond to my challenge, tonight I will attack
him in your tent!"
Saying these words, he dismounted and lied down under a leafy
pine, after having disarmed himself, and repeated the challenge with
all the strength of his voice, which was loud and clear.
When Charlemagne heard him, he shook his head, and called
Richard of Normandy. "Lord Duke," he said, "hide nothing from me. Do
you know that Turk who shouted so loudly?"
"Sire," replied Richard, "he is the bravest man you have ever
heard of. Never was a braver Saracen born of a mother. He does not
take one denier of money from king nor count."
When Charlemagne heard this, he shook his head and said to
Roland, "Fair nephew, why aren't you going to joust over there?"
"Sire," replied Roland, "you are wrong to speak thus, for I
would rather be dismembered alive than take up arms. Remember what you
said yesterday when you came to help us with your white-bearded
warriors. Seeing the pagans fleeing with abandoned reins, you cried
out to us that the old knew how to strike better than the young. Also,
by the soul of my father, none of my companions will go there if they
value my friendship!"
"Beggar," said the Emperor, "do you dare insult me in this
way!" And with his right gauntlet wrought with gold, he struck Roland
in the face, so hard that blood spurted out.
Roland, furious, threw his hand to his sword, and if he had
not been held back, he would have dealt blow for blow with his uncle.
As the barons dragged him away, and the Emperor bent his head to think
of a champion who could oppose Fierabras, someone came to tell the
news to Oliver, the gentle baron who lay wounded in his tent.
The noble count was in so much pain that he almost lost his
mind. Rising with an effort, he tore a fold of his silk blanket,
bandaged his bleeding side, and called Garin his squire. He said, "Go
and fetch me my armor so that I can climb the hill where the Saracen
is."
"To displease God!" answered Garin the squire. "Do you want to
kill yourself? If you went out like this, you would not come back."
"It does not matter, vassal," replied Oliver. "No one should
exaggerate their value, but I am honored by Charlemagne, and I will
defend his right as long as I have a breath of life! It is when he is
in need or peril that a man's friendship is tested. So go without
further ado and bring me my armor."
"I will, Lord," Garin continued, "but in spite of myself and
with great regret that I cannot hold you back."
He obeyed these words, and the son of Renier of Genoa armed
himself. Garin put on his iron chausses, laced his helm and hauberk,
and when he had girded Hauteclere, his beloved sword, he brought him
his white Auferan from Spain. Oliver made the sign of the cross over
the destrier with his hand, hung his shield from his collar by its
silk strap, and, seizing the sharp spear held out by Garin, he mounted
himself with such vigor that the horse bent beneath him.
Then taking leave of his squire and commending himself to God
with a sign of the cross, he went straight to the imperial pavilion
where were the Duke Naimon, the Scotsman Guilamar, Count Roland,
pensive and angry, and the flower of the French barons. There, in
front of Charlemagne, he pulled the reins and said, "Emperor of
France, it has been more than three years since I took company with
Roland the Brave, and I have not received during this time from your
hands one denier of money. Now please give me my reward."
"I swear it," replied the Emperor, "by my gray mustache! On my
return to France, ask for a city, a town, or a rich treasure, nothing
will be refused to you."
"Sire," said Oliver, "give me battle with this pagan, and I
consider myself amply paid for my service."
When the French heard him speak thus, they all cried out
together, "Lady Saint Mary! What is Oliver thinking? He is mortally
wounded and wants to fight!..."
"Oliver," said Charlemagne, "have you lost your senses? Your
wounds are still bleeding and you want to return to combat! Go, good
friend. Go back to bed in your tent, for I am sure that by riding here
you have aggravated your wound. Go, I will not let you fight for the
gold of ten cities!"
At these words rose Aldrat and Ganelon, God curse the wicked
felons! Three years later they betrayed their peers and died,
convicted traitors, an infamous death.
"Sire," said Ganelon, "listen to this. You have granted us or
France the right to pass judgment. We therefore both judge that Oliver
will make the battle with the pagan."
Hearing this, the great Charlemagne turned pale. Then he cast
an angry look on Ganelon and exclaimed, "Ganelon! May the Lord punish
you and dishonor your lineage for this perfidious judgment! I swear,
by his divinity and his holy trinity, that if Oliver is caught or
killed in this fight, I will hang you as a thief and deprive your
people of all their fiefs!"
"Sire," resumed the traitor, "God save us from such
misfortune!" Then he added between his teeth, "The King of Majesty
forbid that Oliver reappears here!"
During this time, the Emperor was saying to the son of Renier
of Genoa, "May God have mercy on you today, Oliver, against the
renegade!" He then held out the glove of his right hand to him, and
the Count was thanking him for it, when here is the Duke Renier of
Genoa throwing himself at the feet of the Emperor, crying for mercy.
"For God, Lord Emperor," he said, weeping, "have pity on
Oliver, my child, so grievously wounded! The task on the hill would be
too hard for him. How could a man who has lost so much blood endure?
His ardor bewildered him and made him talk madly."
"Renier," replied Charlemagne, "I can no longer stop him. He
must now go and fight, for he received my glove in front of his
peers."
However, as a noble baron, Oliver said to the French,
"Friends, I beg you all to forgive me, for the love of God, if I have
ever wronged you in deeds or words!"
The French began to weep with admiration as they gave him
leave, and when he was commended to God and Charlemagne had blessed
him with his own hand, Oliver set off with his gonfanon raised and
only stopped on the top of the hill, a stone's throw from the heathen.
That one, lying under the branched tree, did not even deign to
make a movement at his approach. The Count stopped his horse and,
without greeting the Saracen, said, "What are you asking for, you that
has just called so haughty. What is your name and country?"
"You will have a frank answer," cried the pagan. "I am the
most powerful man that has yet been born from a mother! They call me
Fierabras of Alexandria. I am the destroyer of Rome, the great city,
whence I took Christ's crown of thorns, the nails that fastened him to
the cross, the spear that pierced his side, and the precious balm with
which he was anointed, which heals the greatest wounds as soon as it
touches the lips of the wounded. There it is in those two barrels
hanging from my saddle tree. I also hold the keys of holy Jerusalem
and of the sepulcher of Jesus."
"By my faith!" replied Oliver, I heard you well and pity you
for not knowing the Lord. Go, beautiful friend, and arm yourself, for
the French are watching us from the tents, and if you delay too long,
I will strike you with this square spear!"
At these words, Fierabras burst out laughing. "You are
insane," he said, "to talk to me like that, but tell me in your turn
what is your name and your lineage."
"Certainly," replied the Count, "I do not intend to conceal
anything from you, but I have other news to tell you first.
Charlemagne, the emperor with the terrible visage, orders you through
me to abandon Mahomet and receive baptism and, if you will not do
that, I am here to challenge you!"
"Vassal," said Fierabras, "you speak boldly. Now, if you see
me rise and put on this armor without fleeing, I will think that you
have a valiant heart! But let me know one thing first, if God can help
you. Tell me who is this Charlemagne that I hear so highly prized?
Give me news of the good Ogier the Dane, of the twelve peers, and of
Roland and Oliver, whose praises have flown so far."
"Pagan," replied the count, "I can assure you that there is
neither king nor prince in the world who can be compared to
Charlemagne. Roland, his nephew, is such a good knight that he has not
yet been able to find an adversary who could stand up to him. Oliver,
his companion, helps as best he can, but he is far, very far from
having the value of Roland."
"Vassal," said Fierabras, letting his head fall disdainfully
on his shield, "tell me now, who are you and what lineage do you come
from?"
"You will know the truth of it," replied Oliver of Genoa. I
was born in Périgueux, of a knight named Rossat, and they call me
Garin."
At these words, Fierabras gave a great burst of laughter. Then
he exclaimed, "Garin, tell me, and let nothing be concealed from me,
why the terrible Roland, the brave Oliver his brother in arms, Bérard
of Montdidier, or the famous Ogier, did not come in your place?"
"Because they despise you, by my faith!... But I will fight
for them. So arm yourself, without so many words."
"Garin," Fierabras went on, "I do not joust against common
people. If I killed you, your death would be of little glory to me,
but because of your bravery, I will do for you what I never did for a
born man. I am going to mount my black horse and I will hang my round
shield from my collar. Come running at full gallop to strike me with
all your strength, I will fall from my horse, and you will take away
this good runner as if you had conquered him."
"Those are crazy words," replied Oliver. "Whether you like it
or not, you will lose here, before nightfall, your life and your
destrier. So go, Saracen, and arm yourself, for if you make me wait
any longer, by the God who was crucified, I will strike you with my
spear!"
Moved to anger at these words, Fierabras half rises to look at
this Garin, and sees the crimson blood which trickled down to the
ground from his side. "Garin," he said, "speak without lying. Are you
abused or wounded in your body?"
"You will know the pure truth," replied Oliver, "My Auferan is
so difficult, that I got angry and spurred it on so that it bloodied
its sides."
"Garin," said Fierabras, "you are lying at this hour, for the
blood is flowing above your knees. I see that you are hurt, friend,
but listen. The two barrels that hang from my saddle are full of a
balm with which the body of Christ himself was anointed. All the
wounds touched by this balm close immediately. Drink it as you wish,
you will be healed immediately and will be able to fight better."
"Foolish words!" replied Oliver. "With good reason I would be
shamed and reviled if I accepted your offer."
"One more word, friend. How is the duke called Roland shaped,
and what are the features, strength and size of Oliver, his
companion?"
"Look at me," resumed the Count, "and you will see Oliver.
Roland is a little less tall, but he is so bold and so strong that he
fears neither king, count, prince, nor emir."
"By Mahomet," cried the heathen, "if there were four of them
like him and you, I would easily knock them down beneath my sharp
lance!"
"Vassal," said Oliver, "this is too much boasting and talking.
Go arm yourself as quickly as possible because, had it not been for
the fear of doing a vile deed, I would have already struck you, by my
faith!"
"Come down, Garin, and arm me yourself."
"Can I trust you, Saracen?"
"Without a doubt. I will never be a traitor in my life."
Oliver dismounted and acted as squire to the heathen.
Fierabras, who had the size, vigor, and limbs of a giant, first threw
on his shoulders leather of Cappadocia blond as walnut, over it he put
on a hauberk of golden mail, covered his head with a capeline, and
over this steel coif he put a green helm that Oliver laced thirty
times over.
Certainly, it was great courtesy on the Count's part, so
Fierabras of Alexandria said to him, after having thanked him many
times, "Garin, it bothers me very much that you want to joust with me.
If you could change your mind in your heart, I would gladly let you
go."
"Let us not talk about that anymore," replied Oliver, "Do your
best when we cross our lances."
"Certainly," murmured Fierabras, "you are a worthy adversary!"
And with these words he girded Florence and suspended Garamante and
Baptism from his pommel by golden sword straps. I will tell the truth
of those who forged these famous swords. They were three brothers
begotten by the same father, who were called Galans, Murificans and
Aurizans. Each of them forged three swords which have been talked
about too much since. Aurizans made Baptism, Florence, and Garamante,
which cost him twelve years of work. Murificans made Durendal with
dazzling sharpness, Sauvagine, and Cortana, with which Ogier the Dane
struck such great blows. Galans made Froberge with steel so well
tempered, Hauteclere, and Joyeuse which sparkled so gloriously in the
fist of Charlemagne.
Fierabras alone had three of these swords. He hung them from
his saddle tree and, when he was armed, he sprang on his Arabian horse
with such vigor that he bent the iron of the stirrups. Then, after
attaching to his collar a shield with a double rim of steel and iron
on which were depicted three golden lion cubs, he seized his square-
pointed lance which was bound to the wood by ten golden keys, and said
in a proud voice, for he was superb under his armor, "Garin, there is
still time, withdraw and do something sensible."
"Instead of withdrawing myself, Saracen, I hope, if God helps
me, to lead you this evening to the pavilion of Charlemagne as my
prisoner."
"He who can talk like that is not a man of vile blood! By the
cross of your God and your baptism, tell me who you are, Christian,
and your real name?"
"Since you request by the cross, you will know the truth. My
name is Oliver, I am a native of Genoa, companion of Roland and one of
the twelve peers."
"I have recognized, of course, that you were of high standing!
But you are wounded, Oliver, and there would be little glory for me to
fight a half-dead enemy."
"Good friend," Oliver told him, "you will soon see that I am
not as weak as you think. In the meantime, I defy you!"
Fierabras responded, "At least drink a few drops of the balm
which is in this barrel. You will instantly be cured of your wounds
and will have stronger arms and a bolder heart!"
"The son of God forbids that your balm touches my lips, unless
you are conquered by this sharp sword! Therefore, pagan, no more words
and allow me a quarter of this meadow!"
"As you wish," said Fierabras.
And the two knights, turning bridle, leave to take the field.
All the French were watching from lodges and tents.
"Oh God," cried Charlemagne, "beautiful king of majesty, take
pity now on the noble count!" Then, covering his head with his silk
cloak, the old emperor began to weep and pray in a low voice to Jesus
Christ to save Oliver.
Meanwhile the barons, spurring on briskly, run against each
other with great will. They gave each other marvelous blows in the
middle of their shields which were adorned with gold, neither wood nor
leather could blunt the sharp point of the lances, which went right
through them. So violent had been the course of the horses, that they
plunged their spears up to their fists into the shields. From the
force of the shock their eyes shook in their heads, they became
confused, and the straps of their bucklers flew on the grass in
splinters so small that one could hardly have found the remains.
Ah! God, what a great joust, and how they were applauded! The
knights attacked again, when they had caught their breath. Fierabras
pulled Florence from the scabbard attached to his left side, and
Oliver drew Hauteclere with the nielloed gold pommel. Not one nor the
other refused his adversary. Fierabras had his sword high, but Count
Oliver blocked him and delivered such a blow on the golden helm of the
Emir that the flowers and the pearls rolled into the meadow.
Under this terrible blow, the emir gave way and turned his
head. Oliver, then redoubled, sliced through his doublet and gilded
hauberk, of which more than four hundred rings of mail rolled into the
meadow, but he could not cut into the leather of Cappadocia, which
saved him. Fierabras, however, lost his stirrups and dropped the
reins. His lance had been broken and his horse was kneeling. If Oliver
had struck again, he would have cut him down.
At this sight, the French exclaimed, "Lady Saint Mary, what a
great blow he gave him!"
"By my faith," said Roland, "he met him well! His wound hardly
shows, from the way he strikes! Would to the God of majesty that I
were now, O companion, under this thick tree in your place, and that I
had my armor and my sharp sword! The quarrel with the heathen would
soon be settled!"
"Beggar!" responded the Emperor. "Son of a bitch! Coward, you
spoke too late!"
Roland did not breathe a word at first, and then contented
himself with murmuring, "Uncle, you say whatever pleases you."
CHAPTER 4 - THE BALM OF FIERABRAS
Believing himself to have been badly mistreated, the pagan of
Alexandria has such grief and anger that it seems to him that if he
does not avenge himself, he will lose his senses. He spurs his horse
and, brandishing Florence, strikes Oliver on his striped helmet with
all his might. From the blow, pearls and golden flowers spurt out onto
the grass. The iron landed on his collar, cut through his hauberk,
broke hundreds of the rings of his chain mail, and made a gash in his
flesh the length of a hand.
The wound was large and deep, the blood gushing from it turned
his whole hauberk red. Fierabras, quickly drawing back his sword, took
a piece off his chausses and cut off a golden spur. The blade fell
with such force that it touched the ground, cutting away a corner of
the saddle tree. The Count's horse half gave way, stunned by the blow.
Oliver immediately implores Our Lord and says in a low voice, "Holy
Mary, have pity on me! Hauteclere is not worth a thimble against this
fearsome sword! Lord, father of glory, grant me the strength to finish
what I started." At these words he raised his hand and made the sign
of the cross.
Fierabras, who was watching him, could not help exclaiming,
"By Mahomet! Oliver, you are exhausted now, and it is no wonder, after
the blood that you lost! I am sorry to have hurt you, but you
certainly attacked me very violently. Before night falls and the sun
sets, I will have removed your head with your helm, for you are too
injured to be able to defend yourself. If you want to withdraw, I
grant it to you and warn you that the more we fight, the more violent
my assaults will become. Charles does not like you very much for
having sent you here!"
"Pagan," said Oliver, "your pride hardly touches me! Beware,
for I defy you. We have talked too long."
At these words, they spurred on their horses and rushed
against each other. They exchanged such great blows on their steel
shields, that they caused fire and flame to spurt out, and the whole
hill resounds with the clash of arms!
"Our Holy Lady Mary," murmured Charles with the flowery beard,
"keep Oliver from harm because, by the soul of my father, if he were
slain today, never again in all of France and the lands of my empire
would we see a cleric or a priest saying mass!"
"Lord," replied Duke Naimon, "do not talk like that! A man who
makes such speeches looks like a madman... Pray rather for the King of
Paradise to come to the aid of the Count by his holy mercy!"
"I will do it," resumed the king, "in the name of Saint
Denis."
Meanwhile, the two barons were fighting under the ancient
pine. Brave and full of vigor, Fierabras of Alexandria, who had
already attacked Oliver several times, suddenly broke the steel circle
of his helm. Oliver then quickly throws himself back, but by
withdrawing, he splits the emir's shield. They were so close that the
sword nearly struck the head of his horse. At this pass, Fierabras
turned black with anger.
"Mahomet," he said aloud, "you must be asleep for me not to
have conquered this Frank with the first blow!"
At these words he spurred his bay horse, and swooped down on
the count with his straight sword. Oliver covered himself with his own
when he saw him coming, and from the clash of these two good blades,
you would have seen fire and lightning spring forth. Soon their
shields are in pieces, soon the good coursers bend under the great
blows they give each other.
Great and fierce was the battle in the green prairie of
Marimonde. But Oliver, injured in the neck and chest, and more and
more exhausted by the loss of his blood, was visibly weakening. His
face was so discolored that Fierabras, hearing him invoke God and the
Virgin, called him and said, "Oliver, go down to the fountain to drink
the balm which hangs from my saddle tree, and then you will be more
agile than a swallow in the air."
"Hold down your talk," replied Oliver coldly. "I would not
taste it for all the gold in Castile, unless I can win it for myself by
my sword!"
"By Mahomet," said Fierabras, "I would be a fool to beg you!
But you will soon have other news from me, for your breast and your
heart will be aching inside your left bosom!"
Great and fierce was the battle in the green meadow. Fierabras
holds in his fist Florence, which is carefully polished. Oliver holds
Hauteclere, whose blade is resplendent. He strikes the Saracen with it
on his helmet of Pavia. The sword removes the precious stones of the
helmet and, falling on the thigh of Fierabras, sinks into the flesh.
The blood spurts from the wound and as it trickles down it turns the
grass in the meadow red.
Quivering with anger at the sight of his blood, the emir takes
one of his two barrels, which is worth more than all of Syria, and he
has hardly drunk a few drops of it before he finds himself cured and
recovers all his strength.
Oliver then began to say, "Lady Saint Mary, crowned queen,
come to my aid today!"
"No matter what you do," replied Fierabras, "you will not get
out of here alive!"
The French were watching them from their tents, and Charles
kept murmuring, "Lord God, and you, Virgin Mary, take good care of
Oliver so that he may not lose his life!"
Great and fierce was the battle of the two valiant barons.
Oliver was hit and badly injured. It is no wonder if he was terrified.
Furious, he spurred his horse on both flanks and landed a desperate
blow on Fierabras, which finished shattering the golden flowers of
his helmet. The emir threw himself aside, and the sword, falling on
his saddle tree, cut the straps of the barrels through the middle.
Certainly, it was a good adventure, and God be praised!
The barrels roll on the ground and the emir falls out of his
stirrups under the force of the blow. Before he straightens up,
Oliver, bending down, picks up the precious balm, drinks it quickly,
and when he has drunk and feels safe and sound, he throws it into the
sea which bathes the place of combat, so that no one else can use it.
The weight of the gold with which they were encircled caused the
barrels to sink, but every year — and this is pure truth — on the
feast day of Saint John the Baptist, they rise back up to the surface
of the water.
Seeing them disappear, Fierabras roars in anger, "You must be
mad," he cried to Oliver, "to have thrown into the sea a balm that was
worth the gold of fourteen cities! I will presently, if I can, make
you pay dearly for it."
"Do your best," replied Oliver.
With these words, he raised his shield to protect his head
but, arriving like a storm, Fierabras gives him such a blow with his
sword that he smashes everything he meets and cuts all the laces of
his helmet. Fortunately, Dami-Dieu saved him from injury, but the
pagan's iron made his horse's head fly onto the grass with a whistle.
The horse fell dead on one side and Oliver was knocked down on the
other. Up in the twinkling of an eye, the Count hastened to raise
before him the fragments of his shield and his sword with the hilt of
nielloed gold, then he leapt to meet the king of Alexandria, and God
then performed a great miracle, for know that the Auferan of whom I
spoke to you, that wild steed who strangled and devoured all those
whom his master knocked down, did not even show his teeth to Oliver,
and recoiled without looking at him.
The French, who had seen everything from lodges and tents,
trembled for Count Oliver. I believe they would all have run to his
aid, had it not been for the prohibition of Charlemagne, jealous to
maintain his spotless loyalty and who would rather die than deserve a
reproach. The old emperor restrained them, then knelt down and invoked
God in these terms, "Glorious Lord, father and king of majesty, keep
Oliver from death!"
Furious, however, to see himself on foot and to have lost his
beloved courser, the count advances towards the Saracen and then he
returned these words. "O king of Alexandria, you have just committed a
vile act by killing my horse and knocking me down on the meadow! The
King who slays a war horse no longer has the right to a crown!"
"Certainly," replied Fierabras, "you are telling the truth.
But, by our god Mahomet, I did not do it on purpose! The damage
caused, moreover, will be repaired. Come and take my destrier, I will
fight on foot on the grass."
"I do not want your horse until I've conquered it," said
Oliver.
"By my faith!" resumed Fierabras, "you are a man of great
courage. But it is too insignificant to refuse my horse. However, I
will do for you what I never did for a man born of a mother, because I
see that you are too noble of heart!"
At these words he dismounted, and placed himself opposite
Oliver, on the other side of the meadow. Standing thus in the field,
foot by foot and the sword high, he was a large foot taller than the
Count. There, it was marvelous to see that their arms, which should
have been broken by the length of the fight, could strike again. We
never saw better champions or fiercer fighters. Their sharp swords are
constantly clashing and ringing on their helmets.
Suddenly, Fierabras of Alexandria exclaimed, "Oliver! Oliver,
you certainly will not be able to last!"
"By my faith!" replied the count, you will not escape me.
While the French watched them from the lodges and tents, and
the Duke Renier of Genoa, throwing himself at the feet of the lord
emperor, begged him to have pity on his son Oliver, Charlemagne
implored the support of the glorious Father who suffered the Passion.
When he had finished his prayer and made the sign of the cross, an
angel dazzling with light stopped, messenger of God, in front of the
emperor and said to him, "Fierabras will be defeated, but you will be
unhappy at his defeat."
The angel immediately disappeared, and Charlemagne knelt down
to give thanks to God.
However, the pagan of Alexandria, hearing himself threatened
by Oliver, almost lost his senses. Clutching Florence furiously, whose
pommel was gilded, he ran to strike Oliver. The Count replied with two
sword strokes discharged on the Saracen's helm, but the edge of his
blade could not cut into the strong steel hat. Each, inflamed with
anger, swings his sharp sword. They carve their shields and green
helms adorned with precious stones, firmly resolved not to leave the
field until the weakest is lain dead.
Soon fatigue overwhelms Oliver. His fist, swollen from
striking, becomes so numb, that in wanting to charge the Turk, he lets
the sword slip away the length of a spear. Irritated by this setback,
the count, who had nothing left but the remains of his shield, bends
down to pick up the sword, but Fierabras strikes him right at this
moment and splits his armor. Oliver stands up, quivering with rage at
seeing his sword on the ground and not being able to pick it up again.
Similarly, the French people grouped in front of the tents are filled
with emotion. You would have seen more than fourteen thousand armed
men, and Fierabras would have been assailed on the hill, but for the
prohibition and efforts of Charlemagne.
The pagan heard the uproar and only laughed at it, though he
was uncertain. "By Mahomet!" he then exclaimed, "My will is the
strongest now. I see your sword on the ground there, why do you not
raise it?... You would not dare stoop for the gold of a city!...
Oliver, deny at this hour the font where you were baptized and follow
me in our great cities. I will give you, with half of my kingdoms, my
sister Floripar the courteous, marvelous flower of beauty. We will
then conquer France and the empire of Charles, and you will keep one
of his crowns for your head."
And Oliver replied: "You speak madly! I will never deny God,
his honored saints, and the Virgin Mary from whom he was born, to
believe in Mahomet or your wicked gods!"
"By the prophet!" said the emir, "You are too daring... No man
dared to brave me in combat as you do today. But I see your weaponless
arm and, if I put you to death, my glory would be lessened. Go then
and take up your sword, I give you my leave."
"That is well spoken," replied Oliver, "but I would not listen
to you for the booty of twenty cities, because if I killed you after
having received from you some mark of friendship, it would be a
felony!... May God now decide my salvation or my death!"
"By Mahomet!" resumed the emir, "Since you are so insane, I do
not want you to live any longer. The fight will soon be over!"
At these words he swoops down on the Count, full of fury and
sword held high. Oliver, who no longer had a sword or a shield,
noticed, as Fierabras ran up, his horse from whose pommel hung two
other blades. He stretches out his hand and seizes a well-tempered one
called Baptism. When he drew it from the scabbard, it emitted a great
light. Impatient to strike, he immediately joins the Saracen, defies
him, and threatens him strongly, covering himself with the pieces of
his shield.
The Saracen, for his part, had changed color when he saw
Baptism, the sword he loved so much, in the hands of his enemy.
"Oliver," he cried to him, "I agree to let you live until we
have spoken."
"Say your will." replied Oliver.
"Here," continued Fierabras, "is why I called you. You can, by
returning Baptism to me, raise your sharp brand."
"By my head!" said the count, "I will not grant this. There
will never be a truce between us, before I tried that good sword a
little. Beware of me now, for we have talked too much."
They both rush forward at these words, their swords straight,
like raging lions. Oliver reached the emir first. He was aiming for
the helmet, but he struck the shield, half of which he took under the
strap.
"Here," he exclaimed joyfully, "is a good blade! Blessed be
the master who tempered her so well!" Fierabras came to retaliate.
Oliver breaks away a few steps, and, stooping suddenly, he picks up
his sword. When he had Hauteclere in hand, he gave thanks to God, and
courteously called to Fierabras. "Take back your sword," he said to
him, "since I have recovered mine."
"That would be a vile action," answered Fierabras, "Everything
you touch is yours. The only thing I want from you now is your head,
to take it to my father the emir!"
"Before you have it, it will cost you dearly!" murmured
Oliver. And the fight started again with a new fury. Their swords
clashed for longer than it takes to travel a league, cutting through
the shields adorned with gold, then they paused for a moment to catch
their breath.
The son of Renier of Genoa looked at the king through the
slits of his strong iron-lined shield, and marveled at the fire that
shone in his fierce eyes.
"O God, beautiful king of majesty," he said in a low voice,
"this pagan is valiant and of great vigor! Never have I seen a braver
man! O Lord, God of glory, if it were your will that Charlemagne saw
him under his banner, he would be a worthy companion of Roland and
me."
But Fierabras called him harshly. "Do you want to fight?" he
said to him. "What are you thinking?"
"To defy you," resumed the count, "and you beware of me!"
Great and fierce was the battle, and both fought valiantly.
Oliver did not have one fifth of his shield left. Fierabras did not
give him a moment's rest and he shouted with rage, "Vassal, you have
lived too long! Your King Jesus will not save you!"
"Never," replied Oliver, "will you ever return to the feet of
your accursed Mahomet!"
The emir deals him such a terrible blow at these words, that a
whole quarter of his iron coif and even a little of his hair fly into
the meadow. The irritated count stands up, strengthens himself, and
takes advantage of the imprudence of Fierabras who, raising his sword
to strike again, had just uncovered his side. He strikes him under the
left breast and takes away more than a handful of flesh. His guts
nearly came out of the gaping wound. The blood, flowing in great
bubbles, immediately reddened the grass.
Without uttering a single complaint, the valiant Fierabras
raises his eyes to heaven and thinks of Jesus Christ, the king of
majesty. God suddenly illuminates him with the rays of the true Holy
Spirit. He calls Oliver and asks for mercy.
"Gentleman, do not kill me, in the name of your valor! Lead me
instead to Charlemagne, the good crowned king, for I promise you, fair
lord, and swear to you loyally, henceforth to hold the faith of
Christendom, and to restore to you the crown, the honored sign, and
the relics. Oliver, gentle lord, have pity on me, for if I die a
Saracen, you will bear the blame."
Oliver looks at him and his heart is moved. He gently lays him
on the fresh grass, tears a piece of his bliaut and carefully bandages
his wound. Fierabras then looked at him with a humble and submissive
appearance. "Noble Oliver," he said to him, "listen to me. I feel very
close to my end, and already my heart runs away from me. Here are my
two war-horses tied under the trees, help me to mount the bay and
leave Florence to me. Then I will do all your wishes and you will have
the four best blades that can be found in the world. But help me get
back on my feet quickly, for I am afraid we are too late. Behind this
little elm wood, I left this morning thirty thousand armed men, with
prohibition to leave it until my return from the battle. But, seeing
me cast down, they may run up at any moment."
When Oliver hears this, he is very frightened and hastens to
help Fierabras to get up on his horse. But, too seriously injured to
hold on, the emir fell across the saddle tree. Despite his courage and
his desire, he will have pain and mourning before seeing Charlemagne
again!... Just as they set off, here are Brulhan of Montmirat,
Sortibran of Coïmbre, and King Tribuat coming out of the woods with
thirty thousand armed men. Oliver spurs his horse when he sees them,
and the French run to arms. Roland, Charlemagne's nephew, jumps on his
destrier, followed by Bérard of Montdidier, Count Guilamar, Lord
Naimon of Bavaria, Ogier the audacious, Richard of Normandy, and the
handsome Count Guy. Duke Renier of Genoa has not forgotten himself,
and Charlemagne was the first to put on his armor. At his voice, the
French came out in droves from the lodges and tents, and whoever could
reach the front line ran there with his gonfanon raised.
CHAPTER 5 - FLORIPAR
Oliver turns to look in the meadow and sees the Saracens riding up at
full speed! At their lead and ahead of them all was Brulhan of
Montmirat, mounted on a horse that never tired and devoured ground
faster than a greyhound on the loose. He carried a spear whose square
iron point had been poisoned with the venom of a serpent. When Oliver
saw him, all his blood turned.
"By God," he said to Fierabras, "dismount, I cannot take you
any further! Oh my very great regret, for I see the field is all
covered with Saracens, and if they can reach me, I am a dead man."
"Lord," continued Fierabras emotionally, "if you abandon me,
you will be doing something disloyal, since you have conquered me. Woe
to me if I die a pagan! Holy Lady Mary, please help me!"
"You speak like a knight," replied the Count of Genoa. "Dami-
Dieu, who judges us all, will confound me if I abandon you while my
arm can still strike!"
"Sir," added Fierabras, "strip me of my fair double hauberk
and meld it with yours, for you will need it and it will replace your
shield."
The Count dressed himself like a soldier in the golden hauberk
of Fierabras, took his steel hat, and girded Hauteclere. Now whoever
wants can come and joust against Oliver!
In the meantime, Brulhan de Monlmirat arrives at full speed
and strikes Oliver in the hauberk of Fierabras. He pierces it and
makes a hole in the middle of his chest, but cannot cut into the
hauberk below, which saves Oliver. The lance shattered and did not
last long. The king, who was of great valiance, passes by and rides
ahead.
Moved by the peril he had just experienced, Fierabras calls
Oliver and says to him, "Lord, I return your word and give you leave,
but, for the love of God, take me out of this road where the horses
would trample me underfoot, and then, may Dami-Dieu come to your aid
by his goodness! I am astonished that Charlemagne, the mighty crowned
king, takes so long to help you. What is Roland, who loves you so
much, doing at this hour? Alas! Sadly, I will have to die without
baptism!"
The son of Renier of Genoa, moved, puts the Saracen down under
the shade of an ancient pine, gently lays him on the ground and then
prods his horse with his fine golden spurs. He was counting on
returning by his way, when another son of Arapati blocked his way with
ten thousand pagans of the race of Cain.
"Ah! God," said Oliver, "who made wine out of water, defend
me, please, from all those accursed Saracens, so that I may see
Charles the palatine again, my father, and my friend Roland!"
With these words, he draws Hauteclere and swoops down on the
pagans. The first who offers himself to his blows is the son of
Arapati. He gave him such a great blow with his well-burnished brand
that he slices through him all the way from his teeth to his belt.
Oliver approaches, takes his gold-plated shield and his lance, his
black pennon, and abandoning the horse, which was still good, he rode
to strike Lorgis full in the chest. His hauberk was not worth to him
the price of two tarins. He plunged the iron of his sharp lance
through his body and, making Hauteclere gleam again, slew ten
Saracens. So they all flee from him like partridges from a vulture.
But Sortibran of Coïmbre and King Maguarin cried out to him at
the same time in a furious voice, "By Mahomet! French, you will not
escape us!"
Oliver's heart beats harder when he hears these cries. He
grips Hauteclere in his fist and faces the pagans. The one he hits can
count as dead. Unfortunately, the pagans kill his good horse. Seeing
himself on the ground, the ire of the count turns black. He gets up as
quickly as possible, kisses his shield burnished with gold, and,
resolved to make them pay dearly for his conquest, he fights valiantly
with his sword of great worth. The Saracens who surrounded him then
struck him with their sharp spears, and having planted a sharp javelin
in his armor, the point of which bent and hooked on his hauberk, they
held him back by main force. Immediately they threw him on a horse
with a long mane and covered his eyes with a blindfold.
"Where are you, Charlemagne?" cried Oliver. "Lord Roland, my
companion, now you have lost me!"
King Sortibran replied, "You call for yours in vain. I will
not eat until I see you hanged!" And he put his prisoner under the
guard of fifty Saracens who, not content with blindfolding him, tied
his hands behind his back.
At this moment, arriving at a gallop are Roland on Valentin,
Count Guilamar and Thierri of Ardennes, Bérard of Montdidier and
Turpin the scholar, Lord Guy of Burgundy and the valiant Albéric,
Richard of Normandy, and old Lord Naimon. Charles, who was king of
Paris, followed them on Blanchart and the French shouted, "Montjoie!
The banner of Saint-Denis!... Cursed ones who take away Oliver, woe to
you! We will take him back from you."
Roland struck Corsuble on the golden arch of the shield and
broke his lance in his chest. Bérard of Montdidier struck Tegris at
the same time. Ogier struck Antanas, Richard struck Magarin, and Guy
the Burgundian struck Brulhan of Montbis. Each of our barons kills his
Saracen. After having broken their lances, they draw their swords. But
the Saracens, rallying, assailed them with loud cries and fury. They
killed Guillamier, Gautier of Auxerre and sixty-six other Frenchmen.
At last they pushed ours back to arbalest range, overthrew Guilamar
the Scotsman, Bérard the son of the Count of Sens, Henri the
Burgundian, and the intrepid Geoffroy of Anjou. They bound them
tightly with twisted elm branches and threw them on their horses. When
Charlemagne saw this, he almost went mad with rage and began to cry,
for he was losing his friends.
Here are the Saracens fleeing, carrying off their captives,
and the French pursuing them with their good steel swords. Long and
hot was the pursuit, but the Saracens, better mounted and who had a
lead of one league, ended by escaping us. After riding for a long time
and having traveled more than five leagues, the Emperor of France,
seeing the sun set, stopped, swearing by Saint Denis that he would not
resume pursuit until daylight. The French turn rein at his command,
and return to their camp. Following the road, they see Fierabras under
a thick tree. The Emperor examined him attentively, and recognized him
as a Saracen by his black complexion.
"Pagan," he said, "woe to you! It is because of your defiance
that my barons are prisoners and I have lost Oliver whom I had loved
so much!"
At these words, Fierabras heaved a sigh, and leaning his head
on his left arm, he looked at Charlemagne and said to him humbly,
"Alas! Charles, my good lord, what are you saying to me?... Oliver has
conquered me, I cannot hide it, and I have loyally pledged my faith to
him, and swore to become a Christian, for all my gods are not worth
one minted denier!"
When Charlemagne heard him, he took great pity on him and
gently and carefully made him lie down on his shield, then his barons
took him and carried him away step by step. Roland and Duke Ogier
disarmed him and left him only his striped bliaut. All were then
surprised to see him so well shaped. He had broad shoulders and square
sides, a large and handsome face, and eyes sparkling like a molted
hawk, but he was pale as death, so much blood had flowed from his
wounds. Roland wanted to embrace him and he swooned in his arms.
Immediately Charles, our emperor, rose to his feet, and called
out to Milo and Turpin the scholar. "Prepare," he said, "and bless the
baptismal font without delay. I want this pagan to be plunged into it
instantly."
The archbishops obeyed. They put the Saracen in holy water,
and the godfathers did not fail him. He was given the name Florian at
baptism, but while he lived he was called Fierabras. When the pagan
was washed, baptized, and blessed, the French took him out of the
water and laid him in a bed. Then Charlemagne sent for his physicians
who, having examined the prince's sides, said, "Sir Emperor, have no
fear. The entrails are not affected, and within two months he will be
on his feet."
"Ah, God!," replied the Emperor, "I give you a thousand
thanks! If I did not miss Oliver, I would not want anything more."
However, the Turks who were taking the count away arrived on
horseback to Aigremoine, which is a wealthy city. The Almiran shouted
to them as soon as he saw them, "Have you brought me Roland and the
twelve peers, that much-vaunted Oliver, Bérard of Montdidier, or the
sensible Naimon?"
"Lord," said Brustamon, "we've had enough trouble. Charlemagne
and his people completely discomfited us. Fierabras, your son, is
defeated and a prisoner. A knight of France defeated him in battle. He
went to Charles, and already he is said to have been baptized."
At these words, the Almiran fell swooning with emotion.
Recovering his senses, he cursed Fierabras, whom he would have rather
seen dismembered than bathed in the font, and then asked Brustamon the
name of the knight who had been able to conquer Fierabras.
"Look," replied the Emir of Montmirat, "this handsome knight,
tall and well-built, is the one who conquered him and, if I am not
mistaken, he is called Oliver."
The French, hearing this, were greatly alarmed, but Oliver
reassured them and gave them advice to hide their names well, lest the
Almiran demand too large a ransom.
The Saracens came in the meantime, disarmed them, and
unfastened the blindfold which covered Oliver's eyes. The count
remained naked, with only his striped bliaut. He had lost so much
blood, he was all discolored. It was he whom the Almiran, inflamed
with anger, first challenged in these terms. "What is your name, and
answer without lying."
"Lord," said Oliver, "they call me Gerard. I am the son of a
knight of a poor house. When I received the accolade, Charlemagne gave
me arms. As for my companions, they are poor hired soldiers and people
of low birth."
"By Mahomet!" exclaimed the Almiran, "how disappointed I am! I
thought I had in my hands five counts of noble stock born in the land
of France. Barbadis," he said to his camerlengo, "bring me my sharpest
arrows, and range these Frenchmen at the back of the room, so that our
archers can shoot their pride dead."
"Lord," answered Barbadis, "this is not the time, if you do
not mind. The archers could not see there, since the sun has set. If
you carried out an execution at this hour, you would repent of it
yourself. Postpone all justice until tomorrow, at sunrise. Your emirs
will be reunited, you can demand the judgment and the death of these
men. If they deserve death, it will be granted to you. If even Charles
of France, the strong crowned king, wanted to return Fierabras to you,
whom you have cherished so much, we would give him all these Frenchmen
in exchange without difficulty."
The Almiran replied, "You give me good advice there."
And summoning Brustamon, jailer of his dungeons, he ordered
him to guard the French well and to throw them into the deep prison
intended for malefactors. Instantly obedient, Brustamon threw the
French into the darkest and most horrible tower you have ever heard
of. You could see snakes and toads everywhere, and the stench of the
sea infected the walls.
The counts rolled to the bottom of this frightful lair and
Oliver, who lost blood through more than one wound, fainted four
times. He did not come to himself until his companions had pulled him
out of the water and put him on a column shaft. There he exclaimed
painfully, "Alas! O lord father, you will never see me again!"
While he was lamenting at the bottom of the tower, here is
Floripar, daughter of the Almiran, the nicest maiden that could be
found in fourteen kingdoms, who hears the French and feels very moved
by Oliver's complaints. Floripar was the nicest lady any man born of a
mother had ever seen. She had a straight, beautiful, well-formed body,
skin whiter than ivory, and a complexion more vermilion than a summer
rose. In her little mouth gleamed teeth whiter than snow on an icy
night. She wore a silk belt adorned with a rich golden fringe which
had marvelous properties. One who put on the belt would never have
gray hair, could defy all poisons, and would feel satiated even after
having fasted for three or four days.
Hearing Oliver's lamentations, the damsel leaves her room and
descends the marble stairs with fifteen of her damsels who were of the
highest nobility. She calls the carcerier, and asks him what country
the captives are from, whose complaints she hears.
"Madame," replies the jailer, "these are men of Charles, the
one who calls himself emperor of France. I believe one of them, a
strong and valiant warrior, conquered your brother Fierabras in
battle."
"Brustamon," said the beauty, "show me these captives, I want
to ask them about Fierabras."
"Madame," replied Brustamon, "that is impossible for me. The
Almiran, your father, made me promise by oath that they would speak to
no one, and I must keep my promise, because women often cause great
evil to happen."
At his words, Floripar almost lost her mind with rage. "By
Mahomet, beggar," she said, "you speak madly! But you will soon
receive your reward."
She makes a sign to her chamberlain, who understands her and
brings her a club made from the wood of a sorb tree. Running then to
the door of the tower, as if she wanted to force the lock, she let
Brustamon approach and, skillfully taking her time, dealt him such a
hard blow on the head that she laid him dead at her feet. Then she has
the body thrown into the sea, where it sinks like lead.
The French were frightened on hearing it fall in the waves.
They said to themselves that the devil was going to lay some trap for
them, when they saw a great light shining in the tower. It was
Floripar who, a lighted candle in her hand, suddenly thrust her head
forward and cried, "Lords, where are you from? Tell me, without
concealing anything."
"Madame," replied Oliver the Baron, "we are Frenchmen whom the
Almiran has plunged into this tower, where we cannot last. May Dami-
Dieu, the universal justice, come to our aid, and you, oh lady, feed
us."
"You speak well," replied Floripar. "But, above all, I want
you to swear to me to do what I ask of you and to assist me when I ask
you to do so."
"Certainly," replied Oliver, "we all give you our faith and
promise never to fail you, at the risk of our lives, and if we can get
out of here, regain arms, and join up with the Saracens, we will
respond to you by making their heads fly."
"Vassal," said Floripar, "you talk without reason, and better
silence than senseless words."
"Madame," replied Bérard, "the one who sings well is a happy
prelude to forgetting his illness."
"By Mahomet!" resumed the beauty, "you know how to reason. I
do not know who you are and can't see you, but I am sure a lady would
have a good courtier in you."
"You guessed!" cried Guilamar the Scotsman.
"We'll put it to the test," murmured Floripar. And she called
her camerlengo, Malmuzet of Gornat. "Bring me," she said, "a big,
thick rope."
The camerlengo hastened to do her will. He brings the rope,
and throws it to the bottom of the tower. Oliver seizes it, and the
lady pulls so hard with the Turk, that she raises the knight out. All
the others were removed from the tower in the same way. The Almiran's
daughter then opens an ancient postern and takes them to her room,
where the knights, led by Malmuzet, who carried the lighted candle,
entered with great pleasure.
The room was splendidly adorned, there is nothing richer in
the world. In this moment, Margarande, duenna of the Almiran's
daughter, found them. At the sight of the French, she said to
Floripar, "I want to be shaved, if that great knight is not Oliver,
son of Renier of Genoa and the brother of Aude the blonde... Aude, the
greatest marvel of beauty to be seen from one sea to the other, as far
as the swallow flies!... It is this Oliver who wounded and took your
brother! This is the Bérard who is so much praised. This one is
Guilamar the Scotsman and the other Geoffroy the Flat-Nosed. Mahomet
curse me to whom I have given my heart, if I do not tell everything to
the Almiran, your father!"
When she heard these words, Floripar changed color, for she
greatly feared her father, who was full of cruelty. Going to lean on
the marble balcony of the well carved palace, she called the old
woman, who was far from guessing her plan and who ran there. There, at
the moment when the duenna bent down to listen to her, she made a sign
to Malmuzet who, approaching noiselessly took Margarande by the legs
and threw her into the sea.
"Old woman," said Floripar then, "you have spoken madly!...
And my Frenchmen will not be betrayed by you!..."
At these words the counts began to rejoice. Floripar kissed
them all, and seeing Oliver all bleeding, she took a balm out of its
jewel case, so precious that, when Oliver had anointed himself with
it, he felt more vigorous than a molted falcon. A fire was lit in the
most remote room of the palace. Our French sat down in front of the
stove, the table was set and, when they had washed, the damsels served
them with pleasure and grace. Our counts ate as they pleased, then
they bathed and when they came out of the bath they were dressed in
rich silk garments. Each received, in addition, a good, well-worked
silk coat.
"Lords," Floripar then said to them, "I have delivered you
from the deep tower where one suffers grief and torments and, although
Oliver has injured my brother, you have nothing to fear, I assure you
all. But you must now know my thoughts. I have long loved a very
handsome knight of France, whose name is Guy of Burgundy. He robbed me
of my heart in Rome, unhorsing Lucafer of Baudrac in a field. If he
does not become my husband, I will never give myself to a man of this
world. For him, I am ready to believe in the God of majesty.
Hearing her speak thus, the French thanked Jesus, and Bérard
the Count said to her, "Lady, if we were armed, we would quickly throw
your heathen king out of the palace."
"Lord," replied Floripar, "let us not talk about that now.
Keep happy and quiet, and let each one choose his beloved among these
damsels because, for me, I belong entirely to Lord Guy of Burgundy."
CHAPTER 6 - THE TOWER OF AIGREMOINE
Let us now let our heroes happily pass the time, and return to
Charlemagne, the feared emperor. Duke Renier of Genoa had come to
throw himself at his feet and begged him to allow him to go in search
of his son. Charles took pity on his pain, and looking at Roland, said
to him very gently, "Handsome nephew, it annoys me very much to see
our brave men imprisoned. I also have a message to entrust to you and
to six counts. You will leave at dawn, go to Aigremoine, and if you
find the Almiran, tell him to return to me the relics of the Passion
and my strong knights, or have him hanged and flayed alive."
"Sire," replied Count Guy, "you will have us killed."
"Why this fear?" replied Naimon. "Do we not know that we were
born to die?"
Then you would have seen the barons crying their eyes out. The
Emperor commends the messengers to God, the king of glory. They mount
their horses and head towards the mountain. At the same time, the
Almiran sent a similar embassy to King Charles, to summon him to
believe in Mahomet and to return Fierabras to him. Turks and
Christians met, flags flying, in the field of Mantible. The pagans,
led by Moredes, were discomfited, and our counts made their way slowly
towards the bridge of Mantible, each carrying two heads hanging from
the saddle tree. Duke Naimon was the first to see the bridge and the
jagged wall.
"Lords," he said, stopping his horse, "this is the road to
Aigremoine, where we must go."
"And here," continued Ogier the Dane, "is the famous bridge of
Mantible. This bridge, the most admirable that we ever seen, has
twenty marble arches of perfect regularity. On each pillar rises a
fortress capable of containing twenty mounted knights. The lowest of
the walls that surround it is ten rods high. To give you an idea of
the width of the bridge, I will tell you that a hundred knights can
cross it abreast. Ten chains stretched from place to place bar the
way. The river Flagot flows under its arches, and a very formidable
giant, armed with an enormous mass of yellow copper which he wields
like a club, guards the entrance. To find the Almiran, it is
absolutely necessary to cross this bridge.
"Alas!" cried the French, "how can we do it?"
"Lords," replied Roland, "do not be alarmed. I swear, by the
God who allowed himself to be nailed to the cross, to strike the
gatekeeper so well that we can pass."
"What are you saying there, lord baron?" replied Naimon the
wise. "Do you want to give one blow to receive four? If it pleases God
and his mother whom we must all honor, I will tell them so many lies
that we will pass without a fight."
They set out again after this debate, and soon saw a thousand
pagans holding halberds and covered with brilliant armor. Among them
was the gatekeeper, who, seizing the bridle of his horse, said to the
duke of Bavaria, "Where do you want to go?"
"To Aigremoine," replied Naimon, "where Charles is sending us
to bring a message to the Almiran Balan."
"Vassal," said the porter, "you will not pass without paying
the toll."
"What does it consist of, lord?"
"Ah! This is no small tribute! First of all, tomorrow you will
have to give me four hundred deer taken from the hunt, a hundred
virgin damsels, a hundred molted falcons, a hundred red palfreys, a
hundred trained destriers, then two hundred carts loaded with gold or
silver. Anyone who cannot pay this toll has his head cut off."
"Lord," replied Naimon, "if you ask for more, everything will
be paid to you before sunrise."
"Go through," said the gatekeeper. "No one has ever crossed
this bridge without paying or committing his faith."
Our barons lower the reins and cross the bridge at a brisk
trot. They were all in danger of death, which did not prevent Roland
from grabbing a pagan by the sides and throwing him into the river.
"Ah! God who was crucified," cried Duke Naimon when he saw
this, "a hundred thousand devils have brought Roland here, who will
have us all massacred!"
After this bravado, they spurred even faster and rode all the
way until they arrived at Aigremoine. They entered through the main
gate, and having met a Saracen, asked him where the Almiran and his
barons were staying. "In this shady garden," replied the unbaptized
man.
Our counts went straight there, and Duke Naimon of Bavaria
spoke in these terms, "May the Lord of glory who created the world
save and keep Charlemagne, the good crowned king, Roland, Oliver and
the other peers, and may he confound the Almiran who governs his land
so badly!... Over there, in the meadows in front of Mantible we found
fifteen vagabonds, whose heads we have here, that assailed us to take
away our horses."
"Do not listen to them, lord," cried the only pagan who had
escaped, in a clear voice. "These are the dogs who cut your messengers
to pieces and killed King Moredes! Avenge them therefore, lord!"
"They will be avenged," murmured the Almiran. Then, addressing
the duke of Bavaria, he said, "What are you asking?"
"Almiran," replied the duke, "Charles, the good crowned king,
commands you to return to him the crown of Christ, the other relics of
the Passion, and the knights who are in your dungeons. And if you do
not obey him point by point, he will hang you like a convicted thief,
or drag you behind him like a chained dog."
"You treat me with contempt!" said the Almiran. "But go and
sit down, and let your companions also make their thoughts known to
me. If they talk like you, I want Mahomet to curse me if I fall asleep
before you are all dismembered!"
Then Richard of Normandy, Duke Thierri of the Ardennes, Basin
the valiant Génois, Ogier of Denmark, Roland, and Count Guy of
Burgundy, rising successively, repeated the words of the good duke of
Bavaria.
"Well, I am demeaned in my court!" Balan replied, pale with
anger. "But, by Mahomet, you will never again carry a message, for
today you will all be hanged or flayed!"
And calling loudly to Brulhan of Montmirat, Sortibran of
Coïmbre, and the other emirs, he said, "You have just heard of the
outrages that have been done to me. What do you recommend?"
"Lord," replied Sortibran, "the best advice we have to give
you is to make these Christians promptly hang on your gallows, then to
go and attack Charlemagne, and to take him and hang him among his
peers."
"I agree," replied the Almiran. "Go and get those who are in
the tower, so that they can all be hanged together."
The angry voice of her father reached Floripar, who
immediately ran down the marble steps of her room, and gently asked
the emir who these knights were.
"My daughter," replied Balan, "these are French people whose
audacity has outraged me just now. What do you advise me to do with
them?"
"Lord, we must hang them or dismember them alive, and then cut
off their feet and hands."
"My daughter, I agree. Go immediately and remove the others
from the tower."
"You are still fasting, lord, and you would stay there too
long if you had to wait until the execution was finished. Deliver
these Frenchmen to me, who will be well guarded. Dine quietly, and
then we will do justice to them."
"My daughter, you give me good advice. Take them, I will
deliver them to you."
"Lord," said Sortibran, "where is your prudence?... Man must
never follow a woman's advice, which is a fire under the ashes and the
source of all evil."
Floripar, furious, cursed him and called him a crook, and the
fierce Emir of Coïmbre swore that if he did not fear the reprimand of
the ladies, he would give her such a blow that the eyes and brains
would burst out of her head. But Balan, putting himself between them,
said, "Let us leave that. My daughter, take these French people, and
let them be well guarded. We will do justice to them after dinner."
Floripar hastened to take the count away, and her joy made her
so beautiful that Duke Naimon of Bavaria said in a low voice to
Roland, "Ah! God, beautiful king of majesty, have we ever seen such a
marvel! Blessed will be the man to whom she will give her heart!"
"Lord," replied Roland, "you have thought too much about
follies."
"By my faith," replied the duke, "I was young, and one is
young when it comes to love."
During this speech, Floripar, passing quickly in front of the
tower, led them into her palace, the doors of which she had securely
locked. There, as he entered, Roland saw Oliver and rushed to hug him.
The other barons did the same as Roland, and the brave Oliver asked
them for news of his father and of Charlemagne, the good crowned king,
when Floripar, interrupting them, said, "Lord, listen to me! I want
you to swear to do everything I ask you."
"We will gladly swear to it," said the counts, "when we know
what you ask."
Floripar then approached, and after having kissed Richard of
Normandy, "What name do you have?" she said, "And tell me something."
"Lady, my name is Richard and I was born in Normandy."
"May Mahomet curse you! It was you who killed Corsuble and my
uncle Matbia!"
She then grabbed Roland by the buckle of his baldric, and
asked him what his name was.
"Lady, they call me Roland. I am nephew of Charlemagne and son
of his own sister."
"Lord," cried Floripar, falling at his feet, "you deserve all
honor, and I demand your support!"
Roland reacts nicely to her, and Floripar reminds him that the
counts have sworn to do whatever she asks.
"Let us see then," replied Roland, "what do you want, lady?"
"I want," she said, "for my husband an honorable knight,
strong and handsome under arms, who is named Guy of Burgundy."
"Lady," replied Roland, "at your wish, there are not four feet
measured between you and him."
"Now then, lords, he gives me his faith!"
"Come here, Lord Guy, and give your faith to this lady."
"Lords," replied Guy, "do not marry me so quickly! I can only
receive my wife from the hand of Charles."
When Floripar heard these words, the blood rose to her
forehead with anger. "I swear by Mahomet," she said, "unless he gives
me his faith, you will all be hanged and dismembered!"
"Cousin," Roland said to him, "do our will."
Guy therefore gave her his faith, taking the hands of all his
companions. Delighted to have the thing she loved most in the world,
Floripar was the first to promise to be baptized and to believe in
Jesus Christ. Then, after having tenderly hugged her fiancé in her
arms, because she did not dare to kiss him, not being yet a Christian,
she brought forth from a rich box, where they were wrapped in damask
and silk, the crown of thorns of Christ, the holy nails, and the
honored sign, and spread them on a marble table. Now, while all our
French people worshiped them on their knees, here is Lucafer of
Baudrac, the most felonious man that could be found in fourteen
kingdoms, who comes from the Almiran to question the prisoners and to
find out what country and what baronry they are from.
The fierce Lucafer arrives at the door, whose pilasters were
of fine carved marble, and, without saying a word, kicks it in. He
enters, first encounters Duke Naimon, who had taken off his helmet,
and seizes him by his white hair. "Old man," he asked him harshly in
French, "do not hide anything. Where are you from?"
"I will tell you the truth," replied the duke of Bavaria, "but
let go of me, fair lord, and you will know all my thoughts!"
The pagan withdrew his hand, and Duke Naimon, seizing his
brand which was held out to him from behind, dealt him such a vigorous
blow that the head fell on one side and the body on the other. The
mutilated corpse was thrown into the sea, and Floripar was very happy,
because this Lucafer of Baudrac was to be her husband.
"Lords," she then said to our barons, "the Almiran loved this
Turk more than any man in the world. He will send for him soon, and if
you are found here with your weapons, all the gold of Christendom
would not redeem your life. So quickly lace up your pearled helms,
take your shields, descend into this marble palace, and spare no one."
"Certainly," replied the counts, "you spoke well."
Each then put on his good helm, drew his sword, and holding
their shields, they set off like lions, lined up two by two, Roland
and Oliver at the head, Oliver who knows so much about the barons. The
others followed them, hungry for battle. They found pagans and
Saracens sitting quietly. Roland exclaims, "Montjoie!... Strike,
barons, at your will!"
Oliver will strike first at the strong king Prodoat, and
anyone who can jumps through the windows of the beautiful sculpted
palace. The pagans flee like fools. When the emir heard our French, he
almost lost his senses with rage. He rushes furiously towards the
windows, climbs onto the balcony and rushes into the moat. Roland came
close to hitting him with his sharp sword, which landed so hard on the
marble that he took away a quarter of it. The French took the tower
and the large sculpted palace. They swept away the Saracens and Turks
very well, then they closed the gates and raised the bridge.
Now, God grant that they have enough meat and food! As soon as
our French were masters of the square tower up there, the Saracens,
those unbelievers and cursed people, attacked them. Emir Balan, whom
Sortibran of Coïmbre had pulled out of the moat by holding out his
hand, summoned Malpy of Granmolade, the finest thief that could be
found here in the salt sea. "Malpy," he said, "by my tangled beard! If
you had the belt that tightens my daughter's sides, I would give you a
mule's load of gold! And we would very quickly have these French
people, who cannot be taken by starvation in the tower as long as they
keep this belt."
"Lord," replied the thief, "this evening, at vespers, we will
have the belt."
And these words gave great joy to Almiran Balan. The
treacherous thief waited until midnight. After midnight, he descended
gently into the moat and slipped noiselessly into the square tower. He
went up to the first room on tiptoe, and when he found it closed,
muttered a conjuration which made it open wide. Our barons were all
asleep on the marble pavement, the black thief enchanted them, but
fortunately he did not see Count Guy of Burgundy, lying dozing in the
embrasure of one of the windows overlooking the sea, to watch over the
fleet which was besieging them.
The marauder does not stay long in the room, he hastens to
grope his way into the room of Floripar, and searches for the belt
here and there until he finds it and quickly places it around his
waist. Fortunately, he made noise returning to the door. Floripar
wakes up and calls for help with all her strength. At her cries, seven
of her attendants come running, half-naked and disheveled, but seeing
the marauder who was blacker than coal, there was none so valiant who
did not flee shouting.
All this noise startled Count Guy awake. He listens for a
moment, and then rushes towards Floripar's room. His arrival was not,
as you might think, pleasant to the thief. As for the brave Guy of
Burgundy, furious at meeting a man in his fiancée's room, he
discharged such a blow from his finely tempered sword on the black
marauder that he cut him and the magic belt in two.
When the crook's candle rolled on the marble pavement, the
enchantment ended and the counts woke up. Guy told them word by word
what had happened, and taking the corpse of the black man, they threw
it into the sea. But in throwing it, unfortunately, they also threw
away the belt which was worth a tower filled up to the top with gold.
When Floripar learned of this, she fell faint, and our brave barons
were not happy. However, they consoled Floripar with beautiful words.
The day came in the meantime. The morning was clear and cool,
and the pagans, a damned race, ran to arms to assault the tower. When
the sun appeared bright and beautiful, everyone put on their armor.
The emir gathered Sortibran of Coïmbre and quite a few other
unbelievers under his tent, and said, "Barons, what do you advise me?
Since Malpy has not come back, he is probably dead."
"Lord," replied Sortibran, "I believe it, by my faith! So
sound the bugles, and let us attack the tower."
Emir Balan consented. The bugles sounded and the Turks
attacked the tower from all sides. The French then rolled large blocks
of cut stone on them, and killed those who were hit. Unfortunately,
they lack bread, wine, meat, and wheat, all at once. The damsels, weak
and delicate, soon gave way. The beautiful Floripar herself fell
swooning with hunger. Guy, her new husband, ran to pick her up, but he
felt such pain that he himself almost fainted. Calling his companions,
he immediately harangued them in these terms, "Barons, please listen
to me. The pagans keep us stuck in these walls where for three days we
have not seen any food. If we let the ladies starve, we will be
shamed. By Saint Peter, the apostle who is God's friend, I would
rather have my body pierced with ten wounds than suffer such things!
Will you believe me? Let us fasten our hauberks, go out boldly, and go
and look for provisions outside, at the points of our swords. Better
to die gloriously in the sun than to die of hunger in the shadow of
these walls."
"All that is the truth," replied the others.
But Floripar approached slowly and said, "Lords, please listen
to me. The God you serve does not have great power, for if you had
implored our gods, you would have long ago had enough to eat and
drink."
"Damsel," replied Roland, "show us these gods, and if they are
as powerful as you claim, we will worship them, I swear to you."
"You will see if I am deceiving you," replied Floripar.
And, taking a secret passage, she leads the counts to the
synagogue. The font was opened, and then appeared the images of
Tervagant, Apollo and the ill-formed Mahomet, who dominated them both.
Each of these images was made of the purest gold of Arabia.
"Adore them, vassals!" said Floripar.
"Lady," replied Ogier a moment later, "in my opinion, I have
talked to them more than enough."
"By God!" cried Guy the Count, "they have little power, these
gods, because they are always asleep and their eyes are swollen." He
approaches Apollo at these words, and knocks him down with a kick.
Ogier hits the false Mahomet until he has torn him to pieces.
"Damsel," said Roland, "you worship bad gods, dead gods, since
they have fallen and not one rises again."
"It is the pure truth," replied Floripar, "and if I ever adore
them, I want you to massacre me! I therefore now pray to this Lord who
was raised on the cross, and to the most holy Virgin who carried him
in her womb, to send quickly to our aid, through their kindness, the
other barons of France, and not to let us starve to death in this
tower."
"Come, lords," said Oliver, "you are delaying too much, by my
faith!"
"Companion," replied Roland, "you speak the truth."
At these words they covered themselves with their shields,
girded their swords on their left side, went to saddle their horses,
mounted them, and went out proudly when the drawbridge was lowered.
May God, who is the true trinity, lead them now, for they are outside
the fortified castle, and know that before they return there, they
will have struck some good blows!
After crossing the bridge, Roland, Charlemagne's nephew, took
Duke Naimon aside and said to him, "Lord, you will stay with Thierri
the Intrepid, to guard the tower and the gate until our return."
"Lord," replied the old duke, "I will be burned alive before I
agree to become a gatekeeper! This proposal proves to me that you do
not value my courage."
"Naimon is right, by my faith!" said Oliver. "Come with us,
fair lord, please. Thierri and Basin the Glorious will guard the
castle."
"This is great madness, Sir Oliver," cried Thierri at these
words, his heart quivering with anger. It is crazy to say that I am
going to stay here to guard the walls!"
But Roland begged him so insistently in the name of the son of
Saint Mary, that he consented in a murmur.
Mounted on their good Arabian horses, the counts march to the
Turks and ride quietly across the vast meadows. May God help them, the
son of the most holy Virgin, because they will win the provisions
which they greatly need, by my faith!
CHAPTER 7 - THE KNIGHTS OF FRANCE
It was past noon when they set out, in clear and fine weather. As they
rode across the meadows towards the tents of the Saracens, Emir Balan
saw them coming, and called Brulhan of Montmirat, Sortibran of Coïmbre
and many others. "Barons," he said, "what advice do you give me? The
French are coming with their gonfanons raised. If they escape this
time, I will be angry, because they are the same counts that we have
so narrowly besieged."
The pagans, at these words, ran to arm themselves, and it was
just in time, because the French arrived with their reins loose and
spurring their rested destriers until they bled. Roland shouted,
"Montjoie! Montjoie! Give it to them, barons!" With his sharp spear he
went against ten, and each Frenchman proved his strength and his
valor.
However, here is Clarion who arrives with twenty thousand men.
Nephew of the Emir and son of his sister, Clarion the agile rushes
with twenty thousand horsemen.
Roland, seeing him, called Bérard of Montdidier, Guy the Count
of Burgundy, and Ogier the Dane, and said to them, "For God, noble
knights, remember to strike hard, because the ladies must eat and so
must we, who all have great need of it."
He draws Durendal at these words, and, spurring his destrier,
goes to strike Floris in the middle of his helm and splits him down to
his belt. Terrified by this blow, the black demons of Mahomet fled
from Roland like larks from a hawk.
At the same moment, Bérard of Montdidier shouted in a loud
voice, "Let him who wants to please the ladies now show his valor!"
At Bérard's cry, the faces of all the French shine with joy.
They throw themselves with fury on the pagans and litter the field
with dead and wounded. But, despite their valor, they would have
difficulty getting through if Jesus did not help them, for the pagans
were so numerous that the flags of their lances can be seen floating
as far as the eye can reach.
Our sturdy knights fight like lions, but the crowd of
Saracens, these cursed renegades, grows and rises like the sea. In a
short time, there were more than a hundred thousand lined up under the
crescent. Our French were catching their breath in the middle of the
meadows when good fortune came to them. God willed twenty beasts of
burden loaded with bread, wine, and meat belonging to a pagan from
Margoyle to pass that way. Ours killed and dispersed the Turks who
were leading them, and chased them towards the tower. Naimon the Duke
marched at the head, the others on the flanks of the convoy, and
Roland with Oliver, the one who defeated Fierabras, stood in the
rearguard.
The Saracens, seeing this, rushed at full speed, uttering
cries of fury. The two intrepid barons immediately turn around, draw
their swords, and all those they strike have their time on this world
ended. Then the cunning Saracens begin a new fight, avoiding the blows
of Oliver and his companion, they are content to launch their arrows
from afar. The duke of Langres was the first to be hit, and fell dead
on the grass. Furious at this loss, Roland, Oliver, Count Guy of
Burgundy, and the valiant Ogier rush headlong on the pagans to avenge
him, but they are surrounded on all sides and overwhelmed with a cloud
of arrows.
"Frenchmen! Frenchmen!" Clarion shouts to them from afar, "you
will not last!"
Guy, hearing the challenge, quickly turns to respond but, just
as he was about to strike, his horse suddenly fell down, pierced by a
hail of arrows. The count fell to the ground and, before he had time
to get up, he was surrounded and seized, much against his will, by
more than a thousand Saracens. They remove his helmet, entirely
decorated with fine gold, and they hasten to blindfold him and tie his
hands behind his back with a silk scarf. Meanwhile, the count invoked
the help of the God who was born of the Virgin. "Alas! Oh Charles, my
beautiful uncle," he said in French, "you will never see me again!"
"You did not lie this time," replied Clarion, "because we are
going to hand you over to the Almiran Balan, who will guard you today
and hang you tomorrow."
"If it pleases God," replied Guy, "you will not hang me."
Our knights had seen it all. Despairing of freeing their
companion, they abandoned their prize and turned towards the tower.
But Oliver, as prudent as he was valiant, took, under the arrows of
the pagans, seven roasted peacocks and seven large loaves with a
barrel of wine. Then he joined ours at a gallop. The pagans pursued
them as far as the gate, but while Thierri was lowering the bridge,
the counts turned face and, returning on the accursed, cut so many of
them to pieces that they retreated out of arbalest range.
Once inside and the bridge raised, Roland gets down, angry and
grieving. All the others dismount and thank Oliver, who would not have
given away his spoils for the gold of ten cities. Then Floripar
arrives and, approaching Roland very emotionally, tells him this
story. "Lord, where is Guy, the husband you gave me? I do not see him
among you, and yet you must return him to me."
"Beautiful," Roland replied, "Guy is in the hands of the
pagans who took him from us, for which I am seriously angry."
At these words, Floripar suddenly changes color and falls
swooning at his feet on the polished marble. Roland hastens to pick
her up and cries bitterly. Coming to her senses, the young lady began
to shout in her loud and clear voice, "Barons, I swear to the Lord who
made the sky and the dew, if I do not recover Lord Guy to whom you
have united me, I will surrender this tower before tomorrow night!
Lady Saint Mary, crowned queen, do not allow me to lose the one who
was to be my husband, and for whose love I received baptism! Alas,
this much desired union would not have lasted long! God, bring us
together, or I will lose my mind! Ah! I have now forgotten both hunger
and thirst!"
Roland, to calm her pain, said to her very gently, "Cry no
more, oh you who were born so beautiful! I will return Lord Guy to you
before dinner tomorrow."
Hearing this promise, Floripar wanted to throw herself at his
feet, but Charlemagne's nephew courteously prevented her from doing
so. "Beautiful woman," he said, "by God, do not grieve! Because, if it
pleases God the Father, you will see Lord Guy again."
"Lords," cried Oliver at this word, "deign to listen to me, I
pray you. It is neither complaints nor tears that will bring Guy, the
noble count of Burgundy, back to us. It has been three days since we
ate, so I am starving. I brought food. So, to the table without
further ado, if you want some!"
"Companion," replied Roland, "if you have food, thank God, and
let us go to dinner, I agree."
They immediately barricaded the doors, sat at the table with
Floripar and her ladies, and everyone there ate and drank as much as
they needed.
Meanwhile, the emir Balan had returned to his tents. He had
the prisoner brought to him, who had been stripped of his golden
hauberk, and who was livid with fatigue and hunger, because he had not
eaten anything for three days. The emir spoke sharply to him in a
harsh voice, like a furious man, "Vassal, tell me your name and do not
hide anything from me!"
"I will tell you the truth," replied the count. "I am called
Lord Guy, born in Burgundy. I am the cousin of Roland, who is so
feared."
"I know you too well!" replied the Almiran. "It has been more
than seven months since my daughter’s heart flew to you and I promise
you that you will be hanged!"
"Perhaps," replied Lord Guy. "We are sometimes wrong."
At this bravado, the emir turned red with anger. A Saracen
named Falsabratz stood up, no less irritated, and gave the baron such
a blow from behind that he was knocked down. Immediately, at the cries
of the emir, the Saracens fell on the prisoner from all sides and
overwhelmed him with blows. They were so fierce, these cowards, that
Balan himself was forced to run there to prevent them from killing
him. His hands were tied, and the pagan, calling his emirs, asked them
what should be done with this Frenchman who dared to defy him even in
chains.
"Lord," said Sortibran, "we will kill him if it is your good
pleasure, but do you want to take the tower and the Franks that we are
besieging?"
"Do I want it? More than any man born of mother!" cried the
Almiran.
"So, lord, here is what I advise you. Flee, arm ten thousand
Turks and send them to hide in these clusters of trees. We will set up
a gallows at the bottom of the ravine and pretend to hang this captive
there. When the Franks see these preparations, I know how bold they
are, and I tell you that they will gallop out of the tower. The men of
our ambush will surround them on all sides, and, instead of one, we
will take eleven."
"By my faith! the advice is sound," cried Balan, "and I want
to follow it this very moment."
In fact, ten thousand pagans, by his orders, will immediately
hide in the woods. His nephew Clarion and King Tornafer lead them. At
the same time, gallows were raised in the ravine, and thirty Saracens
led Guy there, overwhelming him with blows. They beat him with so much
cruelty that blood flowed from more than twenty bruises, and dragged
him with a rope around his collar without letting him catch his
breath.
The poor count, in great distress, cried out for help from God
and quietly begged him to have pity on his son. "Ah! Valorous barons
of France," he murmured, crying, "run to my aid! Lord cousin Roland,
who loved me so much, if you let me hang, you will do great harm and
great error..."
Chance, at that moment, led Roland to the balcony of the
magnificent palace. He casts his eyes towards the sea and sees the
gallows erected near a turret, and the thirty pagans crowding around
it. He calls loudly to Oliver and the barons, and says to them,
"Listen, lords. I cannot hide the surprise that the gallows raised on
this mound cause me."
"Lord," replied Duke Naimon, "we must not hide it from you.
These pagans want to hang Guy and throw him to the wind. Look at him
there, naked. They have already undressed him. If he is not promptly
rescued, you will soon see him hanging in the air."
Floripar arrived at these words, and when she saw the gallows,
I tell you that she did not have the heart to sing.
"So what are you doing?" she cried angrily. "Why aren't you
already in the enemy ranks? Will you let Lord Guy hang without
defending him? I swear by the great God who will judge the world, if
he dies, nothing will prevent me from delivering this palace..." Then,
throwing herself at Roland's feet, she said, "Lord, nephew of
Charlemagne, for God, let me beg you to rescue and help my husband!...
To your horses! To your horses, lords, and do not waste any more
time!"
"She is right!" exclaims Roland. "Barons, let us think about
arming ourselves and go and help Lord Guy!"
You would then have seen the counts lacing up their green
helms and striding down the stairs of the tower. Floripar, at the head
of her damsels, had the horses ready. Everyone jumps on their own
without touching the stirrups. Poor Lord Guy, God protect you, because
we must not delay long, if we want to find him alive!
"Lords," said Roland first, "listen to me carefully, everyone.
We only have ten knights strong enough to fight. So I beg you, for
God's sake, to hold tight and strike as best you can. Let each one
look after his neighbor when we ride out. If one of us falls, let him
be lifted up immediately, and let him not be left behind, alive or
dead! If we did otherwise, we would never enter this tower. I will
bear the standard, rally to me. As long as I have iron in hand, you
can count on my help, and, from whatever point you run, you will
always find me secure in the camp!"
"Let it be done as you order," replied all the barons, "and
may the God of glory serve as our advocate and plead well for us!"
"Go away, and speak no more!" said Floripar, who was dying of
impatience. "If you delay any longer, you will find Lord Guy
hanged..."
With these words, she runs to fetch the most holy crown which
Christ wore from its well-closed case. Each baron put it on his
pearl-encrusted helm, and afterwards felt so strong that he valued all
the cursed ones less than one denier coin.
The chains which held the bridge then fell with a loud noise,
and our valiant knights, making the sign of the cross, set off proudly
and trotted across the woods and the field, while Floripar and her
damsels raised the bridge and locked the doors.
The pagans surrounded the gallows (and may they have bad
luck!). These unbelievers had already blindfolded Guy of Burgundy.
They had just put the rope around his neck, tied his hands, and
shouted with joy, "In the air, and may he be well hanged!"
At this moment, Roland comes galloping, shouting at the top of
his lungs, "Cowardly thugs! Leave him at once or you will pay dearly
for it! Montjoie! Montjoie! Barons, now give it to them with both
hands full!"
Hearing these words, the pagans felt cold, and the boldest
decided to flee. Roland digs into Valentin's sides with his golden
spurs, Oliver follows him wholeheartedly, then Ogier arrives with the
others, and all the cursed ones they meet, they kill without mercy. Of
the thirty who surrounded Guy, twenty remained dead and bleeding on
the ground.
Then the other Saracens rushed from the ambush. Tornafer of
Baudrac was ahead of them all. He arrived like a madman, shouting out
loud, "Frenchmen! You will not last... The Almiran will have his
hanged man, and you will soon be swinging at his side!"
When Roland heard this, he almost went mad and ran towards the
pagan with his sword Durendal in his hand and pale with anger.
Tornafer struck first as a courageous vassal, and pierced his golden
shield. But before he turned around, Roland discharged such a blow on
his pearl-encrusted helm that he divided the helm and the mail coif,
and split him down to his baldric.
Going straight to the gallows immediately, he untied Guy's
hands, removed the blindfold and the rope from around his neck, and
gave him the renegade's horse. "Mount, cousin," he said, "and stay
with me until I have acquired armor to cover you."
"Fair lord," replied Lord Guy, "your will be done!"
The Saracens arrived, ramming and uttering a thousand wild
cries. Our French received them without moving, and then the battle
began. We have never seen anything like it. Feet, fists, and heads
were flying everywhere. The plain was covered and red with blood and
brains. Many lances and many shields were broken. Roland, encountering
Falsabratz, chopped his head off the saddle with a blow of his sword,
and quickly said to Lord Guy, "Cousin, cover yourself with this
beautiful armor!"
While Guy hastily armed himself, all the others surrounded him
to guard and defend him. As soon as he was dressed in it, Guy jumped
on his horse without touching the stirrups, and said to the counts,
"Now, lords, give them some! I am going to show the Turks that my
hands are no longer tied!"
They turn their heads at these words, and the pagans,
discouraged at the sight of the wounded and the dead, retreat. You
would then have seen our Franks come again within striking distance.
But the Saracens continued to arm themselves in their tents, and more
than twenty thousand pagans marched to the aid of the others.
At the height of the melee, which was rough, fierce, and
without respite, Roland, brandishing Durendal, calls on the French,
may God keep them from harm! "Forward, lords," he said, "and let us
not delay. For here are more than thirty thousand Saracens who have
come to refresh the fight. Ahead, with all our might, and let us try
to get to the bridge alive! Once there, all of them together will not
be worth as much as one denier."
"Lord," replied Guy, "I am not of that opinion. There is
nothing to eat there. If we return to the palace, we will die of
hunger and anguish. Now, by the faith that I owe to Baron Saint
Richier, I would rather die nobly on this battlefield than needlessly
on the marble pavement of the tower! If God wants to deliver me to
death today, I will receive it without turning pale, like a good
knight."
"Well said, by my faith!" cried Oliver. "Grant him that,
barons, and shame on him who does not go with joyful heart to attack
them in the tents!"
You would then have seen our Franks start the clash again, and
heard Floripar, who was admiring them from the battlements, and had
just seen Guy, shout in her clear voice, "Guy of Burgundy, my husband,
how I would kiss you now with pleasure! Cursed be all our enemies! You
are going to assault the pagans of the Emir, and I would like to be a
knight to fight with you and strike too, by Saint Peter!"
"Have you heard, lords?" said Ogier the Dane. "Certainly, we
must go forward for such a lady! Let us then run and strike with
thrust and cut, and may the combat be glorious!"
It was, and bloody! The mere sight of Roland dispersed the
pagans, who fled from him like doves from a goshawk. As for Guy of
Burgundy, jealous of doing well in front of his lady's eyes, he spurs
his horse and slashes one of the emir's leaders down to the baldric.
The noble counts had been wielding sword and spear for a long time,
when the Almiran's daughter shouted to them from the walls, "Barons,
do not forget the food!"
"Certainly," said Oliver to Roland, "the damsel spoke very
well, and reminded us very appropriately of our duty."
"By my faith!" replied Charlemagne's nephew, "I am of the same
opinion..." And shouting, "Montjoie! Help!" he turns towards the Turks
and makes them retreat away from the barons, who they are fighting
with arms and steel, to the distance of one acre. Now, while they were
fleeing at full speed towards the emir's tents, and ours had stopped
to catch their breath, God sent them twenty beasts of burden loaded
with bread, wine, meat, oats, and wheat, which the Emir of Cordoba had
just sent to the Turkish camp. Judge the welcome given to them by the
honest and noble counts! Duke Naimon, Thierri, Roland, and the others
hastened to take the carts to the tower. On the way they found the
body of Bazin lying on the grass, and had the good fortune to bring it
back to the tower with their loot.
Now that the loaded beasts of burden have crossed the bridge,
they can pull the chains, lock the doors, and rejoice. For two months
they will not see famine again, nor will they give up the tower to any
man born of mother! In the meantime, Charlemagne, the good crowned
king, will learn of their distress and come to their aid with his
valiant barons.
The Almiran, on the other hand, sighed loudly in his camp. He
called for Sortibran of Coïmbre and Brulhan of Montmirat, his
counselors, and said to them, "Emirs, these Franks have enchanted us,
by Mahomet! Now they have stocked the tower with food and wheat, and
if Charles finds out all this, it will not go well for us! What should
we do now? I am really very concerned about this. I was born under a
bad star, to lose so many men and thus be beaten by eleven
knights!..."
"Lord," replied Sortibran, "Let us not talk about this
misfortune anymore and let us think about repairing it. Let all your
armed and armored men surround the castle and sound a thousand horns
for the assault. The terrified French will no longer dare to defend
themselves, and we will take the tower."
"Sortibran," said the pagan king, "you speak like a madman.
Those who took my tower are not people to be frightened. Inside there
is the flower of France and of Christianity! Do you not know Roland
with the heart of iron? This Oliver, so valiant and so brave, that
wounded and conquered Fierabras, and that they brought to me yesterday
loaded with chains? Count Bérard, who did us so much harm? Thierri of
the Ardennes, the indomitable, Ogier the Dane, duke Naimon with the
white beard, Richard of Normandy against whom none can resist, who
struck down our leader in front of Rome, in the meadows of Nero, and
wounded me in the head? Finally, do you not know this Guy of Burgundy
who vanquished Falsabratz and so many others whom I do not name?...
The French are not men, but devils incarnate. There are only eleven of
them up there, because we killed one of them. Well I know that Roland,
nephew of Charles, does not value us all more than one denier. Always
ready to take up arms, he is so intrepid that he comes to challenge me
and attack my friends at every moment. If there were a hundred like
him in this marbled palace, we would have to flee and leave the
kingdom!"
"Their God protects and guides them," murmured Brulhan of
Montmirat, while our Mahomet abandons us. I am tied to a bad god!..."
"Brulhan," cried the angry Almiran, "now you have said too
much!" And taking his staff, he dealt him a big blow, and would have
repeated it if Sortibran had not taken it from his fist.
"Lord," said he, "think of something else. Sound the bugles
and let us assault the tower."
"I grant it to you, by Mahomet!" replied the Almiran.
You would then have heard the trumpets and brass horns sound.
At their infernal noise, the pagans came running in crowds. So many
came that the fields were covered with them around the palace, for
half a league.
The Almiran had sent for the engineer Mahon, the most skillful
inventor of machines in the world. This unbeliever made a large
covered bridge at the foot of the tower, under which shelter the
Saracens passed, broke down the gates, and reached the steps. The
French defended themselves like lions and threw stones and wooden
beams at the sons of Mahomet. Beside them the damsels, with their
white hands, rolled pieces of rock, and there is no Saracen who is so
fierce that, when they reach him, he is not crushed like a chicken.
Courteous Floripar, in the midst of the crash of stones, the
whistling of darts and the tumult of the assault, suddenly called Lord
Guy, her husband, and said to him, "Beloved, give me a kiss before we
die!"
"Gladly, lady," said the count, "since such is your good
pleasure."
And he kissed her, fully armed, in front of his companions, to
the great joy of Roland, happy with their tenderness.
The assault, however, continued with fury. The engineer was
setting up his machines and preparing a new attack. When he was ready,
he said to the Almiran, "Lord, let the believers rest, for I will
deliver the tower tomorrow before dark. I only need twenty thousand
elite men, well armed and eager for battle."
Balan chooses them, Sortibran guides them, and the engineer
(God confound him!), arming them with steel picks, makes them mine the
wall. Then he lights Greek fire, and the foundations of the tower are
in flames.
Roland was not happy then. His companions said to each other,
"It will get bad in here soon! We will be forced to surrender..."
"Lords," replied Floripar, "do not be frightened by this fire,
for I will take care of putting it out." She promptly had some camel's
milk brought to her, soaked it in vinegar mixed with salt, and threw
this mixture on the fire, which gradually died down and did not take
long to go out.
"Lord Emir," cried Sortibran. "See this, it is your daughter’s
work!"
"There is no doubt about it, Sortibran. She betrayed us and
fights with the infidels. But I will have her dismembered, as sure as
I am her father!"
"In the meantime, let us attack and let the horns sound on all
sides!"
The Emir said he wanted it to be so. Trumpets and silver horns
began to sound, and the Saracens quivered and uttered their barbaric
howls. Our Franks, who saw them coming, as numerous as the autumn
leaves when the wind blows them away, were somewhat moved and said to
themselves in a low voice, "We will never be able to hold out!"
But Floripar, who heard them, continued smiling. "Barons, have
no fear! If we lack the stones, there is my father's treasure here,
and if the assault lasted fifteen days, we would not lack the gold
ingots to repel the disbelievers."
Everyone runs to the treasure, takes armfuls of ingots and
plates, and throws them like stones. But when the pagans saw this rain
of gold fall, they forgot the assault and only thought of fighting
over the coins and the marks.
The Almiran, on the other hand, began to shout with all his
might, "Emirs, call back the believers! I would lose today the
treasure that I have been amassing for so long! I want the assault to
stop!... Cursed be Mahomet, who lets it be wasted like this!"
CHAPTER 8 - THE BRIDGE OF MANTIBLE
The Almiran returned to his tents, sorry to have lost so much
gold, and Roland, delighted, thanked Floripar, whom Guy then ran to
kiss in front of everyone. After which our barons descended into the
marble hall, and there is no need to ask if the feast was noisy and
joyous!
When they had eaten and drunk to their pleasure, and talked
enough, Roland went up to the balcony to breathe fresh air. Knowing
that the pagans were preparing to sit down to supper, he called the
counts and said to them, "Lords, it is an annoyance that Balan is
feasting there, and it would be nice to go overturn the table for
him!"
"Let us go and arm ourselves!" replied the counts.
Without further ado, they are getting into their saddles and
heading slowly towards the camp. But the Almiran has good eyes, he
sees them through the sapwood, and says to his nephew, Espulart of
Nubia, "I think the French want to disturb our meal. If I am not
mistaken, they are over there in the meadow. Go and arm yourselves
quickly, everyone."
Espulart obeyed and marched out to meet ours with three
thousand men. He held in his hand a very sharp javelin, which he used
with marvelous skill. Having met Roland first, he threw this javelin
at him with such vigor that, I cannot conceal it from you, he pierced
his shield and hauberk at the same time. God nevertheless preserved
Charlemagne's nephew, because the steel did not touch the flesh. But
Roland turned blue with rage. Striking the pagan with all his
strength, he gave him such a blow on the helm that it brought his
horse to its knees. Agile and quick as lightning, the defeated Saracen
gets up and runs with raised sword to Roland, in the hope of killing
him. But the strong knight, bending down, seized him by the throat and
carried him away. Soon, helped by the barons, he disarms him,
stretches him across his saddle tree, and holds him there with an iron
arm.
After this feat, they all trotted back towards the tower. The
Almiran almost lost his mind when he saw this. "Spur your horses,
emirs! Spur quickly and do not let them escape, because if they take
my nephew away, all I must do is die!"
The pagans pursue the barons of France with lowered lances,
but they turned around, and when they returned to the tower, there
were three hundred more dead in the meadows. Riding proudly, they
arrived at the gate, where the courteous Floripar kept the bridge
down. Roland went first, still clutching his prisoner so vigorously
that he could not move. Then they all went up to the room, while the
ladies raised the bridge and locked the doors.
Our Franks went up to the palace and pushed Espulart of Nubia
in front of Floripar. "Lady," Roland asks her, "what is the country
and the name of this accursed pagan?"
"Lord, he is my aunt’s son and the Almiran’s nephew. He has
vast fiefdoms and great wealth, and if you wanted to ignite rage in my
father's heart, you would only have to dismember this accursed
miscreant."
"By my white head," said Duke Naimon, "that is what we will
not do! Better to keep him safe and sound to exchange him for one of
ours, should he unfortunately fall into the hands of the Almiran."
Oliver was of this opinion, and they all supped happily. After
supper, one talked about sensible things, the other talked about crazy
things, but Thierri of Ardennes nodded his head and said, "Lords, my
heart is irritated to see us besieged in this tower. Also, in my
opinion, we should send a messenger to Charles, the good crowned king,
to come to our aid with his valiant barons."
"That is well said," replied Ogier the Dane. "But who will
want to take charge of the message?"
"Me!" said Roland. "I like this task, and I will carry it out
tomorrow at daybreak."
"We will never consent to it," replied Duke Naimon. "For if
Balan and his pagans knew you were gone, they would no longer fear us.
Your name and the fear it inspires assures us and keeps us."
Guilamar the Scotsman, Bérard, and Guy of Burgundy then
offered themselves willingly. But Floripar having declared that Guy
would not leave her, Richard the Norman stood up and said wisely, "You
know, lords, that I have already seen many days. My wife gave me a son
who is wise and very kind, and if I lost my head carrying the message,
he could rule my nation after me."
"Since that is so," said Naimon, "let us choose him as our
messenger."
"I certainly agree," said Roland, "but I want you, noble
count, to promise and swear that neither rain nor snow will stop you,
and that the night will never see you disarmed, until you arrive at
Charlemagne's camp, unless you are sick, injured or taken."
"I swear it very willingly," replied Richard, his hand
outstretched towards the sky and tears in his eyes.
"Lords," said Naimon, "let us now examine how Richard can pass
through the camp of these pagans without being seen."
"By my faith!" cried Richard, "This is what my plan would be.
At daybreak I will go out on horseback, and you will all follow me,
armed from head to toe. At the sound of your armor the unbaptized men
will come running. I will head quickly to the opposite side, for I
know all the paths, and if God, the king of majesty, deigns to lead
me, I will arrive near Charlemagne and his barons, and will be able to
inform them of the danger which you are in."
The French could not hear these words without crying with
emotion. So in the morning, at dawn, when the first pink lights shone
in the east, our counts made a sally. But they found neither Balan nor
the king of Coïmbre. The Almiran had taken them hunting. While they
were beating the thickets, our barons rushed at their soldiers and in
a short time laid down three hundred of them on the grass. As soon as
Richard saw them mingled with the pagans, he bade them farewell with
tears, and passed through the camp quickly and without incident. Now
let God, who is the true Trinity, lead him.
For our French, after having repulsed the Saracens, they
retreat step by step to the moat, enter the tower, and run as quickly
as possible to the large windows of the jagged keep, in order to see
if Richard was far away.
The valiant duke had already passed the Turkish tents. His
first care, when he saw himself on the plain, was to commend himself
to God in these terms, "Glorious Lord father, who was born a virgin,
protect my body today against all dangers, so that I can fulfill my
message and bring help to my brave companions!" He then devoutly
crossed himself, and as he bowed, the horizon cleared, the sun
appeared, and the unconfessed could see him.
The first to discover him on the plain was Brulhan of
Montmirat. Riding with Clarion, nephew of the Almiran, he said to him,
"By Mahomet! Beautiful lord, I have just seen a messenger who crossed
our camp in the shadows, and who would undoubtedly reach that of
Charlemagne if he were not stopped."
King Clarion became inflamed with anger at these words, and
began to shout, "Bring me my armor!..." They are brought to him and he
arms himself. They bring him his horse and he mounts it. The horse was
beautiful and there was never a better breed. He could run twenty
leagues without getting tired. The Saracen took his golden shield,
grabbed his lance, and galloped away. All his pagans followed him
across the meadows, running after Richard. May God, in his tender
kindness, protect our knight, for he will be very close to death
before the sun sets!
Richard, the brave count, was riding full of ardor, when a
fatal accident happened to him. At the first climb, his horse fell.
The Duke, very distressed, immediately implored the Lord. "God of the
Holy Trinity," he murmured in a low voice, "give me help and succor,
and make it possible for me to reach Charlemagne, so that he may
deliver those in the tower!"
Turning around after this prayer, he saw the pagans running
with raised arms, numbering more than fourteen thousand. The emir's
nephew was ahead of them all, on the noble Arabian steed whose feet
burned the earth. May God, in his tender kindness, protect Richard,
because he is going to be brutally attacked by the Saracens!
He was arriving on the plateau when Clarion reached him. The
emir's nephew was very richly armed. He wore iron shoes, golden spurs,
and not a single piece was missing from his war harness. He rode an
incomparable destrier which was made and formed in the following way.
It had one of its sides completely white, and, like the other, thick
and strong. The tail was large and raised, the neck thin, the thigh
strong and short, the feet flat and cut, and the spinal column
straight. The saddle was of ivory and tightened by four strong straps,
the stirrups were of gold, and the chest ornaments were rich with
golden bells hanging to the right and to the left that rang as softly
as viols or new violins when the horse ran.
Kicking the flanks of this good courser, who jumped thirty
steps when he felt the spur, the emir pounced on Richard and shouted
to him, "By Mahomet, messenger, you will be put to death! You were
going to get them help, but you will not go far!"
When Richard heard him, all of his blood ran cold. "Vassal,"
he said to the Saracen, "what do you want? I have done you no wrong
and will not take your money. So do not delay my journey, and be sure
that if I reach Charlemagne, you will have a good reward!"
"Foolish words!" shouted the emir. "I would not let you pass
for the gold of ten cities!"
Richard then turns, and Clarion, striking his gold-enamelled
shield, split it from side to side and pierced the hauberk. The tip of
the spear brushed his side, but without hurting him. Holding firm on
the pommel of his saddle, Richard does not move at once, and drawing
his sword, he strikes the Saracen on his helm decorated with precious
stones, but it was so well tempered that the iron bounced off and did
not cut him. The furious duke redoubles with more vigor and, slicing
at his neck, made his head fly more than two yards away.
Carried by its own weight, the body staggers and rolls to the
ground. Richard immediately grabs the horse by the golden reins and
climbs lightly into the saddle, and gives freedom to his own horse.
"Beausant," said Richard, "I feel sorry for you at this time. May God,
the king of majesty, lead you to such a place where you fall into
Christian hands! You have done me good service on many a difficult
occasion, may the God of glory lead you and guide you back to the
honored counts!"
The duke left at these words, closely followed by the
disbelieving Saracens. They, arriving at a gallop, found the body of
Clarion, and there was neither Turk nor pagan so fierce who did not
stop in fear. While they lament and cry over Clarion, Richard's horse
runs away, and no one can stop him, for the horse kicks with so much
force that he kills ten of their horses and wounds fourteen, as he
returns at full speed towards the tower of Aigremoine.
But let us return to Richard, who, sword in hand, like a good
knight, spurs the fast courser. The Saracens, these cursed renegades,
tried to pursue him but, seeing how much ground he was gaining on the
fastest mounts, they soon despaired of reaching him and returned to
camp with lowered heads and sad hearts. Richard's horse had already
beaten them. The old emir was the first to see him. Calling Sortibran
of Coïmbre, his master counselor, he said, "By our god Apollo, how
dear my nephew is to me! He killed the messenger of the Franks. I
recognize his horse, see if you can catch him."
The Saracens pursue the horse, but every time they approach
it, it raises its hind legs and flees to the shore. He never stopped
galloping from the shore to the tower. Then, arriving in front of the
bridge, he begins to neigh. Our French, recognizing him, came down
from the palace, lowered the bridge, and the horse entered at a
gallop, without being asked. Great mourning then and lamentations in
the tower, because of their messenger whom the counts believe to be
dead.
"Poor Richard of Normandy!" exclaims old Duke Naimon, "From
now on we must no longer hope for your help! May the Lord of Heaven
deign to forgive your soul!"
You would have seen Roland, Oliver, and all the barons cry at
this speech. Only the courteous Floripar preserved hope, and comforted
our French. "Lords," she said in a firm voice, "do not be distressed
yet, for we know nothing certain, either good or bad, about the
messenger."
At this moment they saw the Saracens returning who brought
back the body of Clarion on his shield made of elm wood. When the
Almiran saw them, he ran joyfully to meet them. "Children of the
believers," he said beautifully, "Clarion killed the messenger?..."
"We have had less luck," replied the Saracens. "It was the
messenger, on the contrary, who killed Clarion the agile."
At this news, the emir almost lost his senses. Four times he
fell unconscious at the foot of an olive tree, then he begins to
scream as he comes to himself, "Ah! beautiful nephew Clarion, pious
and good knight, may Mahomet and Apollo, who will judge us all, take
pity on you!"
The Saracens were in such great mourning and uttered such
lamentations that the barons heard them from the tower. Roland, the
good hitter, calls Floripar and says to her, "Lady, listen to the
mourning and the cries of these pagans! What loss could they have
suffered to show such despair?"
"Lord, they have lost Clarion, the flower of the knights of
Spain, from whom the brave Duke Richard has just taken away, with his
life, the best horse of this century."
Richard was fleeing over hill and valley on a horse which had
no equal in the world when the emir summoned his dragoman and ordered
him to take a camel and go and warn Galafre that he would remove his
eyes from his head if he let the messenger of those who held his tower
pass.
"Lord," replied Orage the dragoman, "there is no need for a
camel for that, because I would like to exceed fourteen in a day."
"Go then," said the Almiran, "and may Mahomet guide you!"
Orage, who boasted of traveling a hundred leagues without
stopping, leaves immediately and, running faster than birds and hawks
fly in the air, he caught up to Richard at Guimer rock and shouted to
him as he passed, "Messenger, you will not escape us."
Richard continued on his way without answering, but the pagan,
still running, arrived at Mantible bridge a long time before him,
searched everywhere for Galafre, and ended up finding him on the main
steps, where he told him his reason in these terms, "Galafre, the
Almiran with the flowery beard and eyebrows asks why did you let
Charlemagne's messengers, who seized his tower, his treasure, and
kidnapped his noble daughter Floripar, cross the bridge? They have
just sent an emissary to old Charles who came out of the tower at
night, like a thief, killed Clarion, the good and noble, and took away
his horse, the best runner in Arabia. Sorrowful and irritated by all
these things, the Almiran sends me to you and he has sworn by Baratron
that if you allow this Frank to pass, you will be put to death without
mercy!"
Galafre grabbed his club and stood up in anger to strike
Orage, who was already far away. Then he sounded his great brass horn
twice, and all the pagans ran to arms.
To the sound of trumpets and cymbals, the Saracens soon left
the city, numbering fifteen thousand and more, and lined up in front
of the bridge. Richard, arriving at a gallop, saw the fields covered
with them and stopped to address this prayer to God, "Glorious Lord,
father of majesty, help me in this great peril! If I go through this
multitude, my head will be cut off. If I try to cross these waves, I
will certainly drown. If I stay here on this shore, I taint my honor.
But a French Baron, whatever happens, must maintain his loyalty, and I
will keep the promise I made to Roland. So, Lord, father of glory, I
place my fate in your hands, so have pity on me!"
After this prayer, Richard rushes with his reins free and
meets the unconfessed with his square spear in hand. The first who
dared to face him was a nephew of the Almiran. Rushing on a beautiful
black horse with a starry forehead, this pagan threatened him out loud
and wanted to avenge the death of Clarion. But Richard, piercing
shield, mail, and also hauberk, planted his square spear in his heart.
The pagans uttered a long howl when they saw him fall and all spurred
towards Richard, who was spurring towards the river.
When he was at the edge, he hesitated. The water flowed black
and deep between two banks at least a hundred feet high. The brave
duke of Normandy once again implored God for help, and here was the
marvel that God accomplished in favor of the Emperor of France whom he
loved so much. Faster than the path that an arrow travels in flight,
the Flagot suddenly swelled and rose up to make the banks wet. At the
same time there appeared a deer white as snow, which entered the water
in front of Richard and began to swim across it.
Closely pressed by the pagans who were arriving in crowds,
Richard confided in God and followed the white deer. He knew how to
guide him well to the other bank. There, turning around, he saw the
river lowering so quickly that the Muslims who had come to the edge
did not dare to throw themselves into the abyss. They returned to the
city, carrying the body of the emir's nephew, and, after lowering the
bridge, resumed pursuit of Richard. The duke was remounting the straps
of his horse when they came out. He did not think it appropriate to
wait for them and took off like lightning. Although the miscreants
made the earth tremble under the feet of their fifteen thousand horses
and made thousands of sparks fly from the stones, he rode such a good
runner that he left them far behind, and they were forced to return to
Mantible and to go and disarm without having carried out Galafre's
orders.
CHAPTER 9 - THE TEARS OF CHARLEMAGNE
The duke of Normandy therefore rode calmly, after this alert, towards
the tents of Charlemagne, whom he ardently longed to see again.
Old Charles was there then, doleful and angry, because he was
unaware of everything that had just happened in Aigremoine and
Mantible. He summoned Aloris and Aldrat, Ganelon, Macaire the leude
with the long beard, Jaufre of Hautefeuille, and his other advisors to
his pavilion with the golden orb. "Barons," said the emperor, "give me
good and sensible advice. I lost my barons, which is a serious blow,
and this loss finally ages me and lowers my value. So I return to you
the crown that you gave me, and never again will I hold a kingdom in
my life!"
When the French heard him, they were all frightened. But
Ganelon had great joy in his heart, and spoke in these terms, when the
others remained silent, "Lord, king, emperor, listen to me, please!
Here is the advice I give you. Have all the lodges and pavilions
pulled down, let us load the baggage onto the pack animals and
tomorrow morning, at dawn, let us set off again for France. Your
barons are tired and in too much pain. Aigremoine is so strong, we
could never conquer it. Almiran Balan, a man of great pride, gathered
all the emirs of his domains to take revenge on Fierabras, who left
Mahomet for Jesus. All the barons you sent to him are dead. So let us
go back to France, if you will listen to me. All the children we left
there will be men in less than twenty years, and then we will return
to Spain and we will take lands and cities by force."
At these words, Charlemagne lowered his head. He could not
have said a single word for ten kingdoms. Tears flow down his cheeks
and wet his white beard. "Unhappy emperor!" he finally whispered
quietly. "If I return to France, I will be disgraced. Everyone will
say that Charlemagne no longer has a heart! Better to die than to live
in shame." Then, raising his head, he said aloud, "Barons, you have
heard the advice that Ganelon gives me. He wants me to retrace my
steps without taking revenge for the death of my brave peers, noble
supporters of my crown..."
Macaire who is cursed by God, Andrieu, Aloris, and more than a
hundred other barons, all relatives or cousins, but all traitors at
the bottom of their hearts, then stood up and began to shout together,
"Lord, let us return to France!"
"Ganelon said well," adds Macaire, "and spoke wisely. Let us
think about going back. The one hundred best knights of the court have
sworn that they will never leave any living man behind. Since Roland
is dead, they are released from their oath."
"Lord," cried Charlemagne, "O almighty father! They hardly
like me, those who give me this advice!"
"Valiant emperor," said Renier of Genoa, very moved, "if you
listen to Aloris and his advice, France will come to nothing because
of them."
"By God!" cries Aloris at these words, "Renier, you are
speaking madly. I deny you like a worthless scoundrel for these words,
and if it were not for my respect for the emperor here present, the
brand which hangs at my side would already be red with your blood. We
all know you and know that you came from nothing. Your father Garin
did not have an acre of land. He was always a marauder and lived by
plunder..."
At this language, fire rises to the duke's face. He moves
forward, jumps on Aloris, grabs him by the hair, and sends him rolling
to the ground with a punch, saying, "Go, gluttonous beggar, and God
curse you, because Garin was a prudent man and worth a hundred such as
you!"
Andrieu, seeing his brother on the ground, shouts,
"Hautefeuille!" and all their relatives come running in such numbers
that if God does not take care of it, everything will certainly go
wrong.
The dispute begins abruptly between the two families.
Ganelon's relatives are brave, and they would have made a bad match
for the duke of Genoa, if most of the barons of France had not turned
to his side. Swords were already flying free on both sides, when the
emperor cried out and swore by his head that he would hang as a thief,
however great he may be, the first one who begins to fight.
This oath frightened the proudest, and there was neither horse
saddled nor armor taken down from the post. Returning immediately to
his pavilion, Charlemagne summoned Ganelon's relatives, who had
resolved to kill Renier at nightfall. When Aloris, Aldrat, all the
knights of their kin, Duke Renier, and the French were gathered, the
emperor said sternly, "Lords, you have outraged me by arguing and
fighting before my eyes but, by the soul of my father, if I do not
obtain sufficient reparation, I will do justice so vigorously that
everyone will talk about it!" He then said, "Aloris, listen to me. You
are going to take off your cloak and grant the duke of Genoa his
will."
"Lord," replied Ganelon, "you will be obeyed, since such is
your pleasure."
Aloris takes off his cloak, kneels and gives his pledge to the
duke of Genoa, who would not have accepted it if not for his fear of
the emperor. In order not to displease Charles, he made some pretenses
of friendship.
After the reconciliation, Charlemagne again asked his barons
for advice, unable to decide to turn his back on the emir, as this
cowardice weighed on him. But Jaufre of Hautefeuille said to him,
"Noble emperor, no one loves you more than Ganelon, my son, and me.
Now we held council with our family and our friends, and it was
decided that we would return to France, if it was your pleasure, for
we are exhausted by strength and broken by the fatigues we have
suffered."
Charlemagne then began to cry again, but the traitors knew how
to enchant him with false words so well that he ended up consenting to
the departure. So now the bugles are sounding and, by the order of the
emperor, we begin to fold the tents, to the great joy of some and the
great displeasure of others. Duke Renier especially could not hide his
despair. But in vain he reminds Charlemagne, who will go mad with
pain, of Roland and Oliver. "They force me to leave," replied the
emperor, "and to abandon their bodies to the unbelievers. But we will
avenge them one day. Ah, Roland, my nephew, what shame, what shame
will your uncle have who held you so dear all his life! God forbid,
the universal judge, that I will still wear the crown and live an
entire month!"
The old emperor, at these words, fell fainting on the neck of
his horse, and he would have rolled to the ground if not for the duke
of Genoa. Coming to his senses, he accused himself aloud, with
bitterness, of the death of Roland and the counts, and all those who
had a noble heart mingled their tears with his. But Ganelon, Aloris,
and their perfidious family sounded trumpets and bugles and set off.
However, the emperor, before descending the mountain, turned
around to take a last look towards the east, and his trained eye saw a
horseman in the distance, who was coming at a gallop, holding his
sword in his hand. He immediately stopped the army, and exclaimed,
"God, what a good running destrier this knight has! He leads another
on a leash, if I am not mistaken, and the further he advances, the
more I seem to recognize Richard of Normandy! May he bring me news of
my nephew Roland and tell me that the other barons are still safe and
sound!"
The army stops at the sounds of the Olifant, and here is
Richard arriving and descending from his Arabian horse in front of the
emperor. Charlemagne greeted him and immediately questioned him. "Tell
me, for the love of God, what has happened to Roland and the others?
Are they still in this world?..."
"Have no doubt of it, lord," replied Richard. "I left them in
Aigremoine, in a great tower where the father of Fierabras, the one
called Balan, besieged them with three hundred thousand men. He swore,
by Mahomet and Tervagant his god, that they would not come out alive.
This is why they send me to ask you for succor. They have with them
the emir's daughter, a kind lady with a noble heart. She has the most
holy relics that you so desire, and you will have them whenever you
want."
At this speech, Charlemagne was more joyful than if all the
gold of the East had been brought to him. He swore by Saint Denis, his
protector and patron, that Ganelon and his people were full of
treachery. "It is not their fault that they did not know my nephew is
still alive, but they will no longer speak in my court!"
Then, addressing Richard, he asked, "Is the tower well
stocked? If they can hold out for fifteen days, the Almiran will be
dead at the end of this time and his people discomfited."
"Lord," replied Richard, "I will not conceal from you that
even though the Almiran is a felon, he is full of bravery. There is a
difficult passage there towards the city called Mantible, well
defended by a bridge and a fortified tower. The door of this tower is
made of six large iron bars joined by chains. The Flagot, which is two
lances deep, flows under the great arch of the bridge, and to reach
the city beyond the river, you must pass through the iron gate, which
a great thief named Galafre guards with the greatest care. This
unbeliever, may he be cursed by God, has ten thousand men under his
command. You cannot enter there by force, because force would do no
more than a rotten apple. But we will pass by trickery. Dressed as
merchants, and followed by a weak escort, we will present ourselves at
the iron gate. Everyone will wear his hauberk and sword under a cloth
cape and a chain mail coif under his hat. You will follow with the
army. When we have captured the gate of the great bridge, I will sound
the horn and you will come to support us with your knights. This is
how we will pass, if it pleases God, the son of Saint Mary."
"Oh Lord," cried the emperor, "who made day and night, as
Richard spoke well, bless Jesus for this wise speech!"
The Olifant is then sounded, and the army sets out again. When
the dawn of the following day blossomed red in the skies, the host
arrived in the valley of Marimonde. Charlemagne gave the order to put
on armor, and when the French had obeyed without hesitation, the
emperor of the holy land took the lead, and the rising sun saw his
beard, whiter than frost, flowing from the ventail of his helm down to
his belt.
Richard the Strong, duke of Normandy, marched in front with
his company, which he had arranged like a merchant caravan. After
having given the horse with the starry front, conquered from the
nephew of the emir at the gates of Marimonde, to Renier of Genoa, and
having recommended to his knights, who numbered five hundred, to hide
their steel brands well under their cloth capes, he crosses the meadow
with loaded pack animals and guides his troops because he knows the
country well. We only stopped at Mantible. Charles lay in ambush in
the woods, with a hundred thousand men, and the duke moved towards the
bridge, leading his company. The gate of the tower, under which the
water of the Flagot rolled like an arrow, was closed, solidly locked,
and held on all sides by a large chain. Also those within did not fear
any man born of a mother, and Hoël of Nantes, shaking his head, could
not help murmuring, "Is it to our death that we are marching? I see
more than a thousand armed pagans!"
"Lord," said Richard, "please listen to me. I will tell them
so many lies, if you let me, that we will be able to cross the
bridge."
"You do it," replied Razols of Le Mans. "No one will say a
word."
With these words, they prod the pack animals and begin to
cross the bridge in a tight file. When Galafre saw them coming in such
good order, he stood in front of the postern, having on his shoulder
his heavy ax, the edge of which measured a good two feet and was as
sharp as a razor. The pagan was tall, black, and hideously formed. He
had big, crooked eyes, an enormous nose and mouth, thick, graying
sideburns, and hairy ears so monstrous they could have held two
setiers of wheat. His arms were long, his feet were clubbed, and never
was a disbeliever seen with an uglier form. God save our brave French,
for if any of them are discovered, know that his head and limbs will
certainly be cut off!
They crossed the bridge in silence. When they reached the end,
Richard, who was guiding them, lowered his hood and stopped in front
of Galafre. The horrible pagan then began to shout, "Where are you
from, boy? What is your country and that of the people who follow
you?"
Richard hastened to turn his tongue, and replied in Aragonese,
"Lord, we are merchants who come from Auscario and bring valuable
cloth to the Almiran Balan. My companions are Slavic. Now tell us,
fair lord, where we can pay the duty."
Galafre replied, "It is I who am the guard of this bridge and
of the country up to fifty leagues around. Twelve gluttons passed this
way the other day who were to pay me my tribute on their return, but
the emir keeps them besieged in the tower of Aigremoine. Of them I
only saw a messenger who, stealthily escaping from the palace, swam
across this water with his horse, and killed my cousin, which makes my
heart bitter! Would to Mahomet that I held him in my chains, for his
body would be split from head to heel! The Almiran, furious at this
and the betrayal of his son Fierabras, who has just denied Mahomet,
forbade me, three days ago, to let anyone pass without having examined
him carefully. So, approach without reply and raise your hoods."
Richard bowed his head at these words, and here is Razols of
Le Mans who has the heart of a lion, the brave Hoël of Nantes, and
Duke Renier who advance with such a proud air that when Galafre saw
them he shouted, "Back, barons! Back! You will not pass!"
Seizing the chain, with these words, he raised the bridge, and
there were our four French prisoners in the city. Galafre, ax in hand,
vomits a thousand threats against them. Then he grabs Razols by the
hood and pulls him so roughly that he makes him fall at his feet.
"By God!" said this one, "I have endured too much by allowing
myself to be thrown to the ground so quickly."
Taking off his cloak at these words, he draws his sword,
strikes the giant and cuts off one of his monstrous ears. Richard and
Renier, also drawing their steel weapons, join him and strike the
evildoer, but they cannot damage his body nor his head, because he was
covered with the skin of a snake with hard scales. As for him, raising
his axe, he thought he would split Razols from his head down to his
feet, and in fact would have split him down the middle, but the count
jumped back so nimbly that he avoided the blow. The sharp ax landed on
a square of marble and was driven one foot deep into it.
"Oh, God of majesty!" stammered Renier, astonished, "What will
we do with this Turk, who is so formidable and whom our swords cannot
cut?..."
The Duke looked around him after saying these words, and,
seeing a large oak lever, he seized it with both hands and delivered
such a blow on his back that he laid him on the ground. Then he cut
off his legs with his sharp sword. As he fell, the giant uttered such
a loud cry that the whole city resounded. In a few moments, the
disbelieving pagans come running with ten thousand men. Richard,
hearing them coming in tumult, runs to the bridge and lowers it.
Immediately, our five hundred French people rushed there, and
barely had they passed the door when they encountered the Musulmans.
Then you would have seen many blows given and received. Richard took
his horn and blew it loudly. Charlemagne, who heard it among the
branched trees, began to shout at this signal, "Montjoie!
Montjoie!..."
The first one mounted, he guided the French, who spurred
sharply and only pulled back when they reached Mantible bridge. That
day, Ganelon the traitor fought well, with all his lineage, despite
his felony. It was he who first entered with his gonfanon raised. But
the ardor of the Saracens soon cooled and, turning face, they fled to
the great moat. The French charged them with vigor. Under their
shining swords the dead fall thick as ripe ears of corn and the
wounded flee screaming. The son of Pepin is everywhere with his sword
raised, and Ganelon does not leave him, to atone for his felony.
As he passed, the emperor saw Galafre on the ground, who
seemed to be an antichrist and who was not yet slain, because the
snake skin which enveloped him protected him from blows. With the ax
he held in his hand, the cursed man had killed more than thirty French
people. Ours killed him with stones, and threw his body into the black
waters of the Flagot.
However, the French arrived under the walls, which were made
of blocks of gray marble held together with iron clamps, and in front
of the door they found Effraon armed with his iron club. The giant had
left his wife and two children to repel the Frankish knights. He had
already killed I know not how many when the emperor arrived holding
Joyeuse in his fist, which sparkled in the sun. Before the giant had
time to turn around, he split his head to the teeth.
The pagans fled with long howls, and Charlemagne boldly
entered the city shouting, "Montjoie!" He was followed by Richard of
Normandy, Hoël of Nantes, Razols of Le Mans who has the heart of a
wild boar, and Duke Renier of Genoa. Before these five men,
brandishing their naked and bloodied swords, the unbelievers
retreated. But more than seven thousand Turks, throwing themselves
between them and the gate, cut off their retreat and shut them up in
the city. Caught with his four barons as if in a trap, Charlemagne's
heart was troubled. He implores Jesus in a low voice and thinks, with
a sigh, of Roland and Oliver. Then, falling on the disbelievers, he
and his barons wreaked horrible carnage.
His cry of "Montjoie!" which he uttered from time to time, was
heard by Ganelon on the other side of the rampart. At the voice of his
lord in peril, remorse awoke in the heart of the traitor. He shouts,
"Hautefeuille!" and his relatives came running to the number of
fifteen hundred, all brave and richly armed. They valiantly attacked
the gate, but the Saracens repulsed them and killed more than a
hundred men under the stones which fell like light rain.
"By my faith!" said Aloris suddenly, "we are crazy to be
killed here for nothing. Ganelon, handsome nephew, let us go! Charles
is a prisoner within these walls. Here we are, avenged by Renier!
Cursed be any who will help them! We can now reign in France and make
your father emperor!"
"God forbid," replied Ganelon, "that I betray my lord today!
We hold our lands and our fiefs from him, and must help him with
loyalty and good heart. There is not a Frenchman here who has not
taken the oath."
Hearing this speech, Aloris turned black with anger. "You are
deranged," he said, "to reject the vengeance that is coming and to
persist in this assault to save people who have undoubtedly already
had their heads cut off."
At this point Fierabras arrives, running, asking for news of
Charlemagne.
"He is in these jagged walls," replied the traitors.
"And you are not coming to his aid!" cried the son of Balan.
"So what are you waiting for? Barons, if you abandoned him, it would
be shame and cowardice!"
At the voice of Fierabras, the French begin the attack again.
Led by the Turk and Ganelon, who overturned everything and broke the
door with picks and axes, they forced Mantible and entered in a crowd
with gonfanons raised.
In the tumult which arose when the city was taken, the widow
of Effraon got out of her bed all disheveled, and picking up a scythe,
she ran to defend the entrance to Mantible. Such was the vigor of this
fury that she killed a cartload of our Franks.
"God and honored Blessed Virgin!" cried Charlemagne suddenly,
"I see there a devil blacker than coal who mows down my men like
grass! It is high time to stop her... Who can give me a bow or
crossbow?..."
Duke Hoël, who never left his side, hastens to reach out to
him at these words, and, aiming at the old giantess, sends his iron
bolt right into the middle of her forehead. The arrow shatters the
skull, plunges into the brain, and knocks her down dead. The French
then, passing over her corpse, at which many stones had been thrown,
rushed into the city.
God, the rich booty they gained that day! Gold, silver, silk,
colored sheets, everything was found there in abundance. The Almiran
had deposited the best part of his treasures in the tower, which was
stronger than that of Calahorra.
The ruddy-faced Emperor Charles shared the spoils equally.
Everyone had them, young and old. Then the army camped around the city
and rested for two days and one night. Searching the houses, our
people found the children of the giantess and brought them to the
emperor, who crossed himself on seeing them, and had them baptized.
One was called Oliver, the other Roland; but they died before we
conquered Balan.
Three days after the capture of the city, on a beautiful
summer morning at the end of May, Charlemagne left Hoël and Razols of
Le Mans in the conquered city with five hundred knights, mounted
Blanchart, and took the road of Aigremoine. A hundred thousand men
followed his banner. Seeing their long lines unfolding across the
plain, he raised his eyes to heaven and said humbly, making the sign
of the cross, "Thank you, Lord, father of glory, for you have honored
me well!"
CHAPTER 10 - ALMIRAN BALAN
While the flowery-bearded Emperor of France rode in good order with
his barons, and Richard of Normandy and the valiant Fierabras led the
vanguard, the Almiran received news of the capture of Mantible, the
death of Galafre, and the plundering of his treasure. Pierced in the
heart by mortal pain, he begins to cry and lament, "Alas! Mahomet, how
shameful is your law! Renounced evil god, you are not worth a piece of
rope, and Fierabras did well to abandon your law, because if you had
defended my men, they would not have died!"
After saying these words, he took a club in both hands, ran to
the mosque, and struck Mahomet on his golden head so many times that
he broke it into pieces. Then he knelt before the idol, asked its
forgiveness, and ordered the tower to be assaulted, shouting, "To the
attack, sons of Mahomet! Kill the traitors! Capture Floripar, this
ingrate who dishonors me, and I will burn her alive!"
To the sound of drums and bugles, thousands of pagans attack
the tower with force and vigor. Our French, Oliver and Roland in the
lead, dressed in their white hauberks, defended themselves like
soldiers and filled the gap with the dead. But in vain they throw
arrows, fire, and stones. They are outnumbered and the Saracens win
the tower, except for the top floor. Pushed back there and locked in a
narrow room, ours, however, are not discouraged.
"Lords," said Roland, "let us sustain the fight and do them as
much harm as we can."
"Do not worry, companion," replied Oliver. "Here we have ten
other men able to fight and guard what we hold. But, in the name of
the Savior, let us go out and enjoy the outdoors. I would rather die
in the sun than under these dark vaults."
"Lords," Floripar shouted to them at this moment, "strike and
drive out these accursed ones because, if you repel this assault, I
will show you the crown of thorns of Jesus!"
Weeping with joy at this promise, the counts fought so
valiantly that they repulsed the pagans. Floripar, immediately opening
a golden box to which she alone had the key, showed them the holy
relics, before which they knelt with their foreheads on the ground. A
thousand Saracens and more were climbing the tower during this time,
but the white-headed Duke Naimon showed them these divine relics, and
they all fell from the ladders, as if struck by lightning.
But the stones still whistled, the machines rumbled against
the wall with such force that part of the tower collapsed. The counts
would have been lost if they had not decided to throw the gods of the
emir on the attackers. Roland throws Apollo at them, Ogier throws
Margot, Oliver throws Lupin, and the old duke throws Mahomet. Now,
when the Almiran saw his gods in the air, he was so angry and so
filled with emotion that he stopped the assault.
The Saracens raised the idol of Mahomet, weeping with pain,
and, as the Almiran, in his despair, addressed it with bitter
reproaches, a devil from hell opened the lips of the idol and uttered
these words, "Almiran, mighty prince, attack the tower again, instead
of lamenting, and you will take it now."
The Almiran, full of joy, sounded a thousand horns and a
thousand bugles, and the assault began again with the roar of machines
and the dull sound of stones. May God, in his goodness, think of our
French at this time, because if help does not come swiftly, they will
be dead and destroyed!
The assault was fierce and the tumult terrible. All the
unconfessed people, pagans and Turks, rush against the door, break it
with picks and axes, and reach the windows. They intended to force
entrance into the tower, but there are ten counts of France the Proud
who strike well, and all those they reach have finished their time in
this world.
"Lords, Frank knights," said Oliver of Genoa to them, "the
tower has collapsed in twenty places, but it doesn’t matter! No
weakness, not even in thought! Before my soul leaves my body, I will
kill a cartload of pagans!"
Roland responded by showing his sword from which blood was
streaming, and all the others had their hearts raised with reward. The
Turks arrived with these words, but all their rage was shattered
against the steel arms of ours.
"Alas!" cried Floripar, troubled by the danger, "Alas! Honored
holy Virgin, it is today that I will be delivered over to death and
torment because, unhappy as I am, I see it clearly, we will not be
able to hold the tower!"
"Quiet yourself, born beautiful," said Guy of Burgundy
harshly, "and be careful not to repeat these words!"
"Lord," replied the lady, "my heart is cold, because help is
not coming, and our life will soon be over. I hoped with great joy to
become your wife, to be purified in the holy fonts, and to die crowned
next to you, sire!"
At these words, Floripar heaved a great sigh and fell fainting
into the arms of Guy and Oliver, who hastened to support her until she
had regained her senses. Meanwhile, Duke Naimon, who was looking out
onto the plain, saw floating far away the banner of Saint Denis. He
recognized the dragon by its tied tail, and exclaimed, "Noble knights
of France, no more fear, no more pain! Here is the banner of Saint
Denis! It has already passed the valley... God, the one who carries it
rides with ardor! We can clearly see that he longs to see us again!
The army follows him in good order and has conquered the whole
country! Now I see Richard. Tomorrow, the Turks will have a painful
day!"
"Honor to God," said Floripar, "and to the crowned Virgin! Guy
of Burgundy, handsome lord, kiss me and I will no longer grieve!"
Our French uttered cries of joy at these words, and Guy became
redder with pleasure than the summer rose.
The emir learned at the same time that Charlemagne had just
crossed the Valley of Aigremoine, with a hundred thousand well-armed
men. Fifty thousand Turks guarded the entrance to the plain of Josué.
Charles arrives riding, his gonfanon raised, having arranged behind
him Richard and the barons of France. He stopped in a meadow, and the
army camped there without lodges or tents, because all the baggage had
been left in the fortress of Mantible.
There the men disarmed and slept, and the horses did not stop
grazing the grass until dawn. But at dawn, when the lark had sung,
Charles had his men armed and arrayed, and then called Fierabras of
Alexandria. "Fierabras," he said, "I have made you a Christian and
will hold you as dear as a son as long as I live, but here is what I
want to tell you. If your father would deny Mahomet, believe in
Christ and receive baptism, he would not lose a palm of his land,
while if he refuses and fights me, he will die dismembered."
"Lord," replied Fierabras, "I beg you in the name of God, let
us find out if he will agree to be bathed in the baptismal font. If he
persists in his error, with great regret, I will no longer dare to
speak to you on his behalf."
The Emperor of France summoned Renier, Richard of Normandy,
and other barons whose names are unknown to me, and asked them who
they advised him to send to Balan as a messenger. Everyone, on purpose
and to punish his felony, singled out Ganelon. Charlemagne chooses
Ganelon, and the powerful baron of Hautefeuille, covering himself with
his rich armor, jumps on his steed, which was called Tassabron, hangs
from his collar his shield on which a lion is painted, and seizing his
lance with its shining gonfanon, gallops alone towards the valley of
Josué.
At the entrance to the defile, the Saracens of the vanguard,
blocking his way, shouted, "Who are you, knight, and where are you
going in such a hurry?"
"I am," replied Ganelon, "a messenger of Charlemagne, and I am
going to speak with the Almiran Balan."
The treacherous knights let him pass, and leaning on lance and
pommel, he ran to the emir's tent, determined, whether it pleased him
or not, to deliver his message.
Intrepid, wise, and prudent, Ganelon stops in front of the
Almiran's tent and says, "Listen, Saracen. Charles, the good crowned
king, tells you through me, his baron, that if you will renounce
Mahomet, be baptized, return the crown of Christ and the holy relics
to him, and let the besieged knights leave the tower, you will not
lose four feet of your land and you will be doubly loved by your son
Fierabras. If you refuse to obey, he challenges you, and you can flee
and leave this land, because if he meets you there, you will be put to
death."
When the emir heard this challenge, he almost lost his temper
with rage. "Beggar," he replied, "you must be very bold to dare to
present yourself armed before me! But you will pay for your audacity,
for you will never again send a message, and curse my power if you
return alive!... Emirs," he cried at these words, "garrote this dog
for me!..."
Ganelon sees, from these words, that he must defend himself.
Quickly turning against Brulhan of Montmirat, who came towards him
with his sword raised, he brandished his square spear and stuck it in
his heart. Seeing his favorite fall dead at his feet, the Almiran
stands up and shouts at the top of his voice, "Saracens! Saracens! Do
not let him escape!"
They run to their horses, and soon more than a thousand Turks
pursue Ganelon. The old white-bearded Duke Naimon was in the tower,
leaning on the marble balcony. He calls Roland, Oliver, and the
others, and says to them, "Lords, look, by God! I see a rider there
who seems very good at arms and who is being pursued by a thousand of
your renegades. From the painting of his insignia, it seems to me that
he is Ganelon."
"You are not mistaken, lord," replied Roland, "It is pure
truth. I would be sorry if something bad happened to him. Let us all
pray to Jesus Christ to protect him!..."
Now Ganelon goes galloping on his horse, he holds his shield
in one hand and his drawn sword in the other. The Saracens, these
accursed infidels, pressed him closely, but when he reached the
plateau which rises towards the valley of Josué, he turned to face the
pagans and, striking the foremost on his shining helm, he split him
down to the pommel, then he felled Ténèbre, the brother of Sortibran.
Oliver and Roland were delighted with the prowess of Ganelon. The
Saracens spurred until their horses were bloody to catch him, but when
they saw the banners of Charles, they turned around and returned to
camp.
A messenger had arrived there, bringing the emir news of his
brother Brulan, who brought him the finest army that had yet been seen
on foot. The cursed old man mounted his Arabian horse to receive him,
and the joy of both was great when they met. Ganelon had barely had
time to report on his embassy when a thousand bugles and a thousand
horns quivered at once in the Saracen camp, and their innumerable
cavalry, forming twenty-six deep lines, advanced in echelons.
Our bugles proudly responded to the Saracen horns, the banner
was displayed by the brave Richard, and, couching their shining
lances, the French set out on the march. They were divided into ten
battalions, the first commanded by Richard, the second by the duke of
Genoa, the third by Ganelon, the fourth by Aloris, the fifth by Jaufre
of Hautefeuille with the white mustache, and the sixth by Macaire the
brown.
Andrieu, Thierri the Ardennois, a renowned knight, and the
emperor guided the four others. Each consisted of ten thousand iron-
clad men. When the two armies saw each other, the emir called Brulan
and said to him, "If Mahomet aids us, the French are discomfited. Lead
the first charge. If you take Charles, try to take him alive. As for
my son Fierabras, let him be quartered!"
Trumpets and cymbals sound at these words, and Brulan advances
with his gonfanon high to the distance of a crossbow's range in front
of the unconfessed people, and after shouting, "Africa!" out of
breath, he said in a threatening voice, "Charlemagne, where do you
hide your old white beard? You crossed Mantible bridge at the wrong
time, because you will never see it again! The French will die
prisoners on our land, and we will sell their heads for four gold
deniers!"
The threat displeased Charles, who, letting his horse run at
full speed, went to strike the pagan on his shield adorned with art,
and, planting the entire lance there, laid him dead in the meadow.
Turning around, he overthrew in the same way the king of Valmorade,
whose shield could not save him. Then, putting his sword in his hand,
he caused the head of the first cursed one he found in his path to fly
a lance's length away, and struck such blows with Joyeuse that the
pagans did not have an instant's respite.
I promise you that the combat, the noise, and the tumult were
all huge. The French, these brave vassals, fought so well that the
dead and wounded littered the plain, and nothing was left but thick
and bloody mud. At this moment Ténébras appears on his steed, all
white with foam. He attacks Hugues of Pontoise, pierces his golden
shield, and stretches him out dead, shouting, "Aigremoine!"
Then seizing his sword with its nielloed gold pommel, he kills
our Huon and Guiraut of Fossés, and shouts, "By Mahomet! Franks, you
are ours!"
Richard of Normandy had heard these words. Rushing against the
pagan, he thrusts his sword into his heart, saying, "To darkness,
cursed one! For you have survived too long, and may your soul be
plunged into the pit of hell!"
Richard split another Turk with a sword blow up to the buckle
of his baldric and the French, forcing the entrance to the valley of
Josué, came as far as Aigremoine. There they found the bulk of Balan's
troops, who had thirty crowned kings around his crescent, each coming
with his summons. When the Almiran saw them fighting their way
forward, and when he learned of the defeat and death of his brother,
all his blood turned. He called Tempestat, his nephew, and other
faithful emirs, and said to them, "Barons, I have always loved you,
and I beg you at this hour to save my honor. Let us go and charge
these Franks who want to dethrone me!"
The Saracens cry with pity at these words, and the Almiran,
who had fierce courage, covers himself with his golden armor and rides
away on his rapid destrier. In all the pagan world, there is no better
runner, black as a mulberry tree, he had broad sides and rump, and a
tall straight body.
The Almiran had his beard, whiter than the walnut which falls
after February, laced over his face, and hanging down to the buckle of
his baldric. Then he unfurled his banner. A hundred bugles began to
sound, and the battle began again.
CHAPTER 11 - VICTORY
The archers fired first. In the thick, fine rain of steel arrows, you
could have seen the dead fall and land on top of each other. In the
middle of this storm appeared Duke Renier of Genoa. As he arrived at a
gallop, he met Sortibran of Coïmbre, and gave him such a blow on his
armored shield that it did not earn him an olive branch. Lance and
pennon, he plunged everything into his heart. Sortibran fell dead,
and, in falling, broke the lance which had passed through him. Renier
then seized his sword, and began to roughly cut the pagans and
Saracens to pieces. They fled in terror and ran to tell the emir of
Sortibran's death.
The old man almost lost his senses at this news. Letting his
horse loose, which took off like a bolt, he pounced on Robert of
Normandy and split him down to his saddle tree, which was a great
shame! He killed ten other Frenchmen and fourteen Normans. Then he
shouted, "Aigremoine! Aigremoine! Sortibran is avenged! I will show
you how proud the Almiran is! I will take Charlemagne by his gray
mustache, and then hang Oliver, Roland, and all those who are in the
tower."
Ganelon, Andrieu, Aloris, Béranger, Macaire, and all those who
followed the lion of Hautefeuille, come to oppose the emir. When they
lowered their lances, there was great carnage. They threw more than a
thousand pagans dead on the sand. But the old Almiran rides on an
Aragonese destrier, he hits Milon on the helm, and neither helm nor
mail coif were worth a button. After knocking him down dead, the
terrible Almiran meets Ganelon, knocks him down with a single blow on
the sand, and, seizing him by the mesh of his hauberk, he lifts him
with a vigorous arm and lays him across his saddle tree.
He would have taken him to his tent as a prisoner, if all the
lion's vassals had not rushed to Ganelon's aid. The emir released him
when he saw them coming, and shouted, "Mahomet!" in his clear voice.
Thirty kings respond to his cry with their troops. They bring Greek
fire and it must be admitted that despite the bravery of Fierabras,
who killed Tempestat, his son, and forty other pagans, our French were
discomfited and driven away to twice the range of a crossbow.
The battle was lost without the counts, but they had seen
everything from the tower. They descend hastily, saddle their horses,
and go out with their shields and their square spears, under the eyes
of the courteous Floripar, who shouts to them from the tower, "Barons,
may God keep you!"
Charging from the front and led by Roland, whose Durendal was
blazing, our counts fell on the cursed ones like a furious torrent.
Everyone gives way before them, everyone flees. The Almiran, denying
Bafom in anger, then throws himself into the fray, hits and kills
Hugues of Paris, Jaufre, Jacques of Senlis, Foulques of Saint-Denis
and Garin of Aubefort. The Emperor, seeing this carnage, pricked his
horse with his spurs and struck the emir with Joyeuse. But, although
he had dealt a terrible blow, the Saracen's helm was so thick that he
could not cut it. The sword slid along the solid iron, and, falling
back on the saddle tree, cut the saddle and the horse in two.
The Almiran fell, but rising quickly, he killed the destrier
of the Emperor, who, in the twinkling of an eye, was on his feet. Here
are Charlemagne and Balan face to face, and attacking each other with
their sharp swords. The old Saracen was a palm taller than
Charlemagne. They charged with so much fury that their shields were
soon pierced and torn to pieces. Although his blood flowed from five
wounds, our Emperor did not refuse combat. With a blow on the
burnished helm of the Saracen, he sent the pearls and flowers which
adorned it flying into the meadow, but Joyeuse, slipping again, only
cut the emir's spur.
"Pagan," said Charlemagne, "you resist with bravery, and if
you wanted to abandon Mahomet, for the love of your son, I would give
you back all your kingdoms."
The Almiran, sweating with anger and grinding his teeth at
these words, struck Charles so violently that his sword plunged one
foot deep into the earth. Pulling it out, he broke it. In fury, he
throws his sword, and, seizing a dagger, he attacks Charlemagne with
so much rapidity that he would have killed him without the help of
God. Our counts, sent by him, fortunately arrived at that moment.
Ogier sees the emperor's danger, jumps off his good courser and seizes
the Almiran from behind, whose arms Oliver holds, but it was not
without danger and difficulty.
Just as Balan had been seized by the counts, here is Fierabras
who runs up and shouts to him excitedly, "Almiran, lord father, you
are very foolish not to allow yourself to be baptized! Believe
wholeheartedly in Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and give yourself to
Charles."
"Go, beggar!" replied the emir, "and may Mahomet curse you,
for your soul is lost, rotten and damned!"
Oliver and Thierri of Ardennes prevented him from saying more
by tying him to a mule, which they chased towards the city. The
pagans, at this sight, fled in all directions, leaving thousands dead
on the battlefield, and Charlemagne entered Aigremoine victorious. The
next day, at dawn, he gathered all his men, great and small, and
divided the spoils among them according to his will. Then he ordered a
bishop to bless the holy fonts for baptism.
Everything was prepared as he had prescribed. A large vat was
filled with water, the bishop made the sign of the cross over it.
Charlemagne then ordered the emir to be brought and, while Roland and
Oliver held him by force, Ogier took off his clothes. Then the emperor
asked him if he wanted to believe in Jesus Christ, who suffered death
for us, and in the honored and most holy Virgin.
The emir responded by swearing that neither for life nor for
death would he deny Mahomet. And, as a sign of contempt, he spat in
the baptismal font. At this outrage, Charlemagne draws Joyeuse but
Fierabras falls at his feet and proclaims so ardently for mercy that
the emperor agrees to forgive again. With his sword still raised, he
addresses the emir and says to him again, "Balan, if you want to
become a Christian, I will give you back your country and your land."
"For God's sake, fair lord father," cried Fierabras on his
knees, "listen to the emperor!"
"Well," said the Almiran, "we will see whether the fonts suit
me when they have been blessed again."
The tank was filled with water from a clear fountain, it is
blessed, and Turpin the archbishop asks him if he wants to renounce
the demon and believe in Jesus Christ.
The cursed old man turns black with anger at these words and
spits into the holy water a second time. But Archbishop Turpin grabbed
him by the throat, and, holding him by force in the baptismal font,
almost strangled him and drowned him there.
While he struggled furiously and a stream of clear blood
flowed from his nose and mouth, Charlemagne said to Fierabras, "You
see how your father outrages us!"
"For pity's sake, lord," replies the emir's son, "let me try
to win him over again!" Fierabras did everything to move Balan, but
neither his entreaties nor Floripar's tears softened this fierce
heart. He uttered such blasphemies that Fierabras turned around and
covered his eyes, sighing. Then, at a sign from the emperor, Ogier
chopped off his head with a blow of his sword.
In holy water that was blessed in the name of the father, the
good Archbishop Turpin then baptized the girl. Floripar's godfathers
were Charlemagne and Thierri of the Ardennes and, after she became a
Christian, Guy of Burgundy married her as he had promised before all
the barons. After the ceremony, the emperor requested the crown of
Balan, and divided his kingdoms between Guy of Burgundy and Fierabras.
The wedding took place in the great palace of Aigremoine. The
celebration lasted ten whole days and the emperor stayed in Spain for
two months.
At the end of these two months, Charlemagne claimed the relics
of the Passion. Then Floripar immediately went up to the tower and
fetched the silver case where they were kept. In front of the counts,
all kneeling and with their foreheads on the ground, she took from it
the crown of thorns, which spread a delicious perfume, the nails which
pierced the hands of Christ, and the holy shroud.
That very day, after the feast, Charlemagne had a dream which
greatly disturbed his soul. It seemed to him that while in Aix-la-
Chapelle, he received sad news from Spain, and that at the moment when
he was preparing to fly to the succor of Guy, a leopard which he had
in Paris wanted to tear out his eyes.
"Sire," said Duke Naimon, to whom he asked for advice, "this
dream means that you will return to Spain, where you will have enough
to do, and that a man, nourished by you, will betray you."
Little moved by the prediction, which was nevertheless to be
carried out at Roncevaux, Charlemagne left the next day after the
good archbishop had sung mass. Floripar, Guy of Burgundy, and
Fierabras escorted him to Mantible. There, our emperor, crying with
pity, kissed the beautiful Floripar on the forehead, took leave of
her, of King Guy, and of Fierabras the valiant, and returned with his
army, the peers, the counts, Oliver and Roland, on the road to Paris.
The end of this story is good and anyone who reads it
carefully will find it worthy of the beginning and the middle. I
commend you all to God now, O readers, for my task is fulfilled.
THE END
SHORT GLOSSARY OF ARCHAIC FRENCH WORDS
Accolade - Salutation marking the conferring of knighthood, consisting
of an embrace or a kiss and a slight blow on the shoulders with the
flat of a sword
Almiran - From the Arabic "amir-al-" which means "ruler of" or from
the corrupt Arabic amiratz which means "prince"
Assurer - To give one's faith to someone
Auferan (Ferrant, Al-Ferran) - Arabian iron grey horse
Bafom - Mahomet
Bastille - Defensive tower
Bliaut - Especially light fabric or silk
Braguier - The part of the armor that covered the thighs, cuisses
Bran - Glaive or gladius, a short sword
Boucle - Part of the buckler or shield through which you put your arm
Brocher - To pierce or to prick with a pointed object, to spur a horse
Capeline - hood made of chain mail
Camerlingue (Camerlengo) - Court dignitary whose office administers
property and finances, in the Catholic Church the Camerlengo is a
Cardinal who is the head of government during the space of time
between the death of the Pope and the meeting of the Cardinals to
elect a new Pope
Carcerier - Jailer or prison warden
Clame - Begs, implores
Carraue - Weapon that launches projectiles or crossbow bolts, this
name was also given to the large stones thrown by the siege machines
Chausses - Chain mail leggings that cover the legs to above the knee
Cimeterre (Scimitar) - Heavy, curved sword that only cut on one side
Cuisses - Splinted leather, brigandine, or plate armor worn on the
thigh, usually over the top of chausses
Dami-Dieu - The Lord God, corruption of the Latin "Dominus Deus"
Denier - French silver coin
Demourée - Late
Deviser - To converse
Drogman (Dragoman) - Interpreter of Arabic and Turkish languages
Duenna - Older woman acting as a governess and companion in charge of
girls, a chaperone
Écu - Old defensive weapon made in the shape of a light shield that
knights wore on their arms and on which they painted their coats of
arms and their mottos, this word comes from the Greek "scutos" leather
material from which the shields were originally formed
Férir - To strike
Fief - Land, title, or right that was held from a suzerain lord,
dependent on homage
Fiert - The hit
Fourches - Gibets composed of two wooden forks supporting a crosspiece
from which the condemned were hanged, gallows
Garnir - To arm oneself, to equip with weapons
Gènes - Genoa
Gent - From "gens", race, people, feudal family, vassals
Glaive - Short sword, from the latin "gladius"
Gonfanon (Gonfalon) - Banner or strip of fabric with which knights
adorned their lances
Grégeois - Greek fire, fire invented by the Greeks which burned in
water
Haubert (Hauberk) - Chain mail covering the chest, arms, and neck,
from German "halsberg"
Ire - Angry, furious
Leude - In the Merovingian era, feudatory attached by an oath of
loyalty to the person of a king or a chief
Méle - Gray
Miséricorde - Poignard or dagger that is worn by the side
Montjoie - Old battle cry of the kings of France, rallying cry around
the banner of Saint Denis
Mué - Moulting, losing its feathers
Navré - Injured, wounded
Niellé - Decorated with niello, silver engraved with black metal
designs
Olifant - Ivory horn
Ost - Host, army, from the latin "hostis" enemy
Palatin (Paladin) - Synonym of imperial, this name was once given to
all those who held office in the emperor's palace
Pali - Silk sheet
Pavois - It was the largest of the shields, bulwark that covered the
entire body, curved on both sides like a roof
Pennon - Long-tailed standard carried by simple gentlemen, it was the
opposite of a banner which is always square, to make a banner you cut
off the tail of the pennon
Perron - Walled platform of a castle serving as a defense of the
stairs and the vestibule, not all lords had the right to a perron
Ramé - Steps
Rescousse - Succor, aid that we give each other during combat
Samit (Samite) - Brocaded and lamé fabric in silver and gold
Tarins - Gold currency used in the Arab world, one tarin is worth a
quarter of a denier
Targe - Long and wide shield
Trap - Pavilion
Ventaille - Opening of the helmet near the mouth for breathing, it was
the lower part which was joined with the nasal when you wanted to
close it
Vergondé - Reviled, to whom we have shamed
REFERENCES
