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diff --git a/old/14019.txt b/old/14019.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..996a67a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14019.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7191 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Harvard Classics, Volume 49, Epic and +Saga, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Harvard Classics, Volume 49, Epic and Saga + With Introductions And Notes + +Author: Various + +Release Date: November 11, 2004 [EBook #14019] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EPIC AND SAGA *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Charlie Kirschner and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +THE HARVARD CLASSICS + +EDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT LLD. + + + +EPIC AND SAGA + + +THE SONG OF ROLAND + +THE DESTRUCTION OF DA DERGA'S HOSTEL + + +WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES + +VOLUME 49 + +1910 + + + + +THE SONG OF ROLAND + + +TRANSLATED BY + +JOHN O'HAGAN + + + + +_INTRODUCTORY NOTE_ + + +_In the year 778 A.D., Charles the Great, King of the Franks, returned +from a military expedition into Spain, whither he had been led by +opportunities offered through dissensions among the Saracens who then +dominated that country. On the 15th of August, while his army was +marching through the passes of the Pyrenees, his rear-guard was attacked +and annihilated by the Basque inhabitants of the mountains, in the +valley of Roncesvaux About this disaster many popular songs, it is +supposed, soon sprang up; and the chief hero whom they celebrated was +Hrodland, Count of the Marches of Brittany. + +There are indications that the earliest of these songs arose among the +Breton followers of Hrodland or Roland; but they spread to Maine, to +Anjou, to Normandy, until the theme became national. By the latter part +of the eleventh century, when the form of the "Song of Roland" which we +possess was probably composed, the historical germ of the story had +almost disappeared under the mass of legendary accretion. Charlemagne, +who was a man of thirty-six at the time of the actual Roncesvaux +incident, has become in the poem an old man with a flowing white beard, +credited with endless conquests; the Basques have disappeared, and the +Saracens have taken their place; the defeat is accounted for by the +invention of the treachery of Ganelon; the expedition of 777-778 has +become a campaign of seven years; Roland is made the nephew of +Charlemagne, leader of the twelve peers, and is provided with a faithful +friend Oliver, and a betrothed, Alda. + +The poem is the first of the great French heroic poems known as +"chansons de geste." It is written in stanzas of various length, bound +together by the vowel-rhyme known as assonance. It is not possible to +reproduce effectively this device in English, and the author of the +present translation has adopted what is perhaps the nearest +equivalent--the romantic measure of Coleridge and Scott. + +Simple almost to bareness in style, without subtlety or high +imagination, the Song of Roland is yet not without grandeur; and its +patriotic ardor gives it a place as the earliest of the truly national +poems of the modern world._ + + + + +THE SONG OF ROLAND + + + +PART I + +THE TREASON OF GANELON + +SARAGOSSA. THE COUNCIL OF KING MARSIL + + + I + + The king our Emperor Carlemaine, + Hath been for seven full years in Spain. + From highland to sea hath he won the land; + City was none might his arm withstand; + Keep and castle alike went down-- + Save Saragossa, the mountain town. + The King Marsilius holds the place, + Who loveth not God, nor seeks His grace: + He prays to Apollin, and serves Mahound; + But he saved him not from the fate he found. + + + II + + In Saragossa King Marsil made + His council-seat in the orchard shade, + On a stair of marble of azure hue. + There his courtiers round him drew; + While there stood, the king before, + Twenty thousand men and more. + Thus to his dukes and his counts he said, + "Hear ye, my lords, we are sore bested. + The Emperor Karl of gentle France + Hither hath come for our dire mischance. + Nor host to meet him in battle line, + Nor power to shatter his power, is mine. + Speak, my sages; your counsel lend: + My doom of shame and death forefend." + But of all the heathens none spake word + Save Blancandrin, Val Fonde's lord. + + + III + + Blancandrin was a heathen wise, + Knightly and valiant of enterprise, + Sage in counsel his lord to aid; + And he said to the king, "Be not dismayed: + Proffer to Karl, the haughty and high, + Lowly friendship and fealty; + Ample largess lay at his feet, + Bear and lion and greyhound fleet. + Seven hundred camels his tribute be, + A thousand hawks that have moulted free. + Let full four hundred mules be told, + Laden with silver enow and gold + For fifty waggons to bear away; + So shall his soldiers receive their pay. + Say, too long hath he warred in Spain,-- + Let him turn to France--to his Aix--again. + At Saint Michael's feast you will thither speed, + Bend your heart to the Christian creed, + And his liegeman be in duty and deed. + Hostages he may demand + Ten or twenty at your hand. + We will send him the sons whom our wives have nursed; + Were death to follow, mine own the first. + Better by far that they there should die + Than be driven all from our land to fly, + Flung to dishonor and beggary." + + + IV + + "Yea," said Blancandrin, "by this right hand, + And my floating beard by the free wind fanned, + Ye shall see the host of the Franks disband + And hie them back into France their land; + Each to his home as beseemeth well, + And Karl unto Aix--to his own Chapelle. + He will hold high feast on Saint Michael's day + And the time of your tryst shall pass away. + Tale nor tidings of us shall be; + Fiery and sudden, I know, is he: + He will smite off the heads of our hostages all: + Better, I say, that their heads should fall + Than we the fair land of Spain forego, + And our lives be laden with shame and woe." + "Yea," said the heathens, "it may be so." + + + V + + King Marsil's council is over that day, + And he called to him Clarin of Balaguet, + Estramarin, and Eudropin his peer, + Bade Garlon and Priamon both draw near, + Machiner and his uncle Maheu--with these + Joimer and Malbien from overseas, + Blancandrin for spokesman,--of all his men + He hath summoned there the most felon ten. + "Go ye to Carlemaine," spake their liege,-- + "At Cordres city he sits in siege,-- + While olive branches in hand ye press, + Token of peace and of lowliness. + Win him to make fair treaty with me, + Silver and gold shall your guerdon be, + Land and lordship in ample fee." + "Nay," said the heathens, "enough have we." + + + VI + + So did King Marsil his council end. + "Lords," he said, "on my errand wend; + While olive branches in hand ye bring, + Say from me unto Karl the king, + For sake of his God let him pity show; + And ere ever a month shall come and go, + With a thousand faithful of my race, + I will follow swiftly upon his trace, + Freely receive his Christian law, + And his liegemen be in love and awe. + Hostages asks he? it shall be done." + Blancandrin answered, "Your peace is won." + + + VII + + Then King Marsil bade be dight + Ten fair mules of snowy white, + Erst from the King of Sicily brought + Their trappings with silver and gold inwrought-- + Gold the bridle, and silver the selle. + On these are the messengers mounted well; + And they ride with olive boughs in hand, + To seek the Lord of the Frankish land. + Well let him watch; he shall be trepanned. + + + + + AT CORDRES. CARLEMAINE'S COUNCIL + + + VIII + + King Karl is jocund and gay of mood, + He hath Cordres city at last subdued; + Its shattered walls and turrets fell + By Catapult and mangonel; + Not a heathen did there remain + But confessed him Christian or else was slain. + The Emperor sits in an orchard wide, + Roland and Olivier by his side: + Samson the duke, and Anseis proud; + Geoffrey of Anjou, whose arm was vowed + The royal gonfalon to rear; + Gerein, and his fellow in arms, Gerier; + With them many a gallant lance, + Full fifteen thousand of gentle France. + The cavaliers sit upon carpets white, + Playing at tables for their delight: + The older and sager sit at the chess, + The bachelors fence with a light address. + Seated underneath a pine, + Close beside an eglantine, + Upon a throne of beaten gold, + The lord of ample France behold; + White his hair and beard were seen, + Fair of body, and proud of mien, + Who sought him needed not ask, I ween. + The ten alight before his feet, + And him in all observance greet. + + + IX + + Blancandrin first his errand gave, + And he said to the king, "May God you save, + The God of glory, to whom you bend! + Marsil, our king, doth his greeting send. + Much hath he mused on the law of grace, + Much of his wealth at your feet will place-- + Bears and lions, and dogs of chase, + Seven hundred camels that bend the knee, + A thousand hawks that have moulted free, + Four hundred mules, with silver and gold + Which fifty wains might scantly hold, + So shall you have of the red bezants + To pay the soldiers of gentle France. + Overlong have you dwelt in Spain,-- + To Aix, your city, return again. + The lord I serve will thither come, + Accept the law of Christendom, + With clasped hands your liegeman be, + And hold his realm of you in fee." + The Emperor raised his hands on high, + Bent and bethought him silently. + + + X + + The Emperor bent his head full low; + Never hasty of speech I trow; + Leisurely came his words, and slow, + Lofty his look as he raised his head: + "Thou hast spoken well," at length he said. + "King Marsil was ever my deadly foe, + And of all these words, so fair in show, + How may I the fulfilment know?" + "Hostages will you?" the heathen cried, + "Ten or twenty, or more beside. + I will send my son, were his death at hand, + With the best and noblest of all our land; + And when you sit in your palace halls, + And the feast of St. Michael of Peril falls, + Unto the waters will come our king, + Which God commanded for you to spring; + There in the laver of Christ be laved." + "Yea!" said Karl, "he may yet be saved." + + + XI + + Fair and bright did the evening fall: + The ten white mules were stabled in stall; + On the sward was a fair pavilion dressed, + To give to the Saracens cheer of the best; + Servitors twelve at their bidding bide, + And they rest all night until morning tide. + The Emperor rose with the day-dawn clear, + Failed not Matins and Mass to hear, + Then betook him beneath a pine, + Summoned his barons by word and sign: + As his Franks advise will his choice incline. + + + XII + + Under a pine is the Emperor gone, + And his barons to council come forth anon: + Archbishop Turpin, Duke Ogier bold + With his nephew Henry was Richard the old, + Gascony's gallant Count Acelin, + Tybalt of Rheims, and Milo his kin, + Gerein and his brother in arms, Gerier, + Count Roland and his faithful fere, + The gentle and valiant Olivier: + More than a thousand Franks of France + And Ganelon came, of woful chance; + By him was the deed of treason done. + So was the fatal consult begun. + + + XIII + + "Lords my barons," the Emperor said, + "King Marsil to me hath his envoys sped. + He proffers treasure surpassing bounds, + Bears and lions, and leashed hounds; + Seven hundred camels that bend the knee; + A thousand hawks that have moulted free; + Four hundred mules with Arab gold, + Which fifty wains might scantly hold. + But he saith to France must I wend my way: + He will follow to Aix with brief delay, + Bend his heart unto Christ's belief, + And hold his marches of me in fief; + Yet I know not what in his heart may lie." + "Beware! beware!" was the Franks' outcry. + + + XIV + + Scarce his speech did the Emperor close, + When in high displeasure Count Roland rose, + Fronted his uncle upon the spot, + And said, "This Marsil, believe him not: + Seven full years have we warred in Spain; + Commibles and Noples for you have I ta'en, + Tudela and Sebilie, cities twain; + Valtierra I won, and the land of Pine, + And Balaguet fell to this arm of mine. + King Marsil hath ever a traitor been: + He sent of his heathens, at first fifteen. + Bearing each one on olive bough, + Speaking the self-same words as now. + Into council with your Franks you went, + Lightly they flattered your heart's intent; + Two of your barons to him you sent,-- + They were Basan and Basil, the brother knights: + He smote off their heads on Haltoia's heights. + War, I say!--end as you well began, + Unto Saragossa lead on your van; + Were the siege to last your lifetime through, + Avenge the nobles this felon slew." + + + XV + + The Emperor bent him and mused within, + Twisted his beard upon lip and chin, + Answered his nephew nor good nor ill; + And the Franks, save Ganelon, all were still: + Hastily to his feet he sprang, + Haughtily his words outrang:-- + "By me or others be not misled,-- + Look to your own good ends," he said. + "Since now King Marsil his faith assures, + That, with hands together clasped in yours, + He will henceforth your vassal be, + Receive the Christian law as we, + And hold his realm of you in fee, + Whoso would treaty like this deny, + Recks not, sire, by what death we die: + Good never came from counsel of pride,-- + List to the wise, and let madmen bide." + + + XVI + + Then his form Duke Naimes upreared, + White of hair and hoary of beard. + Better vassal in court was none. + "You have hearkened," he said, "unto Ganelon. + Well hath Count Ganelon made reply; + Wise are his words, if you bide thereby. + King Marsil is beaten and broken in war; + You have captured his castles anear and far, + With your engines shattered his walls amain, + His cities burned, his soldiers slain: + Respite and ruth if he now implore, + Sin it were to molest him more. + Let his hostages vouch for the faith he plights, + And send him one of your Christian knights. + 'Twere time this war to an ending came." + "Well saith the duke!" the Franks exclaim. + + + XVII + + "Lords my barons, who then were best + In Saragossa to do our hest?" + "I," said Naimes, "of your royal grace, + Yield me in token your glove and mace." + "Nay--my sagest of men art thou: + By my beard upon lip and chin I vow + Thou shalt never depart so far from me: + Sit thee down till I summon thee." + + + XVIII + + "Lords my barons, whom send we, then, + To Saragossa, the Saracen den?" + "I," said Roland, "will blithely go." + "Nay," said Olivier; "nay, not so. + All too fiery of mood thou art; + Thou wouldst play, I fear me, a perilous part. + I go myself, if the king but will." + "I command," said Karl, "that ye both be still. + Neither shall be on this errand bound, + Nor one of the twelve--my peers around; + So by my blanching beard I swear." + The Franks are abashed and silent there. + + + XIX + + Turpin of Rheims from amid the ranks + Said: "Look, my liege, on your faithful Franks: + Seven full years have they held this land, + With pain and peril on every hand. + To me be the mace and the glove consigned; + I will go this Saracen lord to find, + And freely forth will I speak my mind." + The Emperor answered in angry plight, + "Sit thee down on that carpet white; + Speak not till I thy speech invite." + + + XX + + "My cavaliers," he began anew, + "Choose of my marches a baron true, + Before King Marsil my best to do." + "Be it, then," said Roland, "my stepsire Gan, + In vain ye seek for a meeter man." + The Franks exclaim, "He is worth the trust, + So it please the king it is right and just." + Count Ganelon then was with anguish wrung, + His mantle of fur from his neck he flung, + Stood all stark in his silken vest, + And his grey eyes gleamed with a fierce unrest + Fair of body and large of limb, + All in wonderment gazed on him. + "Thou madman," thus he to Roland cried, + "What may this rage against me betide? + I am thy stepsire, as all men know, + And thou doom'st me on hest like this to go; + But so God my safe return bestow, + I promise to work thee scathe and strife + Long as thou breathest the breath of life." + "Pride and folly!" said Roland, then. + "Am I known to wreck of the threats of men? + But this is work for the sagest head. + So it please the king, I will go instead." + + + XXI + + "In _my_ stead?--never, of mine accord. + Thou art not my vassal nor I thy lord. + Since Karl commands me his hest to fill, + Unto Saragossa ride forth I will; + Yet I fear me to wreak some deed of ill, + Thereby to slake this passion's might." + Roland listened, and laughed outright. + + + XXII + + At Roland's laughter Count Ganelon's pain + Was as though his bosom were cleft in twain. + He turned to his stepson as one distraught: + "I do not love thee," he said, "in aught; + Thou hast false judgment against me wrought. + O righteous Emperor, here I stand + To execute your high command." + + + XXIII + + "Unto Saragossa I needs must go;-- + Who goeth may never return, I know;-- + Yet withal, your sister is spouse of mine, + And our son--no fairer of mortal line-- + Baldwin bids to be goodly knight; + I leave him my honors and fiefs of right. + Guard him--no more shall he greet my sight" + Saith Karl, "Thou art over tender of heart. + Since I command it, thou shalt depart." + + + XXIV + + "Fair Sir Gan," the Emperor spake, + "This my message to Marsil take: + He shall make confession of Christ's belief, + And I yield him, full half of Spain in fief; + In the other half shall Count Roland reign. + If he choose not the terms I now ordain, + I will march unto Saragossa's gate, + Besiege and capture the city straight, + Take and bind him both hands and feet, + Lead him to Aix, to my royal seat, + There to be tried and judged and slain, + Dying a death of disgrace and pain. + I have sealed the scroll of my command. + Deliver it into the heathen's hand." + + + XXV + + "Gan," said the Emperor, "draw thou near: + Take my glove and my baton here; + On thee did the choice of thy fellows fall." + "Sire, 'twas Roland who wrought it all. + I shall not love him while life may last, + Nor Olivier his comrade fast, + Nor the peers who cherish and prize him so,-- + Gage of defiance to all I throw." + Saith Karl, "Thine anger hath too much sway. + Since I ordain it, thou must obey." + "I go, but warranty none have I + That I may not like Basil and Basan die." + + + XXVI + + The Emperor reached him his right-hand glove; + Gan for his office had scanty love; + As he bent him forward, it fell to ground: + "God, what is this?" said the Franks around; + "Evil will come of this quest we fear." + "My lords," said Ganelon, "ye shall hear." + + + XXVII + + "Sire," he said, "let me wend my way; + Since go I must, what boots delay?" + Said the king, "In Jesus' name and mine!" + And his right hand sained him with holy sign. + Then he to Ganelon's grasp did yield + His royal mace and missive sealed. + + + XXVIII + + Home to his hostel is Ganelon gone, + His choicest of harness and arms to don; + On his charger Taschebrun to mount and ride, + With his good sword Murgleis girt at side. + On his feet are fastened the spurs of gold, + And his uncle Guinemer doth his stirrup hold. + Then might ye look upon cavaliers + A-many round him who spake in tears. + "Sir," they said, "what a woful day! + Long were you ranked in the king's array, + A noble vassal as none gainsay. + For him who doomed you to journey hence + Carlemagne's self shall be scant defence; + Foul was the thought in Count Roland's mind, + When you and he are so high affined. + Sir," they said, "let us with you wend." + "Nay," said Ganelon, "God forefend. + Liefer alone to my death I go, + Than such brave bachelors perish so. + Sirs, ye return into France the fair; + Greeting from me to my lady bear, + To my friend and peer Sir Pinabel, + And to Baldwin, my son, whom ye all know well,-- + Cherish him, own him your lord of right." + He hath passed on his journey and left their sight. + + + + + THE EMBASSY AND CRIME OF GANELON + + + XXIX + + Ganelon rides under olives high, + And comes the Saracen envoys nigh. + Blancandrin lingers until they meet, + And in cunning converse each other greet. + The Saracen thus began their parle: + "What a man, what a wondrous man is Karl! + Apulia--Calabria--all subdued, + Unto England crossed he the salt sea rude, + Won for Saint Peter his tribute fee; + But what in our marches maketh he?" + Ganelon said, "He is great of heart, + Never man shall fill so mighty a part." + + + XXX + + Said Blancandrin, "Your Franks are high of fame, + But your dukes and counts are sore to blame. + Such counsel to their lord they give, + Nor he nor others in peace may live." + Ganelon answered, "I know of none, + Save Roland, who thus to his shame hath done. + Last morn the Emperor sat in the shade, + His nephew came in his mail arrayed,-- + He had plundered Carcassonne just before, + And a vermeil apple in hand he bore: + 'Sire,' he said, 'to your feet I bring + The crown of every earthly king.' + Disaster is sure such pride to blast; + He setteth his life on a daily cast. + Were he slain, we all should have peace at last." + + + XXXI + + "Ruthless is Roland," Blancandrin spake, + "Who every race would recreant make. + And on all possessions of men would seize; + But in whom doth he trust for feats like these?" + "The Franks! the Franks!" Count Ganelon cried; + "They love him, and never desert his side; + For he lavisheth gifts that seldom fail, + Gold and silver in countless tale, + Mules and chargers, and silks and mail, + The king himself may have spoil at call. + From hence to the East he will conquer all." + + + XXXII + + Thus Blancandrin and Ganelon rode, + Till each on other his faith bestowed + That Roland should be by practice slain, + And so they journeyed by path and plain, + Till in Saragossa they bridle drew, + There alighted beneath a yew. + In a pine-tree's shadow a throne was set; + Alexandrian silk was the coverlet: + There the monarch of Spain they found, + With twenty thousand Saracens round, + Yet from them came nor breath nor sound; + All for the tidings they strained to hear, + As they saw Blancandrin and Ganelon near. + + + XXXIII + + Blancandrin stepped before Marsil's throne, + Ganelon's hand was in his own. + "Mahound you save," to the king he said, + "And Apollin, whose holy law we dread! + Fairly your errand to Karl was done; + But other answer made he none, + Save that his hands to Heaven he raised, + Save that a space his God he praised; + He sends a baron of his court, + Knight of France, and of high report, + Of him your tidings of peace receive." + "Let him speak," said Marsil, "we yield him leave." + + + XXXIV + + Gan had bethought him, and mused with art; + Well was he skilled to play his part; + And he said to Marsil, "May God you save, + The God of glory, whose grace we crave! + Thus saith the noble Carlemaine: + You shall make in Christ confession plain. + And he gives you in fief full half of Spain; + The other half shall be Roland's share + (Right haughty partner, he yields you there); + And should you slight the terms I bear, + He will come and gird Saragossa round, + You shall be taken by force and bound, + Led unto Aix, to his royal seat, + There to perish by judgment meet, + Dying a villainous death of shame." + Over King Marsil a horror came; + He grasped his javelin, plumed with gold, + In act to smite, were he not controlled. + + + XXXV + + King Marsil's cheek the hue hath left, + And his right hand grasped his weapon's heft. + When Ganelon saw it, his sword he drew + Finger lengths from the scabbard two. + "Sword," he said, "thou art clear and bright; + I have borne thee long in my fellows' sight, + Mine emperor never shall say of me, + That I perished afar, in a strange countrie, + Ere thou in the blood of their best wert dyed." + "Dispart the mellay," the heathens cried. + + + XXXVI + + The noblest Saracens thronged amain, + Seated the king on his throne again, + And the Algalif said, "'Twas a sorry prank, + Raising your weapon to slay the Frank. + It was yours to hearken in silence there." + "Sir," said Gan, "I may meetly bear, + But for all the wealth of your land arrayed, + For all the gold that God hath made, + Would I not live and leave unsaid, + What Karl, the mightiest king below, + Sends, through me, to his mortal foe." + His mantle of fur, that was round him twined, + With silk of Alexandria lined, + Down at Blancandrin's feet he cast, + But still he held by his good sword fast, + Grasping the hilt by its golden ball. + "A noble knight," say the heathens all. + + + XXXVII + + Ganelon came to the king once more. + "Your anger," he said, "misserves you sore. + As the princely Carlemaine saith, I say, + You shall the Christian law obey. + And half of Spain you shall hold in fee, + The other half shall Count Roland's be, + (And a haughty partner 'tis yours to see). + Reject the treaty I here propose, + Round Saragossa his lines will close; + You shall be bound in fetters strong, + Led to his city of Aix along. + Nor steed nor palfrey shall you bestride, + Nor mule nor jennet be yours to ride; + On a sorry sumpter you shall be cast, + And your head by doom stricken off at last. + So is the Emperor's mandate traced,"-- + And the scroll in the heathen's hand he placed. + + + XXXVIII + + Discolored with ire was King Marsil's hue; + The seal he brake and to earth he threw, + Read of the scroll the tenor clear. + "So Karl the Emperor writes me here. + Bids me remember his wrath and pain + For sake of Basan and Basil slain, + Whose necks I smote on Haltoia's hill; + Yet, if my life I would ransom still, + Mine uncle the Algalif must I send, + Or love between us were else at end." + Then outspake Jurfalez, Marsil's son: + "This is but madness of Ganelon. + For crime so deadly his life shall pay; + Justice be mine on his head this day." + Ganelon heard him, and waved his blade, + While his back against a pine he stayed. + + + XXXIX + + Into his orchard King Marsil stepped. + His nobles round him their station kept: + There was Jurfalez, his son and heir, + Blancandrin of the hoary hair, + The Algalif, truest of all his kin. + Said Blancandrin, "Summon the Christian in; + His troth he pledged me upon our side." + "Go," said Marsil, "be thou his guide." + Blancandrin led him, hand-in-hand, + Before King Marsil's face to stand. + Then was the villainous treason planned. + + + XL + + "Fair Sir Ganelon," spake the king, + "I did a rash and despighteous thing, + Raising against thee mine arm to smite. + Richly will I the wrong requite. + See these sables whose worth were told + At full five hundred pounds of gold: + Thine shall they be ere the coming day." + "I may not," said Gan, "your grace gainsay. + God in His pleasure will you repay." + + + XLI + + "Trust me I love thee, Sir Gan, and fain + Would I hear thee discourse of Carlemaine. + He is old, methinks, exceedingly old; + And full two hundred years hath told; + With toil his body spent and worn, + So many blows on his buckler borne, + So many a haughty king laid low, + When will he weary of warring so?" + "Such is not Carlemaine," Gan replied; + "Man never knew him, nor stood beside, + But will say how noble a lord is he, + Princely and valiant in high degree. + Never could words of mine express + His honor, his bounty, his gentleness, + 'Twas God who graced him with gifts so high. + Ere I leave his vassalage I will die." + + + XLII + + The heathen said, "I marvel sore + Of Carlemaine, so old and hoar, + Who counts I ween two hundred years, + Hath borne such strokes of blades and spears, + So many lands hath overrun, + So many mighty kings undone, + When will he tire of war and strife?" + "Not while his nephew breathes in life + Beneath the cope of heaven this day + Such vassal leads not king's array. + Gallant and sage is Olivier, + And all the twelve, to Karl so dear, + With twenty thousand Franks in van, + He feareth not the face of man." + + + XLIII + + "Strange," said Marsil, "seems to me, + Karl, so white with eld is he, + Twice a hundred years, men say, + Since his birth have passed away. + All his wars in many lands, + All the strokes of trenchant brands, + All the kings despoiled and slain,-- + When will he from war refrain?" + "Not till Roland breathes no more, + For from hence to eastern shore, + Where is chief with him may vie? + Olivier his comrades by, + And the peers, of Karl the pride, + Twenty thousand Franks beside, + Vanguard of his host, and flower: + Karl may mock at mortal power." + + + XLIV + + "I tell thee, Sir Gan, that a power is mine; + Fairer did never in armor shine, + Four hundred thousand cavaliers, + With the Franks of Karl to measure spears." + "Fling such folly," said Gan, "away; + Sorely your heathen would rue the day. + Proffer the Emperor ample prize, + A sight to dazzle the Frankish eyes; + Send him hostages full of score, + So returns he to France once more. + But his rear will tarry behind the host; + There, I trow, will be Roland's post-- + There will Sir Olivier remain. + Hearken to me, and the counts lie slain; + The pride of Karl shall be crushed that day, + And his wars be ended with you for aye." + + + XLV + + "Speak, then, and tell me, Sir Ganelon, + How may Roland to death be done?" + "Through Cizra's pass will the Emperor wind, + But his rear will linger in march behind; + Roland and Olivier there shall be, + With twenty thousand in company. + Muster your battle against them then, + A hundred thousand heathen men. + Till worn and spent be the Frankish bands, + Though your bravest perish beneath their hands. + For another battle your powers be massed, + Roland will sink, overcome at last. + There were a feat of arms indeed, + And your life from peril thenceforth be freed." + + + XLVI + + "For whoso Roland to death shall bring, + From Karl his good right arm will wring, + The marvellous host will melt away, + No more shall he muster a like array, + And the mighty land will in peace repose." + King Marsil heard him to the close; + Then kissed him on the neck, and bade + His royal treasures be displayed. + + + XLVII + + What said they more? Why tell the rest? + Said Marsil, "Fastest bound is best; + Come, swear me here to Roland's fall." + "Your will," said Gan, "be mine in all." + He swore on the relics in the hilt + Of his sword Murgleis, and crowned his guilt. + + + XLVIII + + A stool was there of ivory wrought. + King Marsil bade a book be brought, + Wherein was all the law contained + Mahound and Termagaunt ordained. + The Saracen hath sworn thereby, + If Roland in the rear-guard lie, + With all his men-at-arms to go, + And combat till the count lay low. + Sir Gan repeated, "Be it so." + + + XLIX + + King Marsil's foster-father came, + A heathen, Valdabrun by name. + He spake to Gan with laughter clear. + "My sword, that never found its peer,-- + A thousand pieces would not buy + The riches in the hilt that lie,-- + To you I give in guerdon free; + Your aid in Roland's fall to see, + Let but the rear-guard be his place." + "I trust," said Gan, "to do you grace." + Then each kissed other on the face. + + + L + + Next broke with jocund laughter in, + Another heathen, Climorin. + To Gan he said, "Accept my helm, + The best and trustiest in the realm, + Conditioned that your aid we claim + To bring the marchman unto shame." + "Be it," said Ganelon, "as you list." + And then on cheek and mouth they kissed. + + + LI + + Now Bramimonde, King Marsil's queen, + To Ganelon came with gentle mien. + "I love thee well, Sir Count," she spake, + "For my lord the king and his nobles' sake. + See these clasps for a lady's wrist, + Of gold, and jacinth, and amethyst, + That all the jewels of Rome outshine; + Never your Emperor owned so fine; + These by the queen to your spouse are sent." + The gems within his boot he pent. + + + LII + + Then did the king on his treasurer call, + "My gifts for Karl, are they ready all?" + "Yea, sire, seven hundred camels' load + Of gold and silver well bestowed, + And twenty hostages thereby, + The noblest underneath the sky." + + + LIII + + On Ganelon's shoulder King Marsil leant. + "Thou art sage," he said, "and of gallant bent; + But by all thy holiest law deems dear, + Let not thy thought from our purpose veer. + Ten mules' burthen I give to thee + Of gold, the finest of Araby; + Nor ever year henceforth shall pass + But it brings thee riches in equal mass. + Take the keys of my city gates, + Take the treasure that Karl awaits-- + Render them all; but oh, decide + That Roland in the rear-guard bide; + So may I find him by pass or height, + As I swear to meet him in mortal fight." + Cried Gan, "Meseemeth too long we stay," + Sprang on his charger and rode away. + + + LIV + + The Emperor homeward hath turned his face, + To Gailne city he marched apace, + (By Roland erst in ruins strown-- + Deserted thence it lay and lone, + Until a hundred years had flown). + Here waits he, word of Gan to gain + With tribute of the land of Spain; + And here, at earliest break of day, + Came Gan where the encampment lay. + + + LV + + The Emperor rose with the day dawn clear, + Failed not Matins and Mass to hear, + Sate at his tent on the fair green sward, + Roland and Olivier nigh their lord, + Duke Naimes and all his peers of fame. + Gan the felon, the perjured, came-- + False was the treacherous tale he gave,-- + And these his words, "May God you save! + I bear you Saragossa's keys, + Vast the treasure I bring with these, + And twenty hostages; guard them well, + The noble Marsil bids me tell-- + Not on him shall your anger fall, + If I fetch not the Algalif here withal; + For mine eyes beheld, beneath their ken, + Three hundred thousand armed men, + With sword and casque and coat of mail, + Put forth with him on the sea to sail, + All for hate of the Christian creed, + Which they would neither hold nor heed. + They had not floated a league but four, + When a tempest down on their galleys bore + Drowned they lie to be seen no more. + If the Algalif were but living wight, + He had stood this morn before your sight. + Sire, for the Saracen king I say, + Ere ever a month shall pass away, + On into France he will follow free, + Bend to our Christian law the knee, + Homage swear for his Spanish land, + And hold the realm at your command." + "Now praise to God," the Emperor said, + "And thanks, my Ganelon, well you sped." + A thousand clarions then resound, + The sumpter-mules are girt on ground, + For France, for France the Franks are bound. + + + LVI + + Karl the Great hath wasted Spain, + Her cities sacked, her castles ta'en; + But now "My wars are done," he cried, + "And home to gentle France we ride." + Count Roland plants his standard high + Upon a peak against the sky; + The Franks around encamping lie. + Alas! the heathen host the while, + Through valley deep and dark defile, + Are riding on the Chistians' track, + All armed in steel from breast to back; + Their lances poised, their helmets laced, + Their falchions glittering from the waist, + Their bucklers from the shoulder swung, + And so they ride the steeps among, + Till, in a forest on the height, + They rest to wait the morning light, + Four hundred thousand crouching there. + O God! the Franks are unaware. + + + LVII + + The day declined, night darkling crept, + And Karl, the mighty Emperor, slept. + He dreamt a dream: he seemed to stand + In Cizra's pass, with lance in hand. + Count Ganelon came athwart, and lo, + He wrenched the aspen spear him fro, + Brandished and shook it aloft with might, + Till it brake in pieces before his sight; + High towards heaven the splinters flew; + Karl awoke not, he dreamed anew. + + + LVIII + + In his second dream he seemed to dwell + In his palace of Aix, at his own Chapelle. + A bear seized grimly his right arm on, + And bit the flesh to the very bone. + Anon a leopard from Arden wood, + Fiercely flew at him where he stood. + When lo! from his hall, with leap and bound, + Sprang to the rescue a gallant hound. + First from the bear the ear he tore, + Then on the leopard his fangs he bore. + The Franks exclaim, "'Tis a stirring fray, + But who the victor none may say." + Karl awoke not--he slept alway. + + + LIX + + The night wore by, the day dawn glowed, + Proudly the Emperor rose and rode, + Keenly and oft his host he scanned. + "Lords, my barons, survey this land, + See the passes so straight and steep: + To whom shall I trust the rear to keep?" + "To my stepson Roland:" Count Gan replied. + "Knight like him have you none beside." + The Emperor heard him with moody brow. + "A living demon," he said, "art thou; + Some mortal rage hath thy soul possessed. + To head my vanguard, who then were best?" + "Ogier," he answered, "the gallant Dane, + Braver baron will none remain." + + + LX + + Roland, when thus the choice he saw, + Spake, full knightly, by knightly law: + "Sir Stepsire, well may I hold thee dear, + That thou hast named me to guard the rear; + Karl shall lose not, if I take heed, + Charger, or palfrey, or mule or steed, + Hackney or sumpter that groom may lead; + The reason else our swords shall tell." + "It is sooth," said Gan, "and I know it well." + + + LXI + + Fiercely once more Count Roland turned + To speak the scorn that in him burned. + "Ha! deem'st thou, dastard, of dastard race, + That I shall drop the glove in place, + As in sight of Karl thou didst the mace?" + + + LXII + + Then of his uncle he made demand: + "Yield me the bow that you hold in hand; + Never of me shall the tale be told, + As of Ganelon erst, that it failed my hold." + Sadly the Emperor bowed his head, + With working finger his beard he spread, + Tears in his own despite he shed. + + + LXIII + + But soon Duke Naimes doth by him stand-- + No better vassal in all his band. + "You have seen and heard it all, O sire, + Count Roland waxeth much in ire. + On him the choice for the rear-guard fell, + And where is baron could speed so well? + Yield him the bow that your arm hath bent, + And let good succor to him be lent." + The Emperor reached it forth, and lo! + He gave, and Roland received, the bow. + + + LXIV + + "Fair Sir Nephew, I tell thee free. + Half of my host will I leave with thee." + "God be my judge," was the count's reply, + "If ever I thus my race belie. + But twenty thousand with me shall rest, + Bravest of all your Franks and best; + The mountain passes in safety tread, + While I breathe in life you have nought to dread." + + + LXV + + Count Roland sprang to a hill-top's height, + And donned his peerless armor bright; + Laced his helm, for a baron made; + Girt Durindana, gold-hilted blade; + Around his neck he hung the shield, + With flowers emblazoned was the field; + Nor steed but Veillantif will ride; + And he grasped his lance with its pennon's pride. + White was the pennon, with rim of gold; + Low to the handle the fringes rolled. + Who are his lovers men now may see; + And the Franks exclaim, "We will follow thee." + + + LXVI + + Roland hath mounted his charger on; + Sir Olivier to his side hath gone; + Gerein and his fellow in arms, Gerier; + Otho the Count, and Berengier, + Samson, and with him Anseis old, + Gerard of Roussillon, the bold. + Thither the Gascon Engelier sped; + "I go," said Turpin, "I pledge my head;" + "And I with thee," Count Walter said; + "I am Roland's man, to his service bound." + So twenty thousand knights were found. + + + LXVII + + Roland beckoned Count Walter then. + "Take of our Franks a thousand men; + Sweep the heights and the passes clear, + That the Emperor's host may have nought to fear." + "I go," said Walter, "at your behest," + And a thousand Franks around him pressed. + They ranged the heights and passes through, + Nor for evil tidings backward drew, + Until seven hundred swords outflew. + The Lord of Belferna's land, that day, + King Almaris met him in deadly fray. + + + LXVIII + + Through Roncesvalles the march began; + Ogier, the baron, led the van; + For them was neither doubt nor fear, + Since Roland rested to guard the rear, + With twenty thousand in full array: + Theirs the battle--be God their stay. + Gan knows all; in his felon heart + Scarce hath he courage to play his part. + + + LXIX + + High were the peaks, and the valleys deep, + The mountains wondrous dark and steep; + Sadly the Franks through the passes wound, + Full fifteen leagues did their tread resound. + To their own great land they are drawing nigh, + And they look on the fields of Gascony. + They think of their homes and their manors there, + Their gentle spouses and damsels fair. + Is none but for pity the tear lets fall; + But the anguish of Karl is beyond them all. + His sister's son at the gates of Spain + Smites on his heart, and he weeps amain. + + + LXX + + On the Spanish marches the twelve abide, + With twice ten thousand Franks beside. + Fear to die have they none, nor care: + But Karl returns into France the fair; + Beneath his mantle his face he hides. + Naimes, the duke, at his bridle rides. + "Say, sire, what grief doth your heart oppress?" + "To ask," he said, "brings worse distress; + I cannot but weep for heaviness. + By Gan the ruin of France is wrought. + In an angel's vision, last night, methought + He wrested forth from my hand the spear: + 'Twas he gave Roland to guard the rear. + God! should I lose him, my nephew dear, + Whom I left on a foreign soil behind, + His peer on earth I shall never find!" + + + LXXI + + Karl the Great cannot choose but weep, + For him hath his host compassion deep; + And for Roland, a marvellous boding dread. + It was Gan, the felon, this treason bred; + He hath heathen gifts of silver and gold, + Costly raiment, and silken fold, + Horses and camels, and mules and steeds.-- + But lo! King Marsil the mandate speeds, + To his dukes, his counts, and his vassals all, + To each almasour and amiral. + And so, before three suns had set, + Four hundred thousand in muster met. + Through Saragossa the tabors sound; + On the loftiest turret they raise Mahound: + Before him the Pagans bend and pray, + Then mount and fiercely ride away, + Across Cerdagna, by vale and height, + Till stream the banners of France in sight, + Where the peers of Carlemaine proudly stand, + And the shock of battle is hard at hand. + + + LXXII + + Up to King Marsil his nephew rode, + With a mule for steed, and a staff for goad: + Free and joyous his accents fell, + "Fair Sir King, I have served you well. + So let my toils and my perils tell. + I have fought and vanquished for you in field. + One good boon for my service yield,-- + Be it mine on Roland to strike the blow; + At point of lance will I lay him low; + And so Mohammed to aid me deign, + Free will I sweep the soil of Spain, + From the gorge of Aspra to Dourestan, + Till Karl grows weary such wars to plan. + Then for your life have you won repose." + King Marsil on him his glove bestows. + + + LXXIII + + His nephew, while the glove he pressed, + Proudly once more the king addressed. + "Sire, you have crowned my dearest vow; + Name me eleven of your barons now, + In battle against the twelve to bide." + Falsaron first to the call replied; + Brother to Marsil, the king, was he; + "Fair Sir nephew, I go with thee; + In mortal combat we front, to-day, + The rear-guard of the grand array. + Foredoomed to die by our spears are they." + + + LXXIV + + King Corsablis the next drew nigh, + Miscreant Monarch of Barbary; + Yet he spake like vassal staunch and bold-- + Blench would he not for all God's gold. + The third, Malprimis, of Brigal's breed, + More fleet of foot than the fleetest steed, + Before King Marsil he raised his cry, + "On unto Roncesvalles I: + In mine encounter shall Roland die." + + + LXXV + + An Emir of Balaguet came in place, + Proud of body, and fair of face; + Since first he sprang on steed to ride, + To wear his harness was all his pride; + For feats of prowess great laud he won; + Were he Christian, nobler baron none. + To Marsil came he, and cried aloud, + "Unto Roncesvalles mine arm is vowed; + May I meet with Roland and Olivier, + Or the twelve together, their doom is near. + The Franks shall perish in scathe and scorn; + Karl the Great, who is old and worn, + Weary shall grow his hosts to lead, + And the land of Spain be for ever freed." + King Marsil's thanks were his gracious meed. + + + LXXVI + + A Mauritanian Almasour + (Breathed not in Spain such a felon Moor) + Stepped unto Marsil, with braggart boast: + "Unto Roncesvalles I lead my host, + Full twenty thousand, with lance and shield. + Let me meet with Roland upon the field, + Lifelong tears for him Karl shall yield." + + + LXXVII + + Turgis, Count of Tortosa came. + Lord of the city, he bears its name. + Scathe to the Christian to him is best, + And in Marsil's presence he joined the rest. + To the king he said, "Be fearless found; + Peter of Rome cannot mate Mahound. + If we serve him truly, we win this day; + Unto Roncesvalles I ride straightway. + No power shall Roland from slaughter save: + See the length of my peerless glaive, + That with Durindana to cross I go, + And who the victor, ye then shall know. + Sorrow and shame old Karl shall share, + Crown on earth never more shall wear." + + + LXXVIII + + Lord of Valtierra was Escremis; + Saracen he, and the region his; + He cried to Marsil, amid the throng, + "Unto Roncesvalles I spur along, + The pride of Roland in dust to tread, + Nor shall he carry from thence his head; + Nor Olivier who leads the band. + And of all the twelve is the doom at hand. + The Franks shall perish, and France be lorn, + And Karl of his bravest vassals shorn." + + + LXXIX + + Estorgan next to Marsil hied, + With Estramarin his mate beside. + Hireling traitors and felons they. + Aloud cried Marsil, "My lords, away + Unto Roncesvalles, the pass to gain, + Of my people's captains ye shall be twain." + "Sire, full welcome to us the call, + On Roland and Olivier we fall. + None the twelve from their death shall screen, + The swords we carry are bright and keen; + We will dye them red with the hot blood's vent + The Franks shall perish and Karl lament. + We will yield all France as your tribute meet. + Come, that the vision your eyes may greet; + The Emperor's self shall be at your feet." + + + LXXX + + With speed came Margaris--lord was he + Of the land of Sibilie to the sea; + Beloved of dames for his beauty's sake, + Was none but joy in his look would take, + The goodliest knight of heathenesse,-- + And he cried to the king over all the press, + "Sire, let nothing your heart dismay; + I will Roland in Roncesvalles slay, + Nor thence shall Olivier scathless come, + The peers await but their martyrdom. + The Emir of Primis bestowed this blade; + Look on its hilt, with gold inlaid: + It shall crimsoned be with the red blood's trace: + Death to the Franks, and to France disgrace! + Karl the old, with his beard so white, + Shall have pain and sorrow both day and night; + France shall be ours ere a year go by; + At Saint Denys' bourg shall our leaguer lie." + King Marsil bent him reverently. + + + LXXXI + + Chernubles is there, from the valley black, + His long hair makes on the earth its track; + A load, when it lists him, he bears in play, + Which four mules' burthen would well outweigh. + Men say, in the land where he was born + Nor shineth sun, nor springeth corn, + Nor falleth rain, nor droppeth dew; + The very stones are of sable hue. + 'Tis the home of demons, as some assert. + And he cried, "My good sword have I girt, + In Roncesvalles to dye it red. + Let Roland but in my pathway tread, + Trust ye to me that I strike him dead, + His Durindana beat down with mine. + The Franks shall perish and France decline." + Thus were mustered King Marsil's peers, + With a hundred thousand heathen spears. + In haste to press to the battle on, + In a pine-tree forest their arms they don. + + + LXXXII + + They don their hauberks of Saracen mould, + Wrought for the most with a triple fold; + In Saragossa their helms were made; + Steel of Vienne was each girded blade; + Valentia lances and targets bright, + Pennons of azure and red and white. + They leave their sumpters and mules aside, + Leap on their chargers and serried ride. + Bright was the sunshine and fair the day; + Their arms resplendent gave back the ray. + Then sound a thousand clarions clear, + Till the Franks the mighty clangor hear, + "Sir Comrade," said Olivier, "I trow + There is battle at hand with the Saracen foe." + "God grant," said Roland, "it may be so. + Here our post for our king we hold; + For his lord the vassal bears heat and cold, + Toil and peril endures for him, + Risks in his service both life and limb. + For mighty blows let our arms be strung, + Lest songs of scorn be against us sung. + With the Christian is good, with the heathen ill: + No dastard part shall ye see me fill." + + + + + + PART II + + THE PRELUDE OF THE GREAT + BATTLE + + RONCESVALLES + + + + LXXXIII + + + Olivier clomb to a mountain height, + Glanced through the valley that stretched to right; + He saw advancing the Saracen men, + And thus to Roland he spake agen: + "What sights and sounds from the Spanish side, + White gleaming hauberks and helms in pride? + In deadliest wrath our Franks shall be! + Ganelon wrought this perfidy; + It was he who doomed us to hold the rear." + "Hush," said Roland; "O Olivier, + No word be said of my stepsire here." + + [Footnote 1: The stanzas of the translation not found in the Oxford + MS., but taken from the stanzas inserted from other versions by M. + Gautier, are, as regards Part II, the following: Stanzas 113, 114, + 115, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 126, 127, 139, 143, 144, 145, + 146, 163.] + + + LXXXIV + + Sir Olivier to the peak hath clomb, + Looks far on the realm of Spain therefrom; + He sees the Saracen power arrayed,-- + Helmets gleaming with gold inlaid, + Shields and hauberks in serried row, + Spears with pennons that from them flow. + He may not reckon the mighty mass, + So far their numbers his thought surpass. + All in bewilderment and dismay, + Down from the mountain he takes his way, + Comes to the Franks the tale to say. + + + LXXXV + + "I have seen the paynim," said Olivier. + "Never on earth did such host appear: + A hundred thousand with targets bright, + With helmets laced and hauberks white, + Erect and shining their lances tall; + Such battle as waits you did ne'er befall. + My Lords of France, be God your stay, + That you be not vanquished in field to-day." + "Accursed," say the Franks, "be they who fly + None shall blench from the fear to die." + + + + + ROLAND'S PRIDE + + + LXXXVI + + "In mighty strength are the heathen crew," + Olivier said, "and our Franks are few; + My comrade, Roland, sound on your horn; + Karl will hear and his host return." + "I were mad," said Roland, "to do such deed; + Lost in France were my glory's meed. + My Durindana shall smite full hard, + And her hilt be red to the golden guard. + The heathen felons shall find their fate; + Their death, I swear, in the pass they wait." + + + LXXXVII + + "O Roland, sound on your ivory horn, + To the ear of Karl shall the blast be borne: + He will bid his legions backward bend, + And all his barons their aid will lend." + "Now God forbid it, for very shame, + That for me my kindred were stained with blame, + Or that gentle France to such vileness fell: + This good sword that hath served me well, + My Durindana such strokes shall deal, + That with blood encrimsoned shall be the steel. + By their evil star are the felons led; + They shall all be numbered among the dead." + + + LXXXVIII + + "Roland, Roland, yet wind one blast! + Karl will hear ere the gorge be passed, + And the Franks return on their path full fast." + "I will not sound on mine ivory horn: + It shall never be spoken of me in scorn, + That for heathen felons one blast I blew; + I may not dishonor my lineage true. + But I will strike, ere this fight be o'er, + A thousand strokes and seven hundred more, + And my Durindana shall drip with gore. + Our Franks will bear them like vassals brave + The Saracens flock but to find a grave." + + + LXXXIX + + "I deem of neither reproach nor stain. + I have seen the Saracen host of Spain, + Over plain and valley and mountain spread, + And the regions hidden beneath their tread. + Countless the swarm of the foe, and we + A marvellous little company." + Roland answered him, "All the more + My spirit within me burns therefore. + God and his angels of heaven defend + That France through me from her glory bend. + Death were better than fame laid low. + Our Emperor loveth a downright blow." + + + XC + + Roland is daring and Olivier wise, + Both of marvellous high emprise; + On their chargers mounted, and girt in mail, + To the death in battle they will not quail. + Brave are the counts, and their words are high, + And the Pagans are fiercely riding nigh. + "See, Roland, see them, how close they are, + The Saracen foemen, and Karl how far! + Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow. + Were the king but here we were spared this woe. + Look up through Aspra's dread defile, + Where standeth our doomed rear-guard the while; + They will do their last brave feat this day, + No more to mingle in mortal fray." + "Hush!" said Roland, "the craven tale-- + Foul fall who carries a heart so pale; + Foot to foot shall we hold the place, + And rain our buffets and blows apace." + + + XCI + + When Roland felt that the battle came, + Lion or leopard to him were tame; + He shouted aloud to his Franks, and then + Called to his gentle compeer agen. + "My friend, my comrade, my Olivier, + The Emperor left us his bravest here; + Twice ten thousand he set apart, + And he knew among them no dastard heart. + For his lord the vassal must bear the stress + Of the winter's cold and the sun's excess-- + Peril his flesh and his blood thereby: + Strike thou with thy good lance-point and I, + With Durindana, the matchless glaive + Which the king himself to my keeping gave, + That he who wears it when I lie cold + May say 'twas the sword of a vassal bold." + + + XCII + + Archbishop Turpin, above the rest, + Spurred his steed to a jutting crest. + His sermon thus to the Franks he spake:-- + "Lords, we are here for our monarch's sake; + Hold we for him, though our death should come; + Fight for the succor of Christendom. + The battle approaches--ye know it well, + For ye see the ranks of the infidel. + Cry _mea culpa_, and lowly kneel; + I will assoil you, your souls to heal. + In death ye are holy martyrs crowned." + The Franks alighted, and knelt on ground; + In God's high name the host he blessed, + And for penance gave them--to smite their best. + + + XCIII + + The Franks arose from bended knee, + Assoiled, and from their sins set free; + The archbishop blessed them fervently: + Then each one sprang on his bounding barb, + Armed and laced in knightly garb, + Apparelled all for the battle line. + At last said Roland, "Companion mine, + Too well the treason is now displayed, + How Ganelon hath our band betrayed. + To him the gifts and the treasures fell; + But our Emperor will avenge us well. + King Marsil deemeth us bought and sold; + The price shall be with our good swords told." + + + XCIV + + Roland rideth the passes through, + On Veillantif, his charger true; + Girt in his harness that shone full fair, + And baron-like his lance he bare. + The steel erect in the sunshine gleamed, + With the snow-white pennon that from it streamed; + The golden fringes beat on his hand. + Joyous of visage was he, and bland, + Exceeding beautiful of frame; + And his warriors hailed him with glad acclaim. + Proudly he looked on the heathen ranks, + Humbly and sweetly upon his Franks. + Courteously spake he, in words of grace-- + "Ride, my barons, at gentle pace. + The Saracens here to their slaughter toil: + Reap we, to-day, a glorious spoil, + Never fell to Monarch of France the like." + At his word, the hosts are in act to strike. + + + XCV + + Said Olivier, "Idle is speech, I trow; + Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow. + Succor of Karl is far apart; + Our strait he knows not, the noble heart: + Not to him nor his host be blame; + Therefore, barons, in God's good name, + Press ye onward, and strike your best, + Make your stand on this field to rest; + Think but of blows, both to give and take, + Never the watchword of Karl forsake." + Then from the Franks resounded high-- + "_Montjoie!_" Whoever had heard that cry + Would hold remembrance of chivalry. + Then ride they--how proudly, O God, they ride!-- + With rowels dashed in their coursers' side. + Fearless, too, are their paynim foes. + Frank and Saracen, thus they close. + + + + THE MELLAY + + + XCVI + + King Marsil's nephew, Aelroth his name, + Vaunting in front of the battle came, + Words of scorn on our Franks he cast: + "Felon Franks, ye are met at last, + By your chosen guardian betrayed and sold, + By your king left madly the pass to hold. + This day shall France of her fame be shorn, + And from Karl the mighty his right arm torn." + Roland heard him in wrath and pain!-- + He spurred his steed, he slacked the rein, + Drave at the heathen with might and main, + Shattered his shield and his hauberk broke, + Right to the breast-bone went the stroke; + Pierced him, spine and marrow through, + And the felon's soul from his body flew. + A moment reeled he upon his horse, + Then all heavily dropped the corse; + Wrenched was his neck as on earth he fell, + Yet would Roland scorn with scorn repel. + "Thou dastard! never hath Karl been mad, + Nor love for treason or traitors had. + To guard the passes he left us here, + Like a noble king and chevalier. + Nor shall France this day her fame forego. + Strike in, my barons; the foremost blow + Dealt in the fight doth to us belong: + We have the right and these dogs the wrong." + + + XCVII + + A duke was there, named Falsaron, + Of the land of Dathan and Abiron; + Brother to Marsil, the king, was he; + More miscreant felon ye might not see. + Huge of forehead, his eyes between, + A span of a full half-foot, I ween. + Bitter sorrow was his, to mark + His nephew before him lie slain and stark. + Hastily came he from forth the press, + Raising the war-cry of heathenesse. + Braggart words from his lips were tost: + "This day the honour of France is lost." + Hotly Sir Olivier's anger stirs; + He pricked his steed with golden spurs, + Fairly dealt him a baron's blow, + And hurled him dead from the saddle-bow. + Buckler and mail were reft and rent, + And the pennon's flaps to his heart's blood went. + He saw the miscreant stretched on earth: + "Caitiff, thy threats are of little worth. + On, Franks! the felons before us fall; + _Montjoie!_" 'Tis the Emperor's battle-call. + + + XCVIII + + A king was there of a strange countrie, + King Corsablis of Barbary; + Before the Saracen van he cried, + "Right well may we in this battle bide; + Puny the host of the Franks I deem, + And those that front us, of vile esteem. + Not one by succor of Karl shall fly; + The day hath dawned that shall see them die." + Archbishop Turpin hath heard him well; + No mortal hates he with hate so fell: + He pricked with spurs of the fine gold wrought, + And in deadly passage the heathen sought; + Shield and corselet were pierced and riven, + And the lance's point through his body driven; + To and fro, at the mighty thrust, + He reeled, and then fell stark in dust. + Turpin looked on him, stretched on ground. + "Loud thou liest, thou heathen hound! + King Karl is ever our pride and stay; + Nor one of the Franks shall blench this day, + But your comrades here on the field shall lie; + I bring you tidings: ye all shall die. + Strike, Franks! remember your chivalry; + First blows are ours, high God be praised!" + Once more the cry, "_Montjoie!_" he raised. + + + XCIX + + Gerein to Malprimis of Brigal sped, + Whose good shield stood him no whit in stead; + Its knob of crystal was cleft in twain, + And one half fell on the battle plain. + Right through the hauberk, and through the skin, + He drave the lance to the flesh within; + Prone and sudden the heathen fell, + And Satan carried his soul to hell. + + + C + + Anon, his comrade in arms, Gerier, + Spurred at the Emir with levelled spear; + Severed his shield and his mail apart,-- + The lance went through them, to pierce his heart. + Dead on the field at the blow he lay. + Olivier said, "'Tis a stirring fray." + + + CI + + At the Almasour's shield Duke Samson rode-- + With blazon of flowers and gold it glowed; + But nor shield nor cuirass availed to save, + When through heart and lungs the lance he drave. + Dead lies he, weep him who list or no. + The Archbishop said, "'Tis a baron's blow." + + + CII + + Anseis cast his bridle free; + At Turgis, Tortosa's lord, rode he: + Above the centre his shield he smote, + Brake his mail with its double coat, + Speeding the lance with a stroke so true, + That the iron traversed his body through. + So lay he lifeless, at point of spear. + Said Roland, "Struck like a cavalier." + + + CIII + + Engelier, Gascon of Bordeaux, + On his courser's mane let the bridle flow; + Smote Escremis, from Valtierra sprung, + Shattered the shield from his neck that swung; + On through his hauberk's vental pressed, + And betwixt his shoulders pierced his breast. + Forth from the saddle he cast him dead. + "So shall ye perish all," he said. + + + CIV + + The heathen Estorgan was Otho's aim: + Right in front of his shield he came; + Rent its colors of red and white, + Pierced the joints of his harness bright, + Flung him dead from his bridle rein. + Said Otho, "Thus shall ye all be slain." + + + CV + + Berengier smote Estramarin, + Planting his lance his heart within, + Through shivered shield and hauberk torn. + The Saracen to earth was borne + Amid a thousand of his train. + Thus ten of the heathen twelve are slain; + But two are left alive I wis-- + Chernubles and Count Margaris. + + + CVI + + Count Margaris was a valiant knight, + Stalwart of body, and lithe and light: + He spurred his steed unto Olivier, + Brake his shield at the golden sphere, + Pushed the lance till it touched his side; + God of his grace made it harmless glide. + Margaris rideth unhurt withal, + Sounding his trumpet, his men to call. + + + CVII + + Mingled and marvellous grows the fray, + And in Roland's heart is no dismay. + He fought with lance while his good lance stood; + Fifteen encounters have strained its wood. + At the last it brake; then he grasped in hand + His Durindana, his naked brand. + He smote Chernubles' helm upon, + Where, in the centre, carbuncles shone: + Down through his coif and his fell of hair, + Betwixt his eyes came the falchion bare, + Down through his plated harness fine, + Down through the Saracen's chest and chine, + Down through the saddle with gold inlaid, + Till sank in the living horse the blade, + Severed the spine where no joint was found, + And horse and rider lay dead on ground. + "Caitiff, thou earnest in evil hour; + To save thee passeth Mohammed's power. + Never to miscreants like to thee + Shall come the guerdon of victory." + + + CVIII + + Count Roland rideth the battle through, + With Durindana, to cleave and hew; + Havoc fell of the foe he made, + Saracen corse upon corse was laid, + The field all flowed with the bright blood shed; + Roland, to corselet and arm, was red-- + Red his steed to the neck and flank. + Nor is Olivier niggard of blows as frank; + Nor to one of the peers be blame this day, + For the Franks are fiery to smite and slay. + "Well fought," said Turpin, "our barons true!" + And he raised the war-cry, "_Montjoie!_" anew. + + + CIX + + Through the storm of battle rides Olivier, + His weapon, the butt of his broken spear, + Down upon Malseron's shield he beat, + Where flowers and gold emblazoned meet, + Dashing his eyes from forth his head: + Low at his feet were the brains bespread, + And the heathen lies with seven hundred dead! + Estorgus and Turgin next he slew, + Till the shaft he wielded in splinters flew. + "Comrade!" said Roland, "what makest thou? + Is it time to fight with a truncheon now? + Steel and iron such strife may claim; + Where is thy sword, Hauteclere by name, + With its crystal pommel and golden guard?" + "Of time to draw it I stood debarred, + Such stress was on me of smiting hard." + + + CX + + Then drew Sir Olivier forth his blade, + As had his comrade Roland prayed. + He proved it in knightly wise straightway, + On the heathen Justin of Val Ferree. + At a stroke he severed his head in two, + Cleft him body and harness through; + Down through the gold-incrusted selle, + To the horse's chine, the falchion fell: + Dead on the sward lay man and steed. + Said Roland, "My brother, henceforth, indeed! + The Emperor loves us for such brave blows!" + Around them the cry of "_Montjoie!_" arose. + + + CXI + + Gerein his Sorel rides; Gerier + Is mounted on his own Pass-deer: + The reins they slacken, and prick full well + Against the Saracen Timozel. + One smites his cuirass, and one his shield, + Break in his body the spears they wield; + They cast him dead on the fallow mould. + I know not, nor yet to mine ear was told. + Which of the twain was more swift and bold. + Then Espreveris, Borel's son, + By Engelier unto death was done. + Archbishop Turpin slew Siglorel, + The wizard, who erst had been in hell, + By Jupiter thither in magic led. + "Well have we 'scaped," the archbishop said: + "Crushed is the caitiff," Count Roland replies, + "Olivier, brother, such strokes I prize!" + + + CXII + + Furious waxeth the fight, and strange; + Frank and heathen their blows exchange; + While these defend, and those assail, + And their lances broken and bloody fail. + Ensign and pennon are rent and cleft, + And the Franks of their fairest youth bereft, + Who will look on mother or spouse no more, + Or the host that waiteth the gorge before. + Karl the Mighty may weep and wail; + What skilleth sorrow, if succour fail? + An evil service was Gan's that day, + When to Saragossa he bent his way, + His faith and kindred to betray. + But a doom thereafter awaited him-- + Amerced in Aix, of life and limb, + With thirty of his kin beside, + To whom was hope of grace denied. + + + CXIII + + King Almaris with his band, the while, + Wound through a marvellous strait defile, + Where doth Count Walter the heights maintain + And the passes that lie at the gates of Spain. + "Gan, the traitor, hath made of us," + Said Walter, "a bargain full dolorous." + + + CXIV + + King Almaris to the mount hath clomb, + With sixty thousand of heathendom. + In deadly wrath on the Franks they fall, + And with furious onset smite them all: + Routed, scattered, or slain they lie. + Then rose the wrath of Count Walter high; + His sword he drew, his helm he laced, + Slowly in front of the line he paced, + And with evil greeting his foeman faced. + + + CXV + + Right on his foemen doth Walter ride, + And the heathen assail him on every side; + Broken down was his shield of might, + Bruised and pierced was his hauberk white; + Four lances at once did his body wound: + No longer bore he--four times he swooned; + He turned perforce from the field aside, + Slowly adown the mount he hied, + And aloud to Roland for succour cried. + + + CXVI + + Wild and fierce is the battle still: + Roland and Olivier fight their fill; + The Archbishop dealeth a thousand blows + Nor knoweth one of the peers repose; + The Franks are fighting commingled all, + And the foe in hundreds and thousands fall; + Choice have they none but to flee or die, + Leaving their lives despighteously. + Yet the Franks are reft of their chivalry, + Who will see nor parent nor kindred fond, + Nor Karl who waits them the pass beyond. + + + CXVII + + Now a wondrous storm o'er France hath passed, + With thunder-stroke and whirlwind's blast; + Rain unmeasured, and hail, there came, + Sharp and sudden the lightning's flame; + And an earthquake ran--the sooth I say, + From Besancon city to Wissant Bay; + From Saint Michael's Mount to thy shrine, Cologne, + House unrifted was there none. + And a darkness spread in the noontide high-- + No light, save gleams from the cloven sky. + On all who saw came a mighty fear. + They said, "The end of the world is near." + Alas, they spake but with idle breath,-- + 'Tis the great lament for Roland's death. + + + CXVIII + + Dread are the omens and fierce the storm, + Over France the signs and wonders swarm: + From noonday on to the vesper hour, + Night and darkness alone have power; + Nor sun nor moon one ray doth shed, + Who sees it ranks him among the dead. + Well may they suffer such pain and woe, + When Roland, captain of all, lies low. + Never on earth hath his fellow been, + To slay the heathen or realms to win. + + + CXIX + + Stern and stubborn is the fight; + Staunch are the Franks with the sword to smite; + Nor is there one but whose blade is red, + "_Montjoie!_" is ever their war-cry dread. + Through the land they ride in hot pursuit, + And the heathens feel 'tis a fierce dispute. + + + CXX + + In wrath and anguish, the heathen race + Turn in flight from the field their face; + The Franks as hotly behind them strain. + Then might ye look on a cumbered plain: + Saracens stretched on the green grass bare, + Helms and hauberks that shone full fair, + Standards riven and arms undone: + So by the Franks was the battle won. + The foremost battle that then befell-- + O God, what sorrow remains to tell! + + + CXXI + + With heart and prowess the Franks have stood; + Slain was the heathen multitude; + Of a hundred thousand survive not two: + The archbishop crieth, "O staunch and true! + Written it is in the Frankish geste, + That our Emperor's vassals shall bear them best." + To seek their dead through the field they press, + And their eyes drop tears of tenderness: + Their hearts are turned to their kindred dear. + Marsil the while with his host is near. + + + CXXII + + Distraught was Roland with wrath and pain; + Distraught were the twelve of Carlemaine-- + With deadly strokes the Franks have striven, + And the Saracen horde to the slaughter given; + Of a hundred thousand escaped but one-- + King Margaris fled from the field alone; + But no disgrace in his flight he bore-- + Wounded was he by lances four. + To the side of Spain did he take his way, + To tell King Marsil what chanced that day. + + + CXXIII + + Alone King Margaris left the field, + With broken spear and pierced shield, + Scarce half a foot from the knob remained, + And his brand of steel with blood was stained; + On his body were four lance wounds to see: + Were he Christian, what a baron he! + He sped to Marsil his tale to tell; + Swift at the feet of the king he fell: + "Ride, sire, on to the field forthright, + You will find the Franks in an evil plight; + Full half and more of their host lies slain, + And sore enfeebled who yet remain; + Nor arms have they in their utmost need: + To crush them now were an easy deed," + Marsil listened with heart aflame. + Onward in search of the Franks he came. + + + CXXIV + + King Marsil on through the valley sped, + With the mighty host he has marshalled. + Twice ten battalions the king arrayed: + Helmets shone, with their gems displayed, + Bucklers and braided hauberks bound, + Seven thousand trumpets the onset sound; + Dread was the clangor afar to hear. + Said Roland, "My brother, my Olivier, + Gan the traitor our death hath sworn, + Nor may his treason be now forborne. + To our Emperor vengeance may well belong,-- + To us the battle fierce and strong; + Never hath mortal beheld the like. + With my Durindana I trust to strike; + And thou, my comrade, with thy Hauteclere: + We have borne them gallantly otherwhere. + So many fields 'twas ours to gain, + They shall sing against us no scornful strain." + + + CXXV + + As the Franks the heathen power descried, + Filling the champaign from side to side, + Loud unto Roland they made their call, + And to Olivier and their captains all, + Spake the archbishop as him became: + "O barons, think not one thought of shame; + Fly not, for sake of our God I pray. + That on you be chaunted no evil lay. + Better by far on the field to die; + For in sooth I deem that our end is nigh. + But in holy Paradise ye shall meet, + And with the innocents be your seat." + The Franks exult his words to hear, + And the cry "_Montjoie!_" resoundeth clear. + + + CXXVI + + King Marsil on the hill-top bides, + While Grandonie with his legion rides. + He nails his flag with three nails of gold: + "Ride ye onwards, my barons bold." + Then loud a thousand clarions rang. + And the Franks exclaimed as they heard the clang-- + "O God, our Father, what cometh on! + Woe that we ever saw Ganelon: + Foully, by treason, he us betrayed." + Gallantly then the archbishop said, + "Soldiers and lieges of God are ye, + And in Paradise shall your guerdon be. + To lie on its holy flowerets fair, + Dastard never shall enter there." + Say the Franks, "We will win it every one." + The archbishop bestoweth his benison. + Proudly mounted they at his word, + And, like lions chafed, at the heathen spurred. + + + CXXVII + + Thus doth King Marsil divide his men: + He keeps around him battalions ten. + As the Franks the other ten descry, + "What dark disaster," they said, "is nigh? + What doom shall now our peers betide?" + Archbishop Turpin full well replied. + "My cavaliers, of God the friends, + Your crown of glory to-day He sends, + To rest on the flowers of Paradise, + That never were won by cowardice." + The Franks made answer, "No cravens we, + Nor shall we gainsay God's decree; + Against the enemy yet we hold,-- + Few may we be, but staunch and bold." + Their spurs against the foe they set, + Frank and paynim--once more they met. + + + CXXVIII + + A heathen of Saragossa came. + Full half the city was his to claim. + It was Climorin: hollow of heart was he, + He had plighted with Gan in perfidy, + What time each other on mouth they kissed, + And he gave him his helm and amethyst. + He would bring fair France from her glory down + And from the Emperor wrest his crown. + He sate upon Barbamouche, his steed, + Than hawk or swallow more swift in speed. + Pricked with the spur, and the rein let flow, + To strike at the Gascon of Bordeaux, + Whom shield nor cuirass availed to save. + Within his harness the point he drave, + The sharp steel on through his body passed, + Dead on the field was the Gascon cast. + Said Climorin, "Easy to lay them low: + Strike in, my pagans, give blow for blow." + For their champion slain, the Franks cry woe. + + + CXXIX + + Sir Roland called unto Olivier, + "Sir Comrade, dead lieth Engelier; + Braver knight had we none than he." + "God grant," he answered, "revenge to me." + His spurs of gold to his horse he laid, + Grasping Hauteclere with his bloody blade. + Climorin smote he, with stroke so fell, + Slain at the blow was the infidel. + Whose soul the Enemy bore away. + Then turned he, Alphaien, the duke, to slay; + From Escababi the head he shore, + And Arabs seven to the earth he bore. + Saith Roland, "My comrade is much in wrath; + Won great laud by my side he hath; + Us such prowess to Karl endears. + Fight on, fight ever, my cavaliers." + + + CXXX + + Then came the Saracen Valdabrun, + Of whom King Marsil was foster-son. + Four hundred galleys he owned at sea, + And of all the mariners lord was he. + Jerusalem erst he had falsely won, + Profaned the temple of Solomon, + Slaying the patriarch at the fount. + 'Twas he who in plight unto Gan the count, + His sword with a thousand coins bestowed. + Gramimond named he the steed he rode, + Swifter than ever was falcon's flight; + Well did he prick with the sharp spurs bright, + To strike Duke Samson, the fearless knight. + Buckler and cuirass at once he rent, + And his pennon's flaps through his body sent; + Dead he cast him, with levelled spear. + "Strike, ye heathens; their doom is near." + The Franks cry woe for their cavalier. + + + CXXXI + + When Roland was ware of Samson slain, + Well may you weet of his bitter pain. + With bloody spur he his steed impelled, + While Durindana aloft he held, + The sword more costly than purest gold; + And he smote, with passion uncontrolled, + On the heathen's helm, with its jewelled crown,-- + Through head, and cuirass, and body down, + And the saddle embossed with gold, till sank + The griding steel in the charger's flank; + Blame or praise him, the twain he slew. + "A fearful stroke!" said the heathen crew. + "I shall never love you," Count Roland cried, + "With you are falsehood and evil pride." + + + CXXXII + + From Afric's shore, of Afric's brood, + Malquiant, son of King Malcus stood; + Wrought of the beaten gold, his vest + Flamed to the sun over all the rest. + Saut-perdu hath he named his horse, + Fleeter than ever was steed in course; + He smote Anseis upon the shield, + Cleft its vermeil and azure field, + Severed the joints of his hauberk good, + In his body planted both steel and wood. + Dead he lieth, his day is o'er, + And the Franks the loss of their peer deplore. + + + CXXXIII + + Turpin rideth the press among; + Never such priest the Mass had sung, + Nor who hath such feats of his body done. + "God send thee," he said, "His malison! + For the knight thou slewest my heart is sore." + He sets the spur to his steed once more, + Smites the shield in Toledo made, + And the heathen low on the sward is laid. + + + CXXXIV + + Forth came the Saracen Grandonie, + Bestriding his charger Marmorie; + He was son unto Cappadocia's king, + And his steed was fleeter than bird on wing. + He let the rein on his neck decline, + And spurred him hard against Count Gerein, + Shattered the vermeil shield he bore, + And his armor of proof all open tore; + In went the pennon, so fierce the shock, + And he cast him, dead, on a lofty rock; + Then he slew his comrade in arms, Gerier, + Guy of Saint Anton and Berengier. + Next lay the great Duke Astor prone. + The Lord of Valence upon the Rhone. + Among the heathen great joy he cast. + Say the Franks, lamenting, "We perish fast." + + + CXXXV + + Count Roland graspeth his bloody sword: + Well hath he heard how the Franks deplored; + His heart is burning within his breast. + "God's malediction upon thee rest! + Right dearly shalt thou this blood repay." + His war-horse springs to the spur straightway, + And they come together--go down who may. + + + CXXXVI + + A gallant captain was Grandonie, + Great in arms and in chivalry. + Never, till then, had he Roland seen, + But well he knew him by form and mien, + By the stately bearing and glance of pride, + And a fear was on him he might not hide. + Fain would he fly, but it skills not here; + Roland smote him with stroke so sheer, + That it cleft the nasal his helm beneath, + Slitting nostril and mouth and teeth, + Cleft his body and mail of plate, + And the gilded saddle whereon he sate, + Deep the back of the charger through: + Beyond all succor the twain he slew. + From the Spanish ranks a wail arose, + And the Franks exult in their champion's blows. + + + CXXXVII + + The battle is wondrous yet, and dire, + And the Franks are cleaving in deadly ire; + Wrists and ribs and chines afresh, + And vestures, in to the living flesh; + On the green grass streaming the bright blood ran, + "O mighty country, Mahound thee ban! + For thy sons are strong over might of man." + And one and all unto Marsil cried, + "Hither, O king, to our succor ride." + + + CXXXVIII + + Marvellous yet is the fight around, + The Franks are thrusting with spears embrowned; + And great the carnage there to ken, + Slain and wounded and bleeding men, + Flung, each by other, on back or face. + Hold no more can the heathen race. + They turn and fly from the field apace; + The Franks as hotly pursue in chase. + + + CXXXIX + + Knightly the deeds by Roland done, + Respite or rest for his Franks is none; + Hard they ride on the heathen rear, + At trot or gallop in full career. + With crimson blood are their bodies stained, + And their brands of steel are snapped or strained; + And when the weapons their hands forsake, + Then unto trumpet and horn they take. + Serried they charge, in power and pride; + And the Saracens cry--"May ill betide + The hour we came on this fatal track!" + So on our host do they turn the back, + The Christians cleaving them as they fled, + Till to Marsil stretcheth the line of dead. + + + CXL + + King Marsil looks on his legions strown, + He bids the clarion blast be blown, + With all his host he onward speeds: + Abime the heathen his vanguard leads. + No felon worse in the host than he, + Black of hue as a shrivelled pea; + He believes not in Holy Mary's Son; + Full many an evil deed hath done. + Treason and murder he prizeth more + Than all the gold of Galicia's shore; + Men never knew him to laugh nor jest, + But brave and daring among the best-- + Endeared to the felon king therefor; + And the dragon flag of his race he bore. + The archbishop loathed him--full well he might,-- + And as he saw him he yearned to smite, + To himself he speaketh, low and quick, + "This heathen seems much a heretic; + I go to slay him, or else to die, + For I love not dastards or dastardy." + + + CXLI + + The archbishop began the fight once more; + He rode the steed he had won of yore, + When in Denmark Grossaille the king he slew. + Fleet the charger, and fair to view: + His feet were small and fashioned fine, + Long the flank, and high the chine, + Chest and croup full amply spread, + With taper ear and tawny head, + And snow-white tail and yellow mane: + To seek his peer on earth were vain. + The archbishop spurred him in fiery haste, + And, on the moment Abime he faced, + Came down on the wondrous shield the blow, + The shield with amethysts all aglow, + Carbuncle and topaz, each priceless stone; + 'Twas once the Emir Galafir's own; + A demon gave it in Metas vale; + But when Turpin smote it might nought avail-- + From side to side did his weapon trace, + And he flung him dead in an open space. + Say the Franks, "Such deeds beseem the brave. + Well the archbishop his cross can save." + + + CXLII + + Count Roland Olivier bespake: + "Sir comrade, dost thou my thought partake? + A braver breathes not this day on earth + Than our archbishop in knightly worth. + How nobly smites he with lance and blade!" + Saith Olivier, "Yea, let us yield him aid;" + And the Franks once more the fight essayed. + Stern and deadly resound the blows. + For the Christians, alas, 'tis a tale of woes! + + + CXLIII + + The Franks of France of their arms are reft, + Three hundred blades alone are left. + The glittering helms they smite and shred, + And cleave asunder full many a head; + Through riven helm and hauberk rent, + Maim head and foot and lineament. + "Disfigured are we," the heathens cry. + "Who guards him not hath but choice to die." + Right unto Marsil their way they take. + "Help, O king, for your people's sake!" + King Marsil heard their cry at hand, + "Mahound destroy thee, O mighty land; + Thy race came hither to crush mine own. + What cities wasted and overthrown, + Doth Karl of the hoary head possess! + Rome and Apulia his power confess, + Constantinople and Saxony; + Yet better die by the Franks than flee. + On, Saracens! recreant heart be none; + If Roland live, we are all foredone." + + + CXLIV + + Then with the lance did the heathens smite + On shield and gleaming helmet bright; + Of steel and iron arose the clang, + Towards heaven the flames and sparkles sprang; + Brains and blood on the champaign flowed; + But on Roland's heart is a dreary load, + To see his vassals lie cold in death; + His gentle France he remembereth, + And his uncle, the good King Carlemaine; + And the spirit within him groans for pain. + + + CXLV + + Count Roland entered within the prease, + And smote full deadly without surcease; + While Durindana aloft he held, + Hauberk and helm he pierced and quelled, + Intrenching body and hand and head. + The Saracens lie by the hundred dead, + And the heathen host is discomfited. + + + CXLVI + + Valiantly Olivier, otherwhere, + Brandished on high his sword Hauteclere-- + Save Durindana, of swords the best. + To the battle proudly he him addressed. + His arms with the crimson blood were dyed. + "God, what a vassal!" Count Roland cried. + "O gentle baron, so true and leal, + This day shall set on our love the seal! + The Emperor cometh to find us dead, + For ever parted and severed. + France never looked on such woful day; + Nor breathes a Frank but for us will pray,-- + From the cloister cells shall the orisons rise, + And our souls find rest in Paradise." + Olivier heard him, amid the throng, + Spurred his steed to his side along. + Saith each to other, "Be near me still; + We will die together, if God so will." + + + CXLVII + + Roland and Olivier then are seen + To lash and hew with their falchions keen; + With his lance the archbishop thrusts and slays, + And the numbers slain we may well appraise; + In charter and writ is the tale expressed-- + Beyond four thousand, saith the geste. + In four encounters they sped them well: + Dire and grievous the fifth befell. + The cavaliers of the Franks are slain + All but sixty, who yet remain; + God preserved them, that ere they die, + They may sell their lives full hardily. + + + + + THE HORN + + + + + CXLVIII + + As Roland gazed on his slaughtered men, + He bespake his gentle compeer agen: + "Ah, dear companion, may God thee shield! + Behold, our bravest lie dead on field! + Well may we weep for France the fair, + Of her noble barons despoiled and bare. + Had he been with us, our king and friend! + Speak, my brother, thy counsel lend,-- + How unto Karl shall we tidings send?" + Olivier answered, "I wist not how. + Liefer death than be recreant now." + + + CXLIX + + "I will sound," said Roland, "upon my horn, + Karl, as he passeth the gorge, to warn. + The Franks, I know, will return apace." + Said Olivier, "Nay, it were foul disgrace + On your noble kindred to wreak such wrong; + They would bear the stain their lifetime long. + Erewhile I sought it, and sued in vain; + But to sound thy horn thou wouldst not deign. + Not now shall mine assent be won, + Nor shall I say it is knightly done. + Lo! both your arms are streaming red." + "In sooth," said Roland, "good strokes I sped." + + + CL + + Said Roland, "Our battle goes hard, I fear; + I will sound my horn that Karl may hear." + "'Twere a deed unknightly," said Olivier; + "Thou didst disdain when I sought and prayed: + Saved had we been with our Karl to aid; + Unto him and his host no blame shall be: + By this my beard, might I hope to see + My gentle sister Alda's face, + Thou shouldst never hold her in thine embrace." + + + CLI + + "Ah, why on me doth thine anger fall?" + "Roland, 'tis thou who hast wrought it all. + Valor and madness are scarce allied,-- + Better discretion than daring pride. + All of thy folly our Franks lie slain, + Nor shall render service to Karl again, + As I implored thee, if thou hadst done, + The king had come and the field were won; + Marsil captive, or slain, I trow. + Thy daring, Roland, hath wrought our woe. + No service more unto Karl we pay, + That first of men till the judgment day; + Thou shalt die, and France dishonored be + Ended our loyal company-- + A woful parting this eve shall see." + + + CLII + + Archbishop Turpin their strife hath heard, + His steed with the spurs of gold he spurred, + And thus rebuked them, riding near: + "Sir Roland, and thou, Sir Olivier, + Contend not, in God's great name, I crave. + Not now availeth the horn to save; + And yet behoves you to wind its call,-- + Karl will come to avenge our fall, + Nor hence the foemen in joyance wend. + The Franks will all from their steeds descend; + When they find us slain and martyred here, + They will raise our bodies on mule and bier, + And, while in pity aloud they weep, + Lay us in hallowed earth to sleep; + Nor wolf nor boar on our limbs shall feed." + Said Roland, "Yea, 'tis a goodly rede." + + + CLIII + + Then to his lips the horn he drew, + And full and lustily he blew. + The mountain peaks soared high around; + Thirty leagues was borne the sound. + Karl hath heard it, and all his band. + "Our men have battle," he said, "on hand." + Ganelon rose in front and cried, + "If another spake, I would say he lied." + + + CLIV + + With deadly travail, in stress and pain, + Count Roland sounded the mighty strain. + Forth from his mouth the bright blood sprang, + And his temples burst for the very pang. + On and onward was borne the blast, + Till Karl hath heard as the gorge he passed, + And Naimes and all his men of war. + "It is Roland's horn," said the Emperor, + "And, save in battle, he had not blown." + "Battle," said Ganelon, "is there none. + Old are you grown--all white and hoar; + Such words bespeak you a child once more. + Have you, then, forgotten Roland's pride, + Which I marvel God should so long abide, + How he captured Noples without your hest? + Forth from the city the heathen pressed, + To your vassal Roland they battle gave,-- + He slew them all with the trenchant glaive, + Then turned the waters upon the plain, + That trace of blood might none remain. + He would sound all day for a single hare: + 'Tis a jest with him and his fellows there; + For who would battle against him dare? + Ride onward--wherefore this chill delay? + Your mighty land is yet far away." + + + CLV + + On Roland's mouth is the bloody stain, + Burst asunder his temple's vein; + His horn he soundeth in anguish drear; + King Karl and the Franks around him hear. + Said Karl, "That horn is long of breath." + Said Naimes, "'Tis Roland who travaileth. + There is battle yonder by mine avow. + He who betrayed him deceives you now. + Arm, sire; ring forth your rallying cry, + And stand your noble household by; + For you hear your Roland in jeopardy." + + + CLVI + + The king commands to sound the alarm. + To the trumpet the Franks alight and arm; + With casque and corselet and gilded brand, + Buckler and stalwart lance in hand, + Pennons of crimson and white and blue, + The barons leap on their steeds anew, + And onward spur the passes through; + Nor is there one but to other saith, + "Could we reach but Roland before his death, + Blows would we strike for him grim and great." + Ah! what availeth!--'tis all too late. + + + CLVII + + The evening passed into brightening dawn. + Against the sun their harness shone; + From helm and hauberk glanced the rays, + And their painted bucklers seemed all ablaze. + The Emperor rode in wrath apart. + The Franks were moody and sad of heart; + Was none but dropped the bitter tear, + For they thought of Roland with deadly fear.-- + Then bade the Emperor take and bind + Count Gan, and had him in scorn consigned + To Besgun, chief of his kitchen train. + "Hold me this felon," he said, "in chain." + Then full a hundred round him pressed, + Of the kitchen varlets the worst and best; + His beard upon lip and chin they tore, + Cuffs of the fist each dealt him four, + Roundly they beat him with rods and staves; + Then around his neck those kitchen knaves + Flung a fetterlock fast and strong, + As ye lead a bear in a chain along; + On a beast of burthen the count they cast, + Till they yield him back to Karl at last. + + + CLVIII + + Dark, vast, and high the summits soar, + The waters down through the valleys pour. + The trumpets sound in front and rear, + And to Roland's horn make answer clear. + The Emperor rideth in wrathful mood, + The Franks in grievous solicitude; + Nor one among them can stint to weep, + Beseeching God that He Roland keep, + Till they stand beside him upon the field, + To the death together their arms to wield. + Ah, timeless succor, and all in vain! + Too long they tarried, too late they strain. + + + CLIX + + Onward King Karl in his anger goes; + Down on his harness his white beard flows. + The barons of France spur hard behind; + But on all there presseth one grief of mind-- + That they stand not beside Count Roland then, + As he fronts the power of the Saracen. + Were he hurt in fight, who would then survive? + Yet three score barons around him strive. + And what a sixty! Nor chief nor king + Had ever such gallant following. + + + CLX + + Roland looketh to hill and plain, + He sees the lines of his warriors slain, + And he weeps like a noble cavalier, + "Barons of France, God hold you dear, + And take you to Paradise's bowers, + Where your souls may lie on the holy flowers; + Braver vassals on earth were none, + So many kingdoms for Karl ye won; + Years a-many your ranks I led, + And for end like this were ye nurtured. + Land of France, thou art soothly fair; + To-day thou liest bereaved and bare; + It was all for me your lives you gave, + And I was helpless to shield or save. + May the great God save you who cannot lie. + Olivier, brother, I stand thee by; + I die of grief, if I 'scape unslain: + In, brother, in to the fight again." + + + CLXI + + Once more pressed Roland within the fight, + His Durindana he grasped with might; + Faldron of Pui did he cleave in two, + And twenty-four of their bravest slew. + Never was man on such vengeance bound; + And, as flee the roe-deer before the hound, + So in face of Roland the heathen flee. + Saith Turpin, "Right well this liketh me. + Such prowess a cavalier befits, + Who harness wears, and on charger sits; + In battle shall he be strong and great, + Or I prize him not at four deniers' rate; + Let him else be monk in a cloister cell, + His daily prayers for our souls to tell." + Cries Roland, "Smite them, and do not spare." + Down once more on the foe they bear, + But the Christian ranks grow thinned and rare. + + + CLXII + + Who knoweth ransom is none for him, + Maketh in battle resistance grim; + The Franks like wrathful lions strike, + But King Marsil beareth him baron-like; + He bestrideth his charger, Gaignon hight, + And he pricketh him hard, Sir Beuve to smite, + The Lord of Beaune and of Dijon town, + Through shield and cuirass, he struck him down: + Dead past succor of man he lay. + Ivon and Ivor did Marsil slay; + Gerard of Roussillon beside. + Not far was Roland, and loud he cried, + "Be thou forever in God's disgrace, + Who hast slain my fellows before my face, + Before we part thou shalt blows essay, + And learn the name of my sword to-day." + Down, at the word, came the trenchant brand, + And from Marsil severed his good right hand: + With another stroke, the head he won + Of the fair-haired Jurfalez, Marsil's son. + "Help us, Mahound!" say the heathen train, + "May our gods avenge us on Carlemaine! + Such daring felons he hither sent, + Who will hold the field till their lives be spent." + "Let us flee and save us," cry one and all, + Unto flight a hundred thousand fall, + Nor can aught the fugitives recall. + + + CLXIII + + But what availeth? though Marsil fly, + His uncle, the Algalif, still is nigh; + Lord of Carthagena is he, + Of Alferna's shore and Garmalie, + And of Ethiopia, accursed land: + The black battalions at his command, + With nostrils huge and flattened ears, + Outnumber fifty thousand spears; + And on they ride in haste and ire, + Shouting their heathen war-cry dire. + "At last," said Roland, "the hour is come, + Here receive we our martyrdom; + Yet strike with your burnished brands--accursed + Who sells not his life right dearly first; + In life or death be your thought the same, + That gentle France be not brought to shame. + When the Emperor hither his steps hath bent, + And he sees the Saracens' chastisement, + Fifteen of their dead against our one, + He will breathe on our souls his benison." + + + + + DEATH OF OLIVIER + + + CLXIV + + When Roland saw the abhorred race, + Than blackest ink more black in face, + Who have nothing white but the teeth alone, + "Now," he said, "it is truly shown, + That the hour of our death is close at hand. + Fight, my Franks, 'tis my last command." + Said Olivier, "Shame is the laggard's due." + And at his word they engage anew. + + + CLXV + + When the heathen saw that the Franks were few, + Heart and strength from the sight they drew; + They said, "The Emperor hath the worse." + The Algalif sat on a sorrel horse; + He pricked with spurs of the gold refined, + Smote Olivier in the back behind. + On through his harness the lance he pressed, + Till the steel came out at the baron's breast. + "Thou hast it!" the Algalif, vaunting, cried, + "Ye were sent by Karl in an evil tide. + Of his wrongs against us he shall not boast; + In thee alone I avenge our host." + + + CLXVI + + Olivier felt the deadly wound, + Yet he grasped Hauteclere, with its steel embrowned; + He smote on the Algalif's crest of gold,-- + Gem and flowers to the earth were rolled; + Clave his head to the teeth below, + And struck him dead with the single blow. + "All evil, caitiff, thy soul pursue. + Full well our Emperor's loss I knew; + But for thee--thou goest not hence to boast + To wife or dame on thy natal coast, + Of one denier from the Emperor won, + Or of scathe to me or to others done." + Then Roland's aid he called upon. + + + CLXVII + + Olivier knoweth him hurt to death; + The more to vengeance he hasteneth; + Knightly as ever his arms he bore, + Staves of lances and shields he shore; + Sides and shoulders and hands and feet,-- + Whose eyes soever the sight would greet, + How the Saracens all disfigured lie, + Corpse upon corpse, each other by, + Would think upon gallant deeds; nor yet + Doth he the war-cry of Karl forget-- + "_Montjoie!_" he shouted, shrill and clear; + Then called he Roland, his friend and peer, + "Sir, my comrade, anear me ride; + This day of dolor shall us divide." + + + CLXVIII + + Roland looked Olivier in the face,-- + Ghastly paleness was there to trace; + Forth from his wound did the bright blood flow, + And rain in showers to the earth below. + "O God!" said Roland, "is this the end + Of all thy prowess, my gentle friend? + Nor know I whither to bear me now: + On earth shall never be such as thou. + Ah, gentle France, thou art overthrown, + Reft of thy bravest, despoiled and lone; + The Emperor's loss is full indeed!" + At the word he fainted upon his steed. + + + CLXIX + + See Roland there on his charger swooned, + Olivier smitten with his death wound. + His eyes from bleeding are dimmed and dark, + Nor mortal, near or far, can mark; + And when his comrade beside him pressed, + Fiercely he smote on his golden crest; + Down to the nasal the helm he shred, + But passed no further, nor pierced his head. + Roland marvelled at such a blow, + And thus bespake him soft and low: + "Hast thou done it, my comrade, wittingly? + Roland who loves thee so dear, am I, + Thou hast no quarrel with me to seek?" + Olivier answered, "I hear thee speak, + But I see thee not. God seeth thee. + Have I struck thee, brother? Forgive it me." + "I am not hurt, O Olivier; + And in sight of God, I forgive thee here." + Then each to other his head has laid, + And in love like this was their parting made. + + + CLXX + + Olivier feeleth his throe begin; + His eyes are turning his head within, + Sight and hearing alike are gone. + He alights and couches the earth upon; + His _Mea Culpa_ aloud he cries, + And his hands in prayer unto God arise, + That he grant him Paradise to share, + That he bless King Karl and France the fair, + His brother Roland o'er all mankind; + Then sank his heart, and his head declined, + Stretched at length on the earth he lay,-- + So passed Sir Olivier away. + Roland was left to weep alone: + Man so woful hath ne'er been known. + + + CLXXI + + When Roland saw that life had fled, + And with face to earth his comrade dead, + He thus bewept him, soft and still: + "Ah, friend, thy prowess wrought thee ill! + So many days and years gone by + We lived together, thou and I: + And thou hast never done me wrong, + Nor I to thee, our lifetime long. + Since thou art dead, to live is pain." + He swooned on Veillantif again, + Yet may not unto earth be cast, + His golden stirrups held him fast. + + + CLXXII + + When passed away had Roland's swoon, + With sense restored, he saw full soon + What ruin lay beneath his view. + His Franks have perished all save two-- + The archbishop and Walter of Hum alone. + From the mountain-side hath Walter flown, + Where he met in battle the bands of Spain, + And the heathen won and his men were slain + In his own despite to the vale he came; + Called unto Roland, his aid to claim. + "Ah, count! brave gentleman, gallant peer! + Where art thou? With thee I know not fear. + I am Walter, who vanquished Maelgut of yore, + Nephew to Drouin, the old and hoar. + For knightly deeds I was once thy friend. + I fought the Saracen to the end; + My lance is shivered, my shield is cleft, + Of my broken mail are but fragments left. + I bear in my body eight thrusts of spear; + I die, but I sold my life right dear." + Count Roland heard as he spake the word, + Pricked his steed, and anear him spurred. + + + CLXXIII + + "Walter," said Roland, "thou hadst affray + With the Saracen foe on the heights to-day. + Thou wert wont a valorous knight to be: + A thousand horsemen gave I thee; + Render them back, for my need is sore." + "Alas, thou seest them never more! + Stretched they lie on the dolorous ground, + Where myriad Saracen swarms we found,-- + Armenians, Turks, and the giant brood + Of Balisa, famous for hardihood, + Bestriding their Arab coursers fleet, + Such host in battle 'twas ours to meet; + Nor vaunting thence shall the heathen go,-- + Full sixty thousand on earth lie low. + With our brands of steel we avenged us well, + But every Frank by the foeman fell. + My hauberk plates are riven wide, + And I bear such wounds in flank and side, + That from every part the bright blood flows, + And feebler ever my body grows. + I am dying fast, I am well aware: + Thy liegeman I, and claim thy care. + If I fled perforce, thou wilt forgive, + And yield me succor while thou dost live." + Roland sweated with wrath and pain, + Tore the skirts of his vest in twain, + Bound Walter's every bleeding vein. + + + CLXXIV + + In Roland's sorrow his wrath arose, + Hotly he struck at the heathen foes, + Nor left he one of a score alive; + Walter slew six, the archbishop five. + The heathens cry, "What a felon three! + Look to it, lords, that they shall not flee. + Dastard is he who confronts them not; + Craven, who lets them depart this spot." + Their cries and shoutings begin once more, + And from every side on the Franks they pour. + + + CLXXV + + Count Roland in sooth is a noble peer; + Count Walter, a valorous cavalier; + The archbishop, in battle proved and tried, + Each struck as if knight there were none beside. + From their steeds a thousand Saracens leap, + Yet forty thousand their saddles keep; + I trow they dare not approach them near, + But they hurl against them lance and spear, + Pike and javelin, shaft and dart. + Walter is slain as the missiles part; + The archbishop's shield in pieces shred, + Riven his helm, and pierced his head; + His corselet of steel they rent and tore, + Wounded his body with lances four; + His steed beneath him dropped withal: + What woe to see the archbishop fall! + + + CLXXVI + + When Turpin felt him flung to ground, + And four lance wounds within him found, + He swiftly rose, the dauntless man, + To Roland looked, and nigh him ran. + Spake but, "I am not overthrown-- + Brave warrior yields with life alone." + He drew Almace's burnished steel, + A thousand ruthless blows to deal. + In after time, the Emperor said + He found four hundred round him spread,-- + Some wounded, others cleft in twain; + Some lying headless on the plain. + So Giles the saint, who saw it, tells, + For whom High God wrought miracles. + In Laon cell the scroll he wrote; + He little weets who knows it not. + + + CLXXVII + + Count Roland combateth nobly yet, + His body burning and bathed in sweat; + In his brow a mighty pain, since first, + When his horn he sounded, his temple burst; + But he yearns of Karl's approach to know, + And lifts his horn once more--but oh, + How faint and feeble a note to blow! + The Emperor listened, and stood full still. + "My lords," he said, "we are faring ill. + This day is Roland my nephew's last; + Like dying man he winds that blast. + On! Who would aid, for life must press. + Sound every trump our ranks possess." + Peal sixty thousand clarions high, + The hills re-echo, the vales reply. + It is now no jest for the heathen band. + "Karl!" they cry, "it is Karl at hand!" + + + CLXXVIII + + They said, "'Tis the Emperor's advance, + We hear the trumpets resound of France. + If he assail us, hope in vain; + If Roland live, 'tis war again, + And we lose for aye the land of Spain." + Four hundred in arms together drew, + The bravest of the heathen crew; + With serried power they on him press, + And dire in sooth is the count's distress. + + + CLXXIX + + When Roland saw his coming foes, + All proud and stern his spirit rose; + Alive he shall never be brought to yield: + Veillantif spurred he across the field, + With golden spurs he pricked him well, + To break the ranks of the infidel; + Archbishop Turpin by his side. + "Let us flee, and save us," the heathen cried; + "These are the trumpets of France we hear-- + It is Karl, the mighty Emperor, near." + + + CLXXX + + Count Roland never hath loved the base, + Nor the proud of heart, nor the dastard race,-- + Nor knight, but if he were vassal good,-- + And he spake to Turpin, as there he stood; + "On foot are you, on horseback I; + For your love I halt, and stand you by. + Together for good and ill we hold; + I will not leave you for man of mould. + We will pay the heathen their onset back, + Nor shall Durindana of blows be slack." + "Base," said Turpin, "who spares to smite: + When the Emperor comes, he will all requite." + + + CLXXXI + + The heathens said, "We were born to shame. + This day for our disaster came: + Our lords and leaders in battle lost, + And Karl at hand with his marshalled host; + We hear the trumpets of France ring out, + And the cry '_Montjoie!_' their rallying shout. + Roland's pride is of such a height, + Not to be vanquished by mortal wight; + Hurl we our missiles, and hold aloof." + And the word they spake, they put in proof,-- + They flung, with all their strength and craft, + Javelin, barb, and plumed shaft. + Roland's buckler was torn and frayed, + His cuirass broken and disarrayed, + Yet entrance none to his flesh they made. + From thirty wounds Veillantif bled, + Beneath his rider they cast him, dead; + Then from the field have the heathen flown: + Roland remaineth, on foot, alone. + + + + + THE LAST BENEDICTION OF THE ARCHBISHOP + + + CLXXXII + + The heathens fly in rage and dread; + To the land of Spain have their footsteps sped; + Nor can Count Roland make pursuit-- + Slain is his steed, and he rests afoot; + To succor Turpin he turned in haste, + The golden helm from his head unlaced, + Ungirt the corselet from his breast, + In stripes divided his silken vest; + The archbishop's wounds hath he staunched and bound, + His arms around him softly wound; + On the green sward gently his body laid, + And, with tender greeting, thus him prayed: + "For a little space, let me take farewell; + Our dear companions, who round us fell, + I go to seek; if I haply find, + I will place them at thy feet reclined." + "Go," said Turpin; "the field is thine-- + To God the glory, 'tis thine and mine." + + + CLXXXIII + + Alone seeks Roland the field of fight, + He searcheth vale, he searcheth height. + Ivon and Ivor he found, laid low, + And the Gascon Engelier of Bordeaux, + Gerein and his fellow in arms, Gerier; + Otho he found, and Berengier; + Samson the duke, and Anseis bold, + Gerard of Roussillon, the old. + Their bodies, one after one, he bore, + And laid them Turpin's feet before. + The archbishop saw them stretched arow, + Nor can he hinder the tears that flow; + In benediction his hands he spread: + "Alas! for your doom, my lords," he said, + "That God in mercy your souls may give, + On the flowers of Paradise to live; + Mine own death comes, with anguish sore + That I see mine Emperor never more." + + + CLXXXIV + + Once more to the field doth Roland wend, + Till he findeth Olivier his friend; + The lifeless form to his heart he strained, + Bore him back with what strength remained, + On a buckler laid him, beside the rest, + The archbishop assoiled them all, and blessed. + Their dole and pity anew find vent, + And Roland maketh his fond lament: + "My Olivier, my chosen one, + Thou wert the noble Duke Renier's son, + Lord of the March unto Rivier vale. + To shiver lance and shatter mail, + The brave in council to guide and cheer, + To smite the miscreant foe with fear,-- + Was never on earth such cavalier." + + + CLXXXV + + Dead around him his peers to see, + And the man he loved so tenderly, + Fast the tears of Count Roland ran, + His visage discolored became, and wan, + He swooned for sorrow beyond control. + "Alas," said Turpin, "how great thy dole!" + + + CLXXXVI + + To look on Roland swooning there, + Surpassed all sorrow he ever bare; + He stretched his hand, the horn he took,-- + Through Roncesvailes there flowed a brook,-- + A draught to Roland he thought to bring; + But his steps were feeble and tottering, + Spent his strength, from waste of blood,-- + He struggled on for scarce a rood, + When sank his heart, and drooped his frame, + And his mortal anguish on him came. + + + CLXXXVII + + Roland revived from his swoon again; + On his feet he rose, but in deadly pain; + He looked on high, and he looked below, + Till, a space his other companions fro, + He beheld the baron, stretched on sward, + The archbishop, vicar of God our Lord. + _Mea Culpa_ was Turpin's cry, + While he raised his hands to heaven on high, + Imploring Paradise to gain. + So died the soldier of Carlemaine,-- + With word or weapon, to preach or fight, + A champion ever of Christian right, + And a deadly foe of the infidel. + God's benediction within him dwell! + + + CLXXXVIII + + When Roland saw him stark on earth + (His very vitals were bursting forth, + And his brain was oozing from out his head), + He took the fair white hands outspread, + Crossed and clasped them upon his breast, + And thus his plaint to the dead addressed,-- + So did his country's law ordain:-- + "Ah, gentleman of noble strain, + I trust thee unto God the True, + Whose service never man shall do + With more devoted heart and mind: + To guard the faith, to win mankind, + From the apostles' days till now, + Such prophet never rose as thou. + Nor pain or torment thy soul await, + But of Paradise the open gate." + + + + + THE DEATH OF ROLAND + + + CLXXIX + + Roland feeleth his death is near, + His brain is oozing by either ear. + For his peers he prayed--God keep them well; + Invoked the angel Gabriel. + That none reproach him, his horn he clasped; + His other hand Durindana grasped; + Then, far as quarrel from crossbow sent, + Across the march of Spain he went, + Where, on a mound, two trees between, + Four flights of marble steps were seen; + Backward he fell, on the field to lie; + And he swooned anon, for the end was nigh. + + + CXC + + High were the mountains and high the trees, + Bright shone the marble terraces; + On the green grass Roland hath swooned away. + A Saracen spied him where he lay: + Stretched with the rest he had feigned him dead, + His face and body with blood bespread. + To his feet he sprang, and in haste he hied,-- + He was fair and strong and of courage tried, + In pride and wrath he was overbold,-- + And on Roland, body and arms, laid hold. + "The nephew of Karl is overthrown! + To Araby bear I this sword, mine own." + He stooped to grasp it, but as he drew, + Roland returned to his sense anew. + + + CXCI + + He saw the Saracen seize his sword; + His eyes he oped, and he spake one word-- + "Thou art not one of our band, I trow," + And he clutched the horn he would ne'er forego; + On the golden crest he smote him full, + Shattering steel and bone and skull, + Forth from his head his eyes he beat, + And cast him lifeless before his feet. + "Miscreant, makest thou then so free, + As, right or wrong, to lay hold on me? + Who hears it will deem thee a madman born; + Behold the mouth of mine ivory horn + Broken for thee, and the gems and gold + Around its rim to earth are rolled." + + + CXCII + + Roland feeleth his eyesight reft, + Yet he stands erect with what strength is left; + From his bloodless cheek is the hue dispelled, + But his Durindana all bare he held. + In front a dark brown rock arose-- + He smote upon it ten grievous blows. + Grated the steel as it struck the flint, + Yet it brake not, nor bore its edge one dint. + "Mary, Mother, be thou mine aid! + Ah, Durindana, my ill-starred blade, + I may no longer thy guardian be! + What fields of battle I won with thee! + What realms and regions 'twas ours to gain, + Now the lordship of Carlemaine! + Never shalt thou possessor know + Who would turn from face of mortal foe; + A gallant vassal so long thee bore, + Such as France the free shall know no more." + + + CXCIII + + He smote anew on the marble stair. + It grated, but breach nor notch was there. + When Roland found that it would not break, + Thus began he his plaint to make. + "Ah, Durindana, how fair and bright + Thou sparklest, flaming against the light! + When Karl in Maurienne valley lay, + God sent his angel from heaven to say-- + 'This sword shall a valorous captain's be,' + And he girt it, the gentle king, on me. + With it I vanquished Poitou and Maine, + Provence I conquered and Aquitaine; + I conquered Normandy the free, + Anjou, and the marches of Brittany; + Romagna I won, and Lombardy, + Bavaria, Flanders from side to side, + And Burgundy, and Poland wide; + Constantinople affiance vowed, + And the Saxon soil to his bidding bowed; + Scotia, and Wales, and Ireland's plain, + Of England made he his own domain. + What mighty regions I won of old, + For the hoary-headed Karl to hold! + But there presses on me a grievous pain, + Lest thou in heathen hands remain. + O God our Father, keep France from stain!" + + + CXCIV + + His strokes once more on the brown rock fell, + And the steel was bent past words to tell; + Yet it brake not, nor was notched the grain, + Erect it leaped to the sky again. + When he failed at the last to break his blade, + His lamentation he inly made. + "Oh, fair and holy, my peerless sword, + What relics lie in thy pommel stored! + Tooth of Saint Peter, Saint Basil's blood, + Hair of Saint Denis beside them strewed, + Fragment of holy Mary's vest. + 'Twere shame that thou with the heathen rest; + Thee should the hand of a Christian serve + One who would never in battle swerve. + What regions won I with thee of yore, + The empire now of Karl the hoar! + Rich and mighty is he therefore." + + + CXCV + + That death was on him he knew full well; + Down from his head to his heart it fell. + On the grass beneath a pine-tree's shade, + With face to earth, his form he laid, + Beneath him placed he his horn and sword, + And turned his face to the heathen horde. + Thus hath he done the sooth to show, + That Karl and his warriors all may know, + That the gentle count a conqueror died. + _Mea Culpa_ full oft he cried; + And, for all his sins, unto God above, + In sign of penance, he raised his glove. + + + CXCVI + + Roland feeleth his hour at hand; + On a knoll he lies towards the Spanish land. + With one hand beats he upon his breast: + "In thy sight, O God, be my sins confessed. + From my hour of birth, both the great and small, + Down to this day, I repent of all." + As his glove he raises to God on high, + Angels of heaven descend him nigh. + + + CXCVII + + Beneath a pine was his resting-place, + To the land of Spain hath he turned his face, + On his memory rose full many a thought-- + Of the lands he won and the fields he fought; + Of his gentle France, of his kin and line; + Of his nursing father, King Karl benign;-- + He may not the tear and sob control, + Nor yet forgets he his parting soul. + To God's compassion he makes his cry: + "O Father true, who canst not lie, + Who didst Lazarus raise unto life agen, + And Daniel shield in the lions' den; + Shield my soul from its peril, due + For the sins I sinned my lifetime through." + He did his right-hand glove uplift-- + Saint Gabriel took from his hand the gift; + Then drooped his head upon his breast, + And with clasped hands he went to rest. + God from on high sent down to him + One of his angel Cherubim-- + Saint Michael of Peril of the sea, + Saint Gabriel in company-- + From heaven they came for that soul of price, + And they bore it with them to Paradise. + + + + + PART III + + THE REPRISALS + + + + + THE CHASTISEMENT OF THE SARACENS + + + + CXCVIII + + Dead is Roland; his soul with God. + While to Roncesvalles the Emperor rode, + Where neither path nor track he found, + Nor open space nor rood of ground, + But was strewn with Frank or heathen slain, + "Where art thou, Roland?" he cried in pain: + "The Archbishop where, and Olivier, + Gerein and his brother in arms, Gerier? + Count Otho where, and Berengier, + Ivon and Ivor, so dear to me; + And Engelier of Gascony; + Samson the duke, and Anseis the bold; + Gerard, of Roussillon, the old; + My peers, the twelve whom I left behind?" + In vain!--No answer may he find. + "O God," he cried, "what grief is mine + That I was not in front of this battle line!" + For very wrath his beard he tore, + His knights and barons weeping sore; + Aswoon full fifty thousand fall: + Duke Naimes hath pity and dole for all. + + + CXCIX + + Nor knight nor baron was there to see + But wept full fast, and bitterly; + For son and brother their tears descend, + For lord and liege, for kin and friend; + Aswoon all numberless they fell, + But Naimes did gallantly and well. + He spake the first to the Emperor-- + "Look onward, sire, two leagues before, + See the dust from the ways arise,-- + There the strength of the heathen lies. + Ride on; avenge you for this dark day." + "O God," said Karl, "they are far away! + Yet for right and honor, the sooth ye say. + Fair France's flower they have torn from me." + To Otun and Gebouin beckoned he, + To Tybalt of Rheims, and Milo the count. + "Guard the battle-field, vale, and mount-- + Leave the dead as ye see them lie; + Watch, that nor lion nor beast come nigh, + Nor on them varlet or squire lay hand; + None shall touch them, 'tis my command, + Till with God's good grace we return again." + They answered lowly, in loving strain, + "Great lord, fair sire, we will do your hest," + And a thousand warriors with them rest. + + + CC + + The Emperor bade his clarions ring, + Marched with his host the noble king. + They came at last on the heathens' trace, + And all together pursued in chase; + But the king of the falling eve was ware: + He alighted down in a meadow fair, + Knelt on the earth unto God to pray + That he make the sun in his course delay, + Retard the night, and prolong the day. + Then his wonted angel who with him spake, + Swiftly to Karl did answer make, + "Ride on! Light shall not thee forego; + God seeth the flower of France laid low; + Thy vengeance wreak on the felon crew." + The Emperor sprang to his steed anew. + + + CCI + + God wrought for Karl a miracle: + In his place in heaven the sun stood still. + The heathens fled, the Franks pursued, + And in Val Tenebres beside them stood; + Towards Saragossa the rout they drave, + And deadly were the strokes they gave. + They barred against them path and road; + In front the water of Ebro flowed: + Strong was the current, deep and large, + Was neither shallop, nor boat, nor barge. + With a cry to their idol Termagaunt, + The heathens plunge, but with scanty vaunt. + Encumbered with their armor's weight, + Sank the most to the bottom, straight; + Others floated adown the stream; + And the luckiest drank their fill, I deem: + All were in marvellous anguish drowned. + Cry the Franks, "In Roland your fate ye found." + + + CCII + + As he sees the doom of the heathen host, + Slain are some and drowned the most, + (Great spoil have won the Christian knights), + The gentle king from his steed alights, + And kneels, his thanks unto God to pour: + The sun had set as he rose once more. + "It is time to rest," the Emperor cried, + "And to Roncesvalles 'twere late to ride. + Our steeds are weary and spent with pain; + Strip them of saddle and bridle-rein, + Free let them browse on the verdant mead." + "Sire," say the Franks, "it were well indeed." + + + CCIII + + The Emperor hath his quarters ta'en, + And the Franks alight in the vacant plain; + The saddles from their steeds they strip, + And the bridle-reins from their heads they slip; + They set them free on the green grass fair, + Nor can they render them other care. + On the ground the weary warriors slept; + Watch nor vigil that night they kept. + + + CCIV + + In the mead the Emperor made his bed, + With his mighty spear beside his head, + Nor will he doff his arms to-night, + But lies in his broidered hauberk white. + Laced is his helm, with gold inlaid, + Girt on Joyeuse, the peerless blade, + Which changes thirty times a day + The brightness of its varying ray. + Nor may the lance unspoken be + Which pierced our Saviour on the tree; + Karl hath its point--so God him graced-- + Within his golden hilt enchased. + And for this honor and boon of heaven, + The name Joyeuse to the sword was given; + The Franks may hold it in memory. + Thence came "_Montjoie_," their battle-cry, + And thence no race with them may vie. + + + CCV + + Clear was the night, and the fair moon shone. + But grief weighed heavy King Karl upon; + He thought of Roland and Olivier, + Of his Franks and every gallant peer, + Whom he left to perish in Roncesvale, + Nor can he stint but to weep and wail, + Imploring God their souls to bless,-- + Till, overcome with long distress, + He slumbers at last for heaviness. + The Franks are sleeping throughout the meads; + Nor rest on foot can the weary steeds-- + They crop the herb as they stretch them prone.-- + Much hath he learned who hath sorrow known. + + + CCVI + + The Emperor slumbered like man forespent, + While God his angel Gabriel sent + The couch of Carlemaine to guard. + All night the angel kept watch and ward, + And in a vision to Karl presaged + A coming battle against him waged. + 'Twas shown in fearful augury; + The king looked upward to the sky-- + There saw he lightning, and hail, and storm, + Wind and tempest in fearful form. + A dread apparel of fire and flame, + Down at once on his host they came. + Their ashen lances the flames enfold, + And their bucklers in to the knobs of gold; + Grated the steel of helm and mail. + Yet other perils the Franks assail, + And his cavaliers are in deadly strait. + Bears and lions to rend them wait, + Wiverns, snakes and fiends of fire, + More than a thousand griffins dire; + Enfuried at the host they fly. + "Help us, Karl!" was the Franks' outcry, + Ruth and sorrow the king beset; + Fain would he aid, but was sternly let. + A lion came from the forest path, + Proud and daring, and fierce in wrath; + Forward sprang he the king to grasp, + And each seized other with deadly clasp; + But who shall conquer or who shall fall, + None knoweth. Nor woke the king withal. + + + CCVII + + Another vision came him o'er: + He was in France, his land, once more; + In Aix, upon his palace stair, + And held in double chain a bear. + When thirty more from Arden ran, + Each spake with voice of living man: + "Release him, sire!" aloud they call; + "Our kinsman shall not rest in thrall. + To succor him our arms are bound." + Then from the palace leaped a hound, + On the mightiest of the bears he pressed, + Upon the sward, before the rest. + The wondrous fight King Karl may see, + But knows not who shall victor be. + These did the angel to Karl display; + But the Emperor slept till dawning day. + + + CCVIII + + At morning-tide when day-dawn broke, + The Emperor from his slumber woke. + His holy guardian, Gabriel, + With hand uplifted sained him well. + The king aside his armor laid, + And his warriors all were disarrayed. + Then mount they, and in haste they ride, + Through lengthening path and highway wide + Until they see the doleful sight + In Roncesvalles, the field of fight. + + + CCIX + + Unto Roncesvalles King Karl hath sped, + And his tears are falling above the dead; + "Ride, my barons, at gentle pace,-- + I will go before, a little space, + For my nephew's sake, whom I fain would find. + It was once in Aix, I recall to mind, + When we met at the yearly festal-tide,-- + My cavaliers in vaunting vied + Of stricken fields and joustings proud,-- + I heard my Roland declare aloud, + In foreign land would he never fall + But in front of his peers and his warriors all, + He would lie with head to the foeman's shore, + And make his end like a conqueror." + Then far as man a staff might fling, + Clomb to a rising knoll the king. + + + CCX + + As the king in quest of Roland speeds, + The flowers and grass throughout the meads + He sees all red with our baron's blood, + And his tears of pity break forth in flood. + He upward climbs, till, beneath two trees, + The dints upon the rock he sees. + Of Roland's corse he was then aware; + Stretched it lay on the green grass bare. + No marvel sorrow the king oppressed; + He alighted down, and in haste he pressed, + Took the body his arms between, + And fainted: dire his grief I ween. + + + CCXI + + As did reviving sense begin, + Naimes, the duke, and Count Acelin, + The noble Geoffrey of Anjou, + And his brother Henry nigh him drew. + They made a pine-tree's trunk his stay; + But he looked to earth where his nephew lay, + And thus all gently made his dole: + "My friend, my Roland, God guard thy soul! + Never on earth such knight hath been, + Fields of battle to fight and win. + My pride and glory, alas, are gone!" + He endured no longer; he swooned anon. + + + CCXII + + As Karl the king revived once more, + His hands were held by barons four. + He saw his nephew, cold and wan; + Stark his frame, but his hue was gone; + His eyes turned inward, dark and dim; + And Karl in love lamented him: + "Dear Roland, God thy spirit rest + In Paradise, amongst His blest! + In evil hour thou soughtest Spain: + No day shall dawn but sees my pain, + And me of strength and pride bereft. + No champion of mine honor left; + Without a friend beneath the sky; + And though my kindred still be nigh, + Is none like thee their ranks among." + With both his hands his beard he wrung. + The Franks bewailed in unison; + A hundred thousand wept like one. + + + CCXIII + + "Dear Roland, I return again + To Laon, to mine own domain; + Where men will come from many a land, + And seek Count Roland at my hand. + A bitter tale must I unfold-- + 'In Spanish earth he lieth cold,' + A joyless realm henceforth I hold, + And weep with daily tears untold." + + + CCXIV + + "Dear Roland, beautiful and brave, + All men of me will tidings crave, + When I return to La Chapelle. + Oh, what a tale is mine to tell! + That low my glorious nephew lies. + Now will the Saxon foeman rise; + Bulgar and Hun in arms will come, + Apulia's power, the might of Rome, + Palermitan and Afric bands, + And men from fierce and distant lands. + To sorrow sorrow must succeed; + My hosts to battle who shall lead, + When the mighty captain is overthrown?' + Ah! France deserted now, and lone. + Come, death, before such grief I bear." + Once more his beard and hoary hair + Began he with his hands to tear; + A hundred thousand fainted there. + + + CCXV + + "Dear Roland, and was this thy fate? + May Paradise thy soul await. + Who slew thee wrought fair France's bane: + I cannot live, so deep my pain. + For me my kindred lie undone; + And would to Holy Mary's Son, + Ere I at Cizra's gorge alight, + My soul may take its parting flight: + My spirit would with theirs abide; + My body rest their dust beside." + With sobs his hoary beard he tore. + "Alas!" said Naimes, "for the Emperor." + + + CCXVI + + "Sir Emperor," Geoffrey of Anjou said, + "Be not by sorrow so sore misled. + Let us seek our comrades throughout the plain, + Who fell by the hands of the men of Spain; + And let their bodies on biers be borne." + "Yea," said the Emperor. "Sound your horn." + + + CCXVII + + Now doth Count Geoffrey his bugle sound, + And the Franks from their steeds alight to ground + As they their dead companions find, + They lay them low on biers reclined; + Nor prayers of bishop or abbot ceased, + Of monk or canon, or tonsured priest. + The dead they blessed in God's great name, + Set myrrh and frankincense aflame. + Their incense to the dead they gave, + Then laid them, as beseemed the brave-- + What could they more?--in honored grave. + + + CCXVIII + + But the king kept watch o'er Roland's bier + O'er Turpin and Sir Olivier. + He bade their bodies opened be, + Took the hearts of the barons three, + Swathed them in silken cerements light, + Laid them in urns of the marble white. + Their bodies did the Franks enfold + In skins of deer, around them rolled; + Laved them with spices and with wine, + Till the king to Milo gave his sign, + To Tybalt, Otun, and Gebouin; + Their bodies three on biers they set, + Each in its silken coverlet. + + * * * * * + + + CCXIX + + To Saragossa did Marsil flee. + He alighted beneath an olive tree, + And sadly to his serfs he gave + His helm, his cuirass, and his glaive, + Then flung him on the herbage green; + Came nigh him Bramimonde his queen. + Shorn from his wrist was his right hand good; + He swooned for pain and waste of blood. + The queen, in anguish, wept and cried, + With twenty thousand by her side. + King Karl and gentle France they cursed; + Then on their gods their anger burst. + Unto Apollin's crypt they ran, + And with revilings thus began: + "Ah, evil-hearted god, to bring + Such dark dishonor on our king. + Thy servants ill dost thou repay." + His crown and wand they wrench away, + They bind him to a pillar fast, + And then his form to earth they cast, + His limbs with staves they bruise and break: + From Termagaunt his gem they take: + Mohammed to a trench they bear, + For dogs and boars to tread and tear. + + + CCXX + + Within his vaulted hall they bore + King Marsil, when his swoon was o'er; + The hall with colored writings stained. + And loud the queen in anguish plained, + The while she tore her streaming hair, + "Ah, Saragossa, reft and bare, + Thou seest thy noble king o'erthrown! + Such felony our gods have shown, + Who failed in fight his aids to be. + The Emir comes--a dastard he, + Unless he will that race essay, + Who proudly fling their lives away. + Their Emperor of the hoary beard, + In valor's desperation reared, + Will never fly for mortal foe. + Till he be slain, how deep my woe[2]!" + + [Footnote 2: Here intervenes the episode of the great battle fought + between Charlemagne and Baligant, Emir of Babylon, who had come, + with a mighty army, to the succor of King Marsil his vassal. This + episode has been suspected of being a later interpolation. The + translation is resumed at the end of the battle, after the Emir had + been slain by Charlemagne's own hand, and when the Franks enter + Saragossa in pursuit of the Saracens.] + + * * * * * + + + CCXXI + + Fierce is the heat and thick the dust. + The Franks the flying Arabs thrust. + To Saragossa speeds their flight. + The queen ascends a turret's height. + The clerks and canons on her wait, + Of that false law God holds in hate. + Order or tonsure have they none. + And when she thus beheld undone + The Arab power, all disarrayed, + Aloud she cried, "Mahound us aid! + My king! defeated is our race, + The Emir slain in foul disgrace." + King Marsil turns him to the wall, + And weeps--his visage darkened all. + He dies for grief--in sin he dies, + His wretched soul the demon's prize. + + + CCXXII + + Dead lay the heathens, or turned to flight, + And Karl was victor in the fight. + Down Saragossa's wall he brake-- + Defence he knew was none to make. + And as the city lay subdued, + The hoary king all proudly stood, + There rested his victorious powers. + The queen hath yielded up the towers-- + Ten great towers and fifty small. + Well strives he whom God aids withal. + + + CCXXIII + + Day passed; the shades of night drew on, + And moon and stars refulgent shone. + Now Karl is Saragossa's lord, + And a thousand Franks, by the king's award, + Roam the city, to search and see + Where mosque or synagogue may be. + With axe and mallet of steel in hand, + They let nor idol nor image stand; + The shrines of sorcery down they hew, + For Karl hath faith in God the True, + And will Him righteous service do. + The bishops have the water blessed, + The heathen to the font are pressed. + If any Karl's command gainsay, + He has him hanged or burned straightway. + So a hundred thousand to Christ are won; + But Bramimonde the queen alone + Shall unto France be captive brought, + And in love be her conversion wrought. + + + CCXXIV + + Night passed, and came the daylight hours, + Karl garrisoned the city's towers; + He left a thousand valiant knights, + To sentinel their Emperor's rights. + Then all his Franks ascend their steeds, + While Bramimonde in bonds he leads, + To work her good his sole intent. + And so, in pride and strength, they went; + They passed Narbonne in gallant show, + And reached thy stately walls, Bordeaux. + There, on Saint Severin's altar high, + Karl placed Count Roland's horn to lie, + With mangons filled, and coins of gold, + As pilgrims to this hour behold. + Across Garonne he bent his way, + In ships within the stream that lay, + And brought his nephew unto Blaye, + With his noble comrade, Olivier, + And Turpin sage, the gallant peer. + Of the marble white their tombs were made; + In Saint Roman's shrine are the baron's laid, + Whom the Franks to God and his saints commend + And Karl by hill and vale doth wend, + Nor stays till Aix is reached, and there + Alighteth on his marble stair. + When sits he in his palace hall, + He sends around to his judges all, + From Frisia, Saxony, Loraine, + From Burgundy and Allemaine, + From Normandy, Brittaine, Poitou: + The realm of France he searches through, + And summons every sagest man. + The plea of Ganelon then began. + + + CCXXV + + From Spain the Emperor made retreat, + To Aix in France, his kingly seat; + And thither, to his halls, there came, + Alda, the fair and gentle dame. + "Where is my Roland, sire," she cried, + "Who vowed to take me for his bride?" + O'er Karl the flood of sorrow swept; + He tore his beard and loud he wept. + "Dear sister, gentle friend," he said, + "Thou seekest one who lieth dead: + I plight to thee my son instead,-- + Louis, who lord of my realm shall be." + "Strange," she said, "seems this to me. + God and his angels forbid that I + Should live on earth if Roland die." + Pale grew her cheek--she sank amain, + Down at the feet of Carlemaine. + So died she. God receive her soul! + The Franks bewail her in grief and dole. + + + CCXXVI + + So to her death went Alda fair. + The king but deemed she fainted there. + While dropped his tears of pity warm, + He took her hands and raised her form. + Upon his shoulder drooped her head, + And Karl was ware that she was dead. + When thus he saw that life was o'er, + He summoned noble ladies four. + Within a cloister was she borne; + They watched beside her until morn; + Beneath a shrine her limbs were laid;-- + Such honor Karl to Alda paid. + + + CCXXVII + + The Emperor sitteth in Aix again, + With Gan, the felon, in iron chain, + The very palace walls beside, + By serfs unto a stake was tied. + They bound his hands with leathern thong, + Beat him with staves and cordage strong; + Nor hath he earned a better fee. + And there in pain awaits his plea. + + + CCXXVIII + + 'Tis written in the ancient geste, + How Karl hath summoned east and west. + At La Chapelle assembled they; + High was the feast and great the day-- + Saint Sylvester's, the legend ran. + The plea and judgment then began + Of Ganelon, who the treason wrought, + Now face to face with his Emperor brought. + + + CCXXIX + + "Lords, my barons," said Karl the king, + "On Gan be righteous reckoning: + He followed in my host to Spain; + Through him ten thousand Franks lie slain + And slain was he, my sister's son, + Whom never more ye look upon, + With Olivier the sage and bold, + And all my peers, betrayed for gold." + "Shame befall me," said Gan, "if I + Now or ever the deed deny; + Foully he wronged me in wealth and land, + And I his death and ruin planned: + Therein, I say, was treason none." + They said, "We will advise thereon." + + + CCXXX + + Count Gan to the Emperor's presence came, + Fresh of hue and lithe of frame, + With a baron's mien, were his heart but true. + On his judges round his glance he threw, + And on thirty kinsmen by his side, + And thus, with mighty voice, he cried: + "Hear me, barons, for love of God. + In the Emperor's host was I abroad-- + Well I served him, and loyally, + But his nephew, Roland, hated me: + He doomed my doom of death and woe, + That I to Marsil's court should go. + My craft, the danger put aside, + But Roland loudly I defied, + With Olivier, and all their crew, + As Karl, and these his barons, knew. + Vengeance, not treason, have I wrought." + "Thereon," they answered, "take we thought." + + + CCXXXI + + When Ganelon saw the plea begin, + He mustered thirty of his kin, + With one revered by all the rest-- + Pinabel of Sorrence's crest. + Well can his tongue his cause unfold, + And a vassal brave his arms to hold. + "Thine aid," said Ganelon, "I claim; + To rescue me from death and shame." + Said Pinabel, "Rescued shalt thou be. + Let any Frank thy death decree, + And, wheresoe'er the king deems meet, + I will him body to body greet, + Give him the lie with my brand of steel." + Ganelon sank at his feet to kneel. + + + CCXXXII + + Come Frank and Norman to council in, + Bavarian, Saxon, and Poitevin, + With all the barons of Teuton blood; + But the men of Auvergne are mild of mood-- + Their hearts are swayed unto Pinabel. + Saith each to other, "Pause we well. + Let us leave this plea, and the king implore + To set Count Ganelon free once more. + Henceforth to serve him in love and faith: + Count Roland lieth cold in death: + Not all the gold beneath the sky + Can give him back to mortal eye; + Such battle would but madness be." + They all applauded his decree, + Save Thierry--Geoffrey's brother he. + + + CCXXXIII + + The barons came the king before. + "Fair Sire, we all thy grace implore, + That Gan be suffered free to go, + His faith and love henceforth to show. + Oh, let him live--a noble he. + Your Roland you shall never see: + No wealth of gold may him recall." + Karl answered, "Ye are felons all." + + + CCXXXIV + + When Karl saw all forsake him now, + Dark grew his face and drooped his brow. + He said, "Of men most wretched I!" + Stepped forth Thierry speedily, + Duke Geoffrey's brother, a noble knight, + Spare of body, and lithe and light, + Dark his hair and his hue withal, + Nor low of stature, nor over tall: + To Karl, in courteous wise, he said, + "Fair Sire, be not disheartened. + I have served you truly, and, in the name + Of my lineage, I this quarrel claim. + If Roland wronged Sir Gan in aught, + Your service had his safeguard wrought. + Ganelon bore him like caitiff base, + A perjured traitor before your face. + I adjudge him to die on the gallows tree; + Flung to the hounds let his carcase be, + The doom of treason and felony. + Let kin of his but say I lie, + And with this girded sword will I + My plighted word in fight maintain." + "Well spoken," cry the Franks amain. + + + CCXXXV + + Sir Pinabel stood before Karl in place, + Vast of body and swift of pace,-- + Small hope hath he whom his sword may smite. + "Sire, it is yours to decide the right, + Bid this clamor around to pause. + Thierry hath dared to adjudge the cause; + He lieth. Battle thereon I do." + And forth his right-hand glove he drew. + But the Emperor said, "In bail to me + Shall thirty of his kinsmen be; + I yield him pledges on my side: + Be they guarded well till the right be tried." + When Thierry saw the fight shall be, + To Karl his right glove reacheth he; + The Emperor gave his pledges o'er. + And set in place were benches four-- + Thereon the champions take their seat, + And all is ranged in order meet,-- + The preparations Ogier speeds,-- + And both demand their arms and steeds. + + + CCXXXVI + + But yet, ere lay they lance in rest, + They make their shrift, are sained and blessed; + They hear the Mass, the Host receive, + Great gifts to church and cloister leave. + They stand before the Emperor's face; + The spurs upon their feet they lace; + Gird on their corselets, strong and light; + Close on their heads the helmets bright. + The golden hilts at belt are hung; + Their quartered shields from shoulder swung. + In hand the mighty spears they lift, + Then spring they on their chargers swift. + A hundred thousand cavaliers + The while for Thierry drop their tears; + They pity him for Roland's sake. + God knows what end the strife will take. + + + CCXXXVII + + At Aix is a wide and grassy plain, + Where met in battle the barons twain. + Both of valorous knighthood are, + Their chargers swift and apt for war. + They prick them hard with slackened rein; + Drive each at other with might and main. + Their bucklers are in fragments flung, + Their hauberks rent, their girths unstrung; + With saddles turned, they earthward rolled. + A hundred thousand in tears behold. + + + CCXXXVIII + + Both cavaliers to earth are gone, + Both rise and leap on foot anon. + Strong is Pinabel, swift and light; + Each striketh other, unhorsed they fight; + With golden-hilted swords, they deal + Fiery strokes on the helms of steel. + Trenchant and fierce is their every blow. + The Franks look on in wondrous woe. + "O God," saith Karl, "Thy judgment show." + + + CCXXXIX + + "Yield thee, Thierry," said Pinabel. + "In love and faith will I serve thee well, + And all my wealth to thy feet will bring, + Win Ganelon's pardon from the king." + "Never," Thierry in scorn replied, + "Shall thought so base in my bosom bide! + God betwixt us this day decide." + + + CCXL + + "Ah, Pinabel!" so Thierry spake, + "Thou art a baron of stalwart make, + Thy knighthood known to every peer,-- + Come, let us cease this battle here. + With Karl thy concord shall be won, + But on Ganelon be justice done; + Of him henceforth let speech be none." + "No," said Pinabel; "God forefend! + My kinsman I to the last defend; + Nor will I blench for mortal face,-- + Far better death than such disgrace." + Began they with their glaves anew + The gold-encrusted helms to hew; + Towards heaven the fiery sparkles flew. + They shall not be disjoined again, + Nor end the strife till one be slain. + + + CCXLI + + Pinabel, lord of Sorrence's keep, + Smote Thierry's helm with stroke so deep + The very fire that from it came + Hath set the prairie round in flame; + The edge of steel did his forehead trace + Adown the middle of his face; + His hauberk to the centre clave. + God deigned Thierry from death to save. + + + CCXLII + + When Thierry felt him wounded so, + For his bright blood flowed on the grass below, + He smote on Pinabel's helmet brown, + Cut and clave to the nasal down; + Dashed his brains from forth his head, + And, with stroke of prowess, cast him dead. + Thus, at a blow, was the battle won: + "God," say the Franks, "hath this marvel done." + + + CCXLIII + + When Thierry thus was conqueror, + He came the Emperor Karl before. + Full fifty barons were in his train, + Duke Naimes, and Ogier the noble Dane, + Geoffrey of Anjou and William of Blaye. + Karl clasped him in his arms straightway + With skin of sable he wiped his face; + Then cast it from him, and, in its place, + Bade him in fresh attire be drest. + His armor gently the knights divest; + On an Arab mule they make him ride: + So returns he, in joy and pride. + To the open plain of Aix they come, + Where the kin of Ganelon wait their doom. + + + CCXLIV + + Karl his dukes and his counts addressed: + "Say, what of those who in bondage rest-- + Who came Count Ganelon's plea to aid, + And for Pinabel were bailsmen made?" + "One and all let them die the death." + And the king to Basbrun, his provost, saith + "Go, hang them all on the gallows tree. + By my beard I swear, so white to see, + If one escape, thou shalt surely die." + "Mine be the task," he made reply. + A hundred men-at-arms are there: + The thirty to their doom they bear. + The traitor shall his guilt atone, + With blood of others and his own. + + + CCXLV + + The men of Bavaria and Allemaine, + Norman and Breton return again, + And with all the Franks aloud they cry, + That Gan a traitor's death shall die. + They bade be brought four stallions fleet; + Bound to them Ganelon, hands and feet: + Wild and swift was each savage steed, + And a mare was standing within the mead; + Four grooms impelled the coursers on,-- + A fearful ending for Ganelon. + His every nerve was stretched and torn, + And the limbs of his body apart were borne; + The bright blood, springing from every vein, + Left on the herbage green its stain. + He died a felon and recreant: + Never shall traitor his treason vaunt. + + + CCXLVI + + Now was the Emperor's vengeance done, + And he called to the bishops of France anon + With those of Bavaria and Allemaine. + "A noble captive is in my train. + She hath hearkened to sermon and homily, + And a true believer in Christ will be; + Baptize her so that her soul have grace." + They say, "Let ladies of noble race, + At her christening, be her sponsors vowed." + And so there gathered a mighty crowd. + At the baths of Aix was the wondrous scene-- + There baptized they the Spanish queen; + Julienne they have named her name. + In faith and truth unto Christ she came. + + + CCXLVII + + When the Emperor's justice was satisfied, + His mighty wrath did awhile subside. + Queen Bramimonde was a Christian made, + The day passed on into night's dark shade; + As the king in his vaulted chamber lay, + Saint Gabriel came from God to say, + "Karl, thou shalt summon thine empire's host, + And march in haste to Bira's coast; + Unto Impha city relief to bring, + And succor Vivian, the Christian king. + The heathens in siege have the town essayed + And the shattered Christians invoke thine aid." + Fain would Karl such task decline. + "God! what a life of toil is mine!" + He wept; his hoary beard he wrung. + + * * * * * + + So ends the lay Turoldus sung. + + + + +THE DESTRUCTION OF DA DERGA'S HOSTEL + +TRANSLATED BY + +WHITLEY STOKES, D.C.L. + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +_The vast and interesting epic literature of Ireland remained +practically inaccessible to English readers till within the last sixty +years. In 1853, Nicholas O'Kearney published the Irish text and an +English translation of "The Battle of Gabra," and since that date the +volume of printed texts and English versions has steadily increased, +until now there lies open to the ordinary reader a very considerable +mass of material illustrating the imaginative life of medieval Ireland. + +Of these Irish epic tales, "The Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel" is a +specimen of remarkable beauty and power. The primitive nature of the +story is shown by the fact that the plot turns upon the disasters that +follow on the violation of tabus or prohibitions often with a +supernatural sanction, by the monstrous nature of many of the warriors, +and by the utter absence of any attempt to rationalise or explain the +beliefs implied or the marvels related in it. The powers and +achievements of the heroes are fantastic and extraordinary beyond +description, and the natural and extra-natural constantly mingle; yet +nowhere, does the narrator express surprise. The technical method of the +tale, too, is curiously and almost mechanically symmetrical, after the +manner of savage art; and both description and narration are marked by a +high degree of freshness and vividness. + +The following translation is, with slight modification, that of Dr. +Whitley Stokes, from a text constructed by him on the basis of eight +manuscripts, the oldest going back to about 1100 A.D. The story itself +is, without doubt, several centuries earlier, and belongs to the oldest +group of extant Irish sagas._ + + + +THE DESTRUCTION OF DA DERGA'S HOSTEL + +There was a famous and noble king over Erin, named Eochaid Feidlech. +Once upon a time he came over the fairgreen of Bri Leith, and he saw at +the edge of a well a woman with a bright comb of silver adorned with +gold, washing in a silver basin wherein were four golden birds and +little, bright gems of purple carbuncle in the rims of the basin. A +mantle she had, curly and purple, a beautiful cloak, and in the mantle +silvery fringes arranged, and a brooch of fairest gold. A kirtle she +wore, long, hooded, hard-smooth, of green silk, with red embroidery of +gold. Marvellous clasps of gold and silver in the kirtle on her breasts +and her shoulders and spaulds on every side. The sun kept shining upon +her, so that the glistening of the gold against the sun from the green +silk was manifest to men. On her head were two golden-yellow tresses, in +each of which was a plait of four locks, with a bead at the point of +each lock. The hue of that hair seemed to them like the flower of the +iris in summer, or like red gold after the burnishing thereof. + +There she was, undoing her hair to wash it, with her arms out through +the sleeve-holes of her smock. White as the snow of one night were the +two hands, soft and even, and red as foxglove were the two +clear-beautiful cheeks. Dark as the back of a stag-beetle the two +eyebrows. Like a shower of pearls were the teeth in her head. Blue as a +hyacinth were the eyes. Red as rowan-berries the lips. Very high, smooth +and soft-white the shoulders. Clear-white and lengthy the fingers. Long +were the hands. White as the foam of a wave was the flank, slender, +long, tender, smooth, soft as wool. Polished and warm, sleek and white +were the two thighs. Round and small, hard and white the two knees. +Short and white and rulestraight the two shins. Justly straight and +beautiful the two heels. If a measure were put on the feet it would +hardly have found them unequal, unless the flesh of the coverings should +grow upon them. The bright radiance of the moon was in her noble face: +the loftiness of pride in her smooth eyebrows: the light of wooing in +each of her regal eyes. A dimple of delight in each of her cheeks, with +a dappling (?) in them at one time, of purple spots with redness of a +calf's blood, and at another with the bright lustre of snow. Soft +womanly dignity in her voice; a step steady and slow she had: a queenly +gait was hers. Verily, of the world's women 'twas she was the dearest +and loveliest and justest that the eyes of men had ever beheld. It +seemed to King Eochaid and his followers that she was from the +elfmounds. Of her was said: "Shapely are all till compared with Etain," +"Dear are all till compared with Etain." + +A longing for her straightway seized the king; so he sent forward a man +of his people to detain her. The king asked tidings of her and said, +while announcing himself: "Shall I have an hour of dalliance with thee?" + +"'Tis for that we have come hither under thy safeguard," quoth she. + +"Query, whence art thou and whence hast thou come?" says Eochaid. + +"Easy to say," quoth she. "Etain am I, daughter of Etar, king of the +cavalcade from the elfmounds. I have been here for twenty years since I +was born in an elfmound. The men of the elfmound, both kings and nobles, +have been wooing me; but nought was gotten from me, because ever since I +was able to speak, I have loved thee and given thee a child's love for +the high tales about thee and thy splendour. And though I had never seen +thee, I knew thee at once from thy description: it is thou, then, I +have reached." + +"No 'seeking of an ill friend afar' shall be thine," says Eochaid. "Thou +shalt have welcome, and for thee every other woman shall be left by me, +and with thee alone will I live so long as thou hast honour." + +"My proper bride-price to me!" she says, "and afterwards my desire." + +"Thou shalt have both," says Eochaid. + +Seven _cumals_[3] are given to her. + +[Footnote 3: I.e., twenty-one cows.] + +Then the king, even Eochaid Feidlech, dies, leaving one daughter named, +like her mother, Etain, and wedded to Cormac, king of Ulaid. + +After the end of a time Cormac, king of Ulaid, "the man of the three +gifts," forsakes Eochaid's daughter, because she was barren save for one +daughter that she had borne to Cormac after the making of the pottage +which her mother--the woman from the elfmounds--gave her. Then she said +to her mother: "Bad is what thou hast given me: it will be a daughter +that I shall bear." + +"That will not be good," says her mother; "a king's pursuit will be on +her." + +Then Cormac weds again his wife, even Etain, and this was his desire, +that the daughter of the woman who had before been abandoned [i.e. his +own daughter] should be killed. So Cormac would not leave the girl to +her mother to be nursed. Then his two thralls take her to a pit, and she +smiles a laughing smile at them as they were putting her into it. Then +their kindly nature came to them. They carry her into the calfshed of +the cowherds of Etirscel, great-grandson of Iar, king of Tara, and they +fostered her till she became a good embroideress; and there was not in +Ireland a king's daughter dearer than she. + +A fenced house of wickerwork was made by the thralls for her, without +any door, but only a window and a skylight. King Eterscel's folk espy +that house and suppose that it was food that the cowherds kept there. +But one of them went and looked through the skylight, and he saw in the +house the dearest, beautifullest maiden! This is told to the king, and +straightway he sends his people to break the house and carry her off +without asking the cowherds. For the king was childless, and it had been +prophesied to him by his wizards that a woman of unknown race would bear +him a son. + +Then said the king: "This is the woman that has been prophesied to me!" + +Now while she was there next morning she saw a Bird on the skylight +coming to her, and he leaves his birdskin on the floor of the house, and +went to her and possessed her, and said: "They are coming to thee from +the king to wreck thy house and to bring thee to him perforce. And thou +wilt be pregnant by me, and bear a son, and that son must not kill +birds[4]. And 'Conaire, son of Mess Buachalla' shall be his name," for +hers was Mess Buachalla, "the Cowherds' fosterchild." + +[Footnote 4: This passage indicates the existence in Ireland of totems, +and of the rule that the person to whom a totem belongs must not kill +the totem-animal.--W.S.] + +And then she was brought to the king, and with her went her fosterers, +and she was betrothed to the king, and he gave her seven _cumals_ and to +her fosterers seven other _cumals_. And afterwards they were made +chieftains, so that they all became legitimate, whence are the two +Fedlimthi Rechtaidi. And then she bore a son to the king, even Conaire +son of Mess Buachalla, and these were her three urgent prayers to the +king, to wit, the nursing of her son among three households, that is, +the fosterers who had nurtured her, and the two Honeyworded Maines, and +she herself is the third; and she said that such of the men of Erin as +should wish to do aught for this boy should give to those three +households for the boy's protection. + +So in that wise he was reared, and the men of Erin straightway knew this +boy on the day he was born. And other boys were fostered with him, to +wit, Fer Le and Fer Gar and Fer Rogein, three great-grandsons of Donn +Desa the champion, an army-man of the army from Muc-lesi. + +Now Conaire possessed three gifts, to wit, the gift of hearing and the +gift of eyesight and the gift of judgment; and of those three gifts he +taught one to each of his three fosterbrothers. And whatever meal was +prepared for him, the four of them would go to it. Even though three +meals were prepared for him each of them would go to his meal. The same +raiment and armour and colour of horses had the four. + +Then the king, even Eterscele, died. A bull-feast is gathered by the men +of Erin, in order to determine their future king; that is, a bull used +to be killed by them and thereof one man would eat his fill and drink +its broth, and a spell of truth was chanted over him in his bed. +Whosoever he would see in his sleep would be king, and the sleeper would +perish if he uttered a falsehood. + +Four men in chariots were on the Plain of Liffey at their game, Conaire +himself and his three fosterbrothers. Then his fosterers went to him +that he might repair to the bull-feast. The bull-feaster, then in his +sleep, at the end of the night beheld a man stark-naked, passing along +the road of Tara, with a stone in his sling. + +"I will go in the morning after you," quoth he. + +He left his fosterbrothers at their game, and turned his chariot and his +charioteer until he was in Dublin. There he saw great, white-speckled +birds, of unusual size and colour and beauty. He pursues then until his +horses were tired. The birds would go a spearcast before him, and would +not go any further. He alighted, and takes his sling for them out of the +chariot. He goes after them until he was at the sea. The birds betake +themselves to the wave. He went to them and overcame them. The birds +quit their birdskins, and turn upon him with spears and swords. One of +them protects him, and addressed him, saying: "I am Nemglan, king of thy +father's birds; and thou hast been forbidden to cast at birds, for here +there is no one that should not be dear to thee because of his father +or mother." + +"Till to-day," says Conaire, "I knew not this." + +"Go to Tara tonight," says Nemglan; "'tis fittest for thee. A bull-feast +is there, and through it thou shalt be king. A man stark-naked, who +shall go at the end of the night along one of the roads of Tara, having +a stone and a sling--'tis he that shall be king." + +So in this wise Conaire fared forth; and on each of the four roads +whereby men go to Tara there were three kings awaiting him, and they had +raiment for him, since it had been foretold that he would come +stark-naked. Then he was seen from the road on which his fosterers were, +and they put royal raiment about him, and placed him in a chariot, and +he bound his pledges. + +The folk of Tara said to him: "It seems to us that our bull-feast and +our spell of truth are a failure, if it be only a young, beardless lad +that we have visioned therein." + +"That is of no moment," quoth he. "For a young, generous king like me to +be in the kingship is no disgrace, since the binding of Tara's pledges +is mine by right of father and grandsire." + +"Excellent! excellent!" says the host. They set the kingship of Erin +upon him. And he said: "I will enquire of wise men that I myself may +be wise." + +Then he uttered all this as he had been taught by the man at the wave, +who said this to him: "Thy reign will be subject to a restriction, but +the bird-reign will be noble, and this shall be thy restriction, +i.e. thy tabu. + +"Thou shalt not go righthandwise round Tara and lefthandwise round +Bregia. + +"The evil-beasts of Cerna must not be hunted by thee. + +"And thou shalt not go out every ninth night beyond Tara. + +"Thou shalt not sleep in a house from which firelight is manifest +outside, after sunset, and in which light is manifest from without. + +"And three Reds shall not go before thee to Red's house. + +"And no rapine shall be wrought in thy reign. + +"And after sunset a company of one woman or one man shall not enter the +house in which thou art. + +"And thou shalt not settle the quarrel of thy two thralls. + +Now there were in his reign great bounties, to wit, seven ships in every +June in every year arriving at Inver Colptha[5], and oakmast up to the +knees in every autumn, and plenty of fish in the rivers Bush and Boyne +in the June of each year, and such abundance of good will that no one +slew another in Erin during his reign. And to every one in Erin his +fellow's voice seemed as sweet as the strings of lutes. From mid-spring +to mid-autumn no wind disturbed a cow's tail. His reign was neither +thunderous nor stormy. + +[Footnote 5: The mouth of the river Boyne.--W.S.] + +Now his fosterbrothers murmured at the taking from them of their +father's and their grandsire's gifts, namely Theft and Robbery and +Slaughter of men and Rapine. They thieved the three thefts from the same +man, to wit, a swine and an ox and a cow, every year, that they might +see what punishment therefor the king would inflict upon them, and what +damage the theft in his reign would cause to the king. + +Now every year the farmer would come to the king to complain, and the +king would say to him. "Go thou and address Donn Desa's three +great-grandsons, for 'tis they that have taken the beasts." Whenever he +went to speak to Donn Desa's descendants they would almost kill him, and +he would not return to the king lest Conaire should attend his hurt. + +Since, then, pride and wilfulness possessed them, they took to +marauding, surrounded by the sons of the lords of the men of Erin. +Thrice fifty men had they as pupils when they (the pupils) were +were-wolfing in the province of Connaught, until Maine Milscothach's +swineherd saw them, and he had never seen that before. He went in +flight. When they heard him they pursued him. The swineherd shouted, and +the people of the two Maines came to him, and the thrice fifty men were +arrested, along with their auxiliaries, and taken to Tara. They +consulted the king concerning the matter, and he said: "Let each +(father) slay his son, but let my fosterlings be spared." + +"Leave, leave!" says every one: "it shall be done for thee." + +"Nay indeed," quoth he; "no 'cast of life' by me is the doom I have +delivered. The men shall not be hung; but let veterans go with them that +they may wreak their rapine on the men of Alba." + +This they do. Thence they put to sea and met the son of the king of +Britain, even Ingcel the One-eyed, grandson of Conmac: thrice fifty men +and their veterans they met upon the sea. + +They make an alliance, and go with Ingcel and wrought rapine with him. + +This is the destruction which his own impulse gave him. That was the +night that his mother and his father and his seven brothers had been +bidden to the house of the king of his district. All of them were +destroyed by Ingcel in a single night. Then the Irish pirates put out to +sea to the land of Erin to seek a destruction as payment for that to +which Ingcel had been entitled from them. + +In Conaire's reign there was perfect peace in Erin, save that in Thomond +there was a joining of battle between the two Carbres. Two +fosterbrothers of his were they. And until Conaire came it was +impossible to make peace between them. 'Twas a tabu of his to go to +separate them before they had repaired to him. He went, however, +although to do so was one of his tabus, and he made peace between them. +He remained five nights with each of the two. That also was a tabu +of his. + +After settling the two quarrels, he was travelling to Tara. This is the +way they took to Tara, past Usnech of Meath; and they saw the raiding +from east and west, and from south and north, and they saw the warbands +and the hosts and the men stark-naked; and the land of the southern +O'Neills was a cloud of fire around him. + +"What is this?" asked Conaire. "Easy to say," his people answer. "Easy +to know that the king's law has broken down therein, since the country +has begun to burn." + +"Whither shall we betake ourselves?" says Conaire. + +"To the Northeast," says his people. + +So then they went righthandwise round Tara, and lefthandwise round +Bregia, and the evil beasts of Cerna were hunted by him. But he saw it +not till the chase had ended. + +They that made of the world that smoky mist of magic were elves, and +they did so because Conaire's tabus had been violated. + +Great fear then fell on Conaire because they had no way to wend save +upon the Road of Midluachair and the Road of Cualu. + +So they took their way by the coast of Ireland southward. + +Then said Conaire on the Road of Cualu: "whither shall we go tonight?" + +"May I succeed in telling thee! my fosterling Conaire," says Mac cecht, +son of Snade Teiched, the champion of Conaire, son of Eterscel. "Oftener +have the men of Erin been contending for thee every night than thou hast +been wandering about for a guesthouse." + +"Judgment goes with good times," says Conaire. "I had a friend in this +country, if only we knew the way to his house!" + +"What is his name?" asked Mac cecht. + +"Da Derga of Leinster," answered Conaire. "He came unto me to seek a +gift from me, and he did not come with a refusal. I gave him a hundred +kine of the drove. I gave him a hundred fatted swine. I gave him a +hundred mantles made of close cloth. I gave him a hundred blue-coloured +weapons of battle. I gave him ten red, gilded brooches. I gave him ten +vats good and brown. I gave him ten thralls. I gave him ten querns. I +gave him thrice nine hounds all-white in their silvern chains. I gave +him a hundred racehorses in the herds of deer. There would be no +abatement in his case though he should come again. He would make return. +It is strange if he is surly to me tonight when reaching his abode." + +"When I was acquainted with his house," says Mac cecht, "the road +whereon thou art going towards him was the boundary of his abode. It +continues till it enters his house, for through the house passes the +road. There are seven doorways into the house, and seven bedrooms +between every two doorways; but there is only one door-valve on it, and +that valve is turned to every doorway to which the wind blows." + +"With all that thou hast here," says Conaire, "thou shalt go in thy +great multitude until thou alight in the midst of the house." + +"If so be," answers Mac cecht, "that thou goest thither, I go on that I +may strike fire there ahead of thee." + +When Conaire after this was journeying along the Road of Cualu, he +marked before him three horsemen riding towards the house. Three red +frocks had they, and three red mantles: three red bucklers they bore, +and three red spears were in their hands: three red steeds they +bestrode, and three red heads of hair were on them. Red were they all, +both body and hair and raiment, both steeds and men. + +"Who is it that fares before us?" asked Conaire. "It was a tabu of mine +for those Three to go before me--the three Reds to the house of Red. Who +will follow them and tell them to come towards me in my track?" + +"I will follow them," says Le fri flaith, Conaire's son. + +He goes after them, lashing his horse, and overtook them not. There was +the length of a spearcast between them: but they did not gain upon him +and he did not gain upon them. + +He told them not to go before the king. He overtook them not; but one of +the three men sang a lay to him over his shoulder: + +"Lo, my son, great the news, news from a hostel.... Lo my son!" + +They go away from him then: he could not detain them. + +The boy waited for the host. He told his father what was said to him. +Conaire liked it not. "After them, thou!" says Conaire, "and offer them +three oxen and three bacon-pigs, and so long as they shall be in my +household, no one shall be among them from fire to wall." + +So the lad goes after them, and offers them that, and overtook them not. +But one of the three men sang a lay to him over his shoulder: + +"Lo, my son, great the news! A generous king's great ardour whets thee, +burns thee. Through ancient men's enchantments a company of nine yields. +Lo, my son!" + +The boy turns back and repeated the lay to Conaire. + +"Go after them," says Conaire, "and offer them six oxen and six +bacon-pigs, and my leavings, and gifts tomorrow, and so long as they +shall be in my household no one to be among them from fire to wall." + +The lad then went after them, and overtook them not; but one of the +three men answered and said: + +"Lo, my son, great the news. Weary are the steeds we ride. We ride the +steeds of Donn Tetscorach from the elfmounds. Though we are alive we are +dead. Great are the signs; destruction of life: sating of ravens: +feeding of crows, strife of slaughter: wetting of sword-edge, shields +with broken bosses in hours after sundown. Lo, my son!" + +Then they go from him. + +"I see that thou hast not detained the men," says Conaire. + +"Indeed it is not I that betrayed it," says Le fri flaith. + +He recited the last answer that they gave him. Conaire and his +retainers were not blithe thereat: and afterwards evil forebodings of +terror were on them. + +"All my tabus have seized me tonight," says Conaire, "since those Three +Reds are the banished folks[6]." + +[Footnote 6: They had been banished from the elfmounds, and for them to +precede was to violate one of his tabus.--W.S.] + +They went forward to the house and took their seats therein, and +fastened their red steeds to the door of the house. + +That is the Forefaring of the Three Reds in the _Bruden Da Derga_. + +This is the way that Conaire took with his troops, to Dublin. + +'Tis then the man of the black, cropt hair, with his one hand and one +eye and one foot, overtook them. Rough cropt hair upon him. Though a +sackful of wild apples were flung on his crown, not an apple would fall +on the ground, but each of them would stick on his hair. Though his +snout were flung on a branch they would remain together. Long and thick +as an outer yoke was each of his two shins. Each of his buttocks was the +size of a cheese on a withe. A forked pole of iron black-pointed was in +his hand. A swine, black-bristled, singed, was on his back, squealing +continually, and a woman big-mouthed, huge, dark, sorry, hideous, was +behind him. Though her snout were flung on a branch, the branch would +support it. Her lower lip would reach her knee. + +He starts forward to meet Conaire, and made him welcome. "Welcome to +thee, O master Conaire! Long hath thy coming hither been known." + +"Who gives the welcome?" asks Conaire. + +"Fer Caille here, with his black swine for thee to consume that thou be +not fasting tonight, for 'tis thou art the best king that has come into +the world!" + +"What is thy wife's name?" says Conaire. + +"Cichuil," he answers. + +"Any other night," says Conaire, "that pleases you, I will come to +you,--and leave us alone to night." + +"Nay," say the churl, "for we will go to thee to the place wherein thou +wilt be tonight, O fair little master Conaire!" + +So he goes towards the house, with his great, big-mouthed wife behind +him, and his swine short-bristled, black, singed, squealing continually, +on his back. That was one of Conaire's tabus, and that plunder should be +taken in Ireland during his reign was another tabu of his. + +Now plunder was taken by the sons of Donn Desa, and five hundred there +were in the body of their marauders, besides what underlings were with +them. This, too, was a tabu of Conaire's. There was a good warrior in +the north country, "Wain over withered sticks," this was his name. Why +he was so called was because he used to go over his opponent even as a +wain would go over withered sticks. Now plunder was taken by him, and +there were five hundred in the body of their marauders alone, besides +underlings. + +There was after that a troop of still haughtier heroes, namely, the +seven sons of Ailill and Medb, each of whom was called "Mane." And each +Mane had a nickname, to wit, Mane Fatherlike and Mane Motherlike, and +Mane otherlike, and Mane Gentle-pious, Mane Very-pious, Mane Unslow, and +Mane Honeyworded, Mane Grasp-them-all, and Mane the Loquacious. Rapine +was wrought by them. As to Mane Motherlike and Mane Unslow there were +fourteen score in the body of their marauders. Mane Fatherlike had three +hundred and fifty. Mane Honeyworded had five hundred. Mane +Grasp-them-all had seven hundred. Mane the Loquacious had seven hundred. +Each of the others had five hundred in the body of his marauders. + +There was a valiant trio of the men of Cualu of Leinster, namely, the +three Red Hounds of Cualu, called Cethach and Clothach and Conall. Now +rapine was wrought by them, and twelve score were in the body of their +marauders, and they had a troop of madmen. In Conaire's reign a third of +the men of Ireland were reavers. He was of sufficient strength and power +to drive them out of the land of Erin so as to transfer their marauding +to the other side (Great Britain), but after this transfer they returned +to their country. + +When they had reached the shoulder of the sea, they meet Ingcel the +One-eyed and Eiccel and Tulchinne, three great-grandsons of Conmac of +Britain, on the raging of the sea. A man ungentle, huge, fearful, +uncouth was Ingcel. A single eye in his head, as broad as an oxhide, as +black as a chafer, with three pupils therein. Thirteen hundred were in +the body of his marauders. The marauders of the men of Erin were more +numerous then they. + +They go for a sea-encounter on the main. "Ye should not do this," says +Ingcel: "do not break the truth of men (fair play) upon us, for ye are +more in number than I." + +"Nought but a combat on equal terms shall befall thee," say the reavers +of Erin. + +"There is somewhat better for you," quoth Ingcel. "Let us make peace +since ye have been cast out of the land of Erin, and we have been cast +out of the land of Alba and Britain. Let us make an agreement between +us. Come ye and wreak your rapine in my country, and I will go with you +and wreak my rapine in your country." + +They follow this counsel, and they gave pledges therefor from this side +and from that. There are the sureties that were given to Ingcel by the +men of Erin, namely, Fer gair and Gabur (or Fer lee) and Fer rogain, for +the destruction that Ingcel should choose to cause in Ireland and for +the destruction that the sons of Donn Desa should choose in Alba +and Britain. + +A lot was cast upon them to see with which of them they should go first. +It fell that they should go with Ingcel to his country. So they made for +Britain, and there his father and mother and his seven brothers were +slain, as we have said before. Thereafter they made for Alba, and there +they wrought the destruction, and then they returned to Erin. + +'Tis then, now, that Conaire son of Eterscel went towards the Hostel +along the Road of Cualu. + +'Tis then that the reavers came till they were in the sea off the coast +of Bregia overagainst Howth. + +Then said the reavers: "Strike the sails, and make one band of you on +the sea that ye may not be sighted from land; and let some lightfoot be +found from among you to go on shore to see if we could save our honors +with Ingcel. A destruction for the destruction he has given us." + +"Who will go on shore to listen? Let some one go," says Ingcel, "who +should have there the three gifts, namely gift of hearing, gift of far +sight, and gift of judgment." + +"I," says Mane Honeyworded, "have the gift of hearing." + +"And I," says Mane Unslow, "have the gift of far sight and of judgment." + +"'Tis well for you to go thus," say the reavers: "good is that wise." + +Then nine men go on till they were on the Hill of Howth, to know what +they might hear and see. + +"Be still a while!" says Mane Honeyworded. + +"What is that?" asks Mane Unslow. + +"The sound of a good king's cavalcade I hear." + +"By the gift of far sight, I see," quoth his comrade. + +"What seest thou here?" + +"I see there," quoth he, "cavalcades splendid, lofty, beautiful, +warlike, foreign, somewhat slender, weary, active, keen, whetted, +vehement, a good course that shakes a great covering of land. They fare +to many heights, with wondrous waters and invers[7]." + +[Footnote 7: Mouths of rivers.] + +"What are the waters and heights and invers that they traverse?" + +"Easy to say: Indeoin, Cult, Cuilten, Mafat, Ammat, Iarmafat, Finne, +Goiste, Guistine. Gray spears over chariots: ivory-hilted swords on +thighs: silvery shields above their elbows. Half red and half white. +Garments of every color about them. + +"Thereafter I see before them special cattle specially keen, to wit, +thrice fifty dark-gray steeds. Small-headed are they, red-nosed, +pointed, broad-hoofed, big-nosed, red-chested, fat, easily-stopt, +easily-yoked, foray-nimble, keen, whetted, vehement, with their thrice +fifty bridles of red enamel upon them." + +"I swear by what my tribe swears," says the man of the long sight, +"these are the cattle of some good lord. This is my judgment thereof: it +is Conaire, son of Eterscel, with multitudes of the men of Erin around +him, who has travelled the road." + +Back then they go that they may tell it to the reavers. "This," they +say, "is what we have heard and seen." + +Of this host, then, there was a multitude, both on this side and on +that, namely, thrice fifty boats, with five thousand in them, and ten +hundred in every thousand. Then they hoisted the sails on the boats, and +steer them thence to shore, till they landed on the Strand of Fuirbthe. + +When the boats reached land, then was Mac cecht a-striking fire in Da +Derga's Hostel. At the sound of the spark the thrice fifty boats were +hurled out, so that they were on the shoulders of the sea. + +"Be silent a while!" said Ingcel. "Liken thou that, O Fer rogain." + +"I know not," answers Fer rogain, "unless it is Luchdonn the satirist in +Emain Macha, who makes this hand-smiting when his food is taken from him +perforce: or the scream of Luchdonn in Temair Luachra: or Mac cecht's +striking a spark, when he kindles a fire before a king of Erin where he +sleeps. Every spark and every shower which his fire would let fall on +the floor would broil a hundred calves and two half-pigs." + +"May God not bring that man (even Conaire) there to-night!" say Donn +Desa's sons. "Sad that he is under the hurt of foes!" + +"Meseems," says Ingcel, "it should be no sadder for me than the +destruction I gave you. This were my feast that Conaire should chance to +come there." + +Their fleet is steered to land. The noise that the thrice fifty vessels +made in running ashore shook Da Derga's Hostel so that no spear nor +shield remained on rack therein, but the weapons uttered a cry and fell +all on the floor of the house. + +"Liken thou that, O Conaire," says every one: "what is this noise?" + +"I know nothing like it unless it be the earth that has broken, or the +Leviathan that surrounds the globe and strikes with its tail to overturn +the world, or the barque of the sons of Donn Desa that has reached the +shore. Alas that it should not be they who are there! Beloved +foster-brothers of our own were they! Dear were the champions. We +should not have feared them tonight." + +Then came Conaire, so that he was on the green of the Hostel. + +When Mac cecht heard the tumultuous noise, it seemed to him that +warriors had attacked his people. Thereat he leapt on to his armour to +help them. Vast as the thunder-feat of three hundred did they deem his +game in leaping to his weapons. Thereof there was no profit. + +Now in the bow of the ship wherein were Donn Desa's sons was the +champion, greatly-accoutred, wrathful, the lion hard and awful, Ingcel +the One-eyed, great-grandson of Conmac. Wide as an oxhide was the single +eye protruding from his forehead, with seven pupils therein, which were +black as a chafer. Each of his knees as big as a stripper's caldron; +each of his two fists was the size of a reaping-basket: his buttocks as +big as a cheese on a withe: each of his shins as long as an outer yoke. + +So after that, the thrice fifty boats, and those five thousands--with +ten hundred in every thousand,--landed on the Strand of Fuirbthe. + +Then Conaire with his people entered the Hostel, and each took his seat +within, both tabu and non-tabu. And the three Reds took their seats, and +Fer caille with his swine took his seat. + +Thereafter Da Derga came to them, with thrice fifty warriors, each of +them having a long head of hair to the hollow of his polls, and a short +cloak to their buttocks. Speckled-green drawers they wore, and in their +hands were thrice fifty great clubs of thorn with bands of iron. + +"Welcome, O master Conaire!" quoth he. "Though the bulk of the men of +Erin were to come with thee, they themselves would have a welcome." + +When they were there they saw a lone woman coming to the door of the +Hostel, after sunset, and seeking to be let in. As long as a weaver's +beam was each of her two shins, and they were as dark as the back of a +stag-beetle. A greyish, wooly mantle she wore. Her lower hair used to +reach as far as her knee. Her lips were on one side of her head. + +She came and put one of her shoulders against the doorpost of the house, +casting the evil eye on the king and the youths who surrounded him in +the Hostel. He himself addressed her from within. + +"Well, O woman," says Conaire, "if thou art a wizard, what seest thou +for us?" + +"Truly I see for thee," she answers, "that neither fell nor flesh of +thine shall escape from the place into which thou hast come, save what +birds will bear away in their claws." + +"It was not an evil omen we foreboded, O woman," saith he: "it is not +thou that always augurs for us. What is thy name, O woman?" + +"Cailb," she answers. + +"That is not much of a name," says Conaire. + +"Lo, many are my names besides." + +"Which be they?" asks Conaire. + +"Easy to say," quoth she. "Samon, Sinand, Seisclend, Sodb, Caill, Coll, +Dichoem, Dichiuil, Dithim, Dichuimne, Dichruidne, Dairne, Darine, +Deruaine, Egem, Agam, Ethamne, Gnim, Cluiche, Cethardam, Nith, Nemain, +Noennen, Badb, Blosc, B[l]oar, Huae, oe Aife la Sruth, Mache, +Mede, Mod." + +On one foot, and holding up one hand, and breathing one breath she sang +all that to them from the door of the house. + +"I swear by the gods whom I adore," says Conaire, "that I will call thee +by none of these names whether I shall be here a long or a short time." + +"What dost thou desire?" says Conaire. + +"That which thou, too, desirest," she answered. + +"'Tis a tabu of mine," says Conaire, "to receive the company of one +woman after sunset." + +"Though it be a tabu," she replied, "I will not go until my guesting +come at once this very night." + +"Tell her," says Conaire, "that an ox and a bacon-pig shall be taken out +to her, and my leavings: provided that she stays tonight in some +other place." + +"If in sooth," she says, "it has befallen the king not to have room in +his house for the meal and bed of a solitary woman, they will be gotten +apart from him from some one possessing generosity--if the hospitality +of the Prince in the Hostel has departed." + +"Savage is the answer!" says Conaire. "Let her in, though it is a tabu +of mine." + +Great loathing they felt after that from the woman's converse, and +ill-foreboding; but they knew not the cause thereof. + +The reavers afterwards landed, and fared forth till they were at Lecca +cinn slebe. Ever open was the Hostel. Why it was called a _Bruden_ was +because it resembles the lips of a man blowing a fire. + +Great was the fire which was kindled by Conaire every night, to wit, a +"Boar of the Wood." Seven outlets it had. When a log was cut out of its +side every flame that used to come forth at each outlet was as big as +the blaze of a burning oratory. There were seventeen of Conaire's +chariots at every door of the house, and by those that were looking from +the vessels that great light was clearly seen through the wheels of +the chariots. + +"Canst thou say, O Fer rogain, what that great light yonder resembles?" + +"I cannot liken it to aught," answers Fer rogain, "unless it be the fire +of a king. May God not bring that man there tonight! 'Tis a pity to +destroy him!" + +"What then deemest thou," says Ingcel, "of that man's reign in the land +of Erin?" + +"Good is his reign," replied Fer rogain. "Since he assumed the kingship, +no cloud has veiled the sun for the space of a day from the middle of +spring to the middle of autumn. And not a dewdrop fell from grass till +midday, and wind would not touch a beast's tail until nones. And in his +reign, from year's end to year's end, no wolf has attacked aught save +one bullcalf of each byre; and to maintain this rule there are seven +wolves in hostageship at the sidewall in his house, and behind this a +further security, even Maclocc, and 'tis he that pleads for them in +Conaire's house. In Conaire's reign are the three crowns on Erin, +namely, crown of corn-ears, and crown of flowers, and crown of oak mast. +In his reign, too, each man deems the other's voice as melodious as the +strings of lutes, because of the excellence of the law and the peace +and the goodwill prevailing throughout Erin. May God not bring that man +there tonight! 'Tis sad to destroy him. 'Tis _'a branch through its +blossom,'_ 'Tis _a swine that falls before mast._ 'Tis _an infant in +age._ Sad is the shortness of his life!" + +"This was my luck," says Ingcel, "that he should be there, and there +should be one Destruction for another. It were not more grievous to me +than my father and my mother and my seven brothers, and the king of my +country, whom I gave up to you before coming on the transfer of +the rapine." + +"'Tis true, 'tis true!" say the evildoers who were along with the +reavers. + +The reavers make a start from the Strand of Fuirbthe, and bring a stone +for each man to make a cairn; for this was the distinction which at +first the Fians made between a "Destruction" and a "Rout." A +pillar-stone they used to plant when there would be a Rout. A cairn, +however, they used to make when there would be a Destruction. At this +time, then, they made a cairn, for it was a Destruction. Far from the +house was this, that they might not be heard or seen therefrom. + +For two causes they built their cairn, namely, first, since this was a +custom in marauding, and, secondly, that they might find out their +losses at the Hostel. Every one that would come safe from it would take +his stone from the cairn: thus the stones of those that were slain would +be left, and thence they would know their losses. And this is what men +skilled in story recount, that for every stone in Carn leca there was +one of the reavers killed at the Hostel. From that cairn Leca in Hui +Cellaig is so called. + +A "boar of a fire" is kindled by the sons of Donn Desa to give warning +to Conaire. So _that_ is the first warning-beacon that has been made in +Erin, and from it to this day every warning-beacon is kindled. + +This is what others recount: that it was on the eve of _samain_ +(All-Saints-day) the destruction of the Hostel was wrought, and that +from yonder beacon the beacon of _samain_ is followed from that to this, +and stones (are placed) in the _samain_-fire. + +Then the reavers framed a counsel at the place where they had put the +cairn. + +"Well, then," says Ingcel to the guides, "what is nearest to us here?" + +"Easy to say: the Hostel of Hua Derga, chief-hospitaller of Erin." + +"Good men indeed," says Ingcel, "were likely to seek their fellows at +that Hostel to-night." + +This, then, was the counsel of the reavers, to send one of them to see +how things were there. + +"Who will go there to espy the house?" say everyone. + +"Who should go," says Ingcel, "but I, for 'tis I that am entitled to +dues." + +Ingcel went to reconnoitre the Hostel with one of the seven pupils of +the single eye which stood out of his forehead, to fit his eye into the +house in order to destroy the king and the youths who were around him +therein. And Ingcel saw them through the wheels of the chariots. + +Then Ingcel was perceived from the house. He made a start from it after +being perceived. + +He went till he reached the reavers in the stead wherein they were. Each +circle of them was set around another to hear the tidings--the chiefs of +the reavers being in the very centre of the circles. There were Fer ger +and Fer gel and Fer rogel and Fer rogain and Lomna the Buffoon, and +Ingcel the One-eyed--six in the centre of the circles. And Fer rogain +went to question Ingcel. + +"How is that, O Ingcel?" asks Fer rogain. + +"However it be," answers Ingcel, "royal is the custom, hostful is the +tumult: kingly is the noise thereof. Whether a king be there or not, I +will take the house for what I have a right to. Thence my turn of +rapine cometh." + +"We have left it in thy hand, O Ingcel!" say Conaire's fosterbrothers. +"But we should not wreak the Destruction till we know who may +be therein." + +"Question, hast thou seen the house well, O Ingcel?" asks Fer rogain. + +"Mine eye cast a rapid glance around it, and I will accept it for my +dues as it stands." + +"Thou mayest well accept it, O Ingcel," saith Fer rogain: "the foster +father of us all is there, Erin's overking, Conaire, son of Eterscel." + +"Question, what sawest thou in the champion's high seat of the house, +facing the King, on the opposite side?" + +THE ROOM OF CORMAC CONDLONGAS + +"I saw there," says Ingcel, "a man of noble countenance, large, with a +clear and sparkling eye, an even set of teeth, a face narrow below, +broad above. Fair, flaxen, golden hair upon him, and a proper fillet +around it. A brooch of silver in his mantle, and in his hand a +gold-hilted sword. A shield with five golden circles upon it: a +five-barbed javelin in his hand. A visage just, fair, ruddy he hath: he +is also beardless. Modest-minded is that man!" + +"And after that, whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF CORMAC'S NINE COMRADES + +"There I saw three men to the west of Cormac, and three to the east of +him, and three in front of the same man. Thou wouldst deem that the nine +of them had one mother and one father. They are of the same age, equally +goodly, equally beautiful, all alike. Thin rods of gold in their +mantles. Bent shields of bronze they bear. Ribbed javelins above them. +An ivory-hilted sword in the hand of each. An unique feat they have, to +wit, each of them takes his sword's point between his two fingers, and +they twirl the swords round their fingers, and the swords afterwards +extend themselves by themselves. Liken thou _that_, O Fer rogain," +says Ingcel. + +"Easy," says Fer rogain, "for me to liken them. It is Conchobar's son, +Cormac Condlongas, the best hero behind a shield in the land of Erin. Of +modest mind is that boy! Evil is what he dreads tonight. He is a +champion of valour for feats of arms; he is an hospitaller for +householding. These are yon nine who surround him, the three Dungusses, +and the three Doelgusses, and the three Dangusses, the nine comrades of +Cormac Condlongas, son of Conchobar. They have never slain men on +account of their misery, and they never spared them on account of their +prosperity. Good is the hero who is among them, even Cormac Condlongas. +I swear what my tribe swears, nine times ten will fall by Cormac in his +first onset, and nine times ten will fall by his people, besides a man +for each of their weapons, and a man for each of themselves. And Cormac +will share prowess with any man before the Hostel, and he will boast of +victory over a king or crown-prince or noble of the reavers; and he +himself will chance to escape, though all his people be wounded." + +"Woe to him who shall wreak this Destruction!" says Lomna Druth, "even +because of that one man, Cormac Condlongas, son of Conchobar." "I swear +what my tribe swears," says Lomna son of Donn Desa, "if I could fulfil +my counsel, the Destruction would not be attempted were it only because +of that one man, and because of the hero's beauty and goodness!" + +"It is not feasible to prevent it," says Ingcel: "clouds of weakness +come to you. A keen ordeal which will endanger two cheeks of a goat will +be opposed by the oath of Fer rogain, who will run. Thy voice, O Lomna," +says Ingcel, "hath taken breaking upon thee: thou art a worthless +warrior, and I know thee. Clouds of weakness come to you...." + +Neither old men nor historians shall declare that I quitted the +Destruction, until I shall wreak it." + +"Reproach not our honour, O Ingcel," say Ger and Gabur and Fer rogain. +"The Destruction shall be wrought unless the earth break under it, until +all of us are slain thereby." + +"Truly, then, thou hast reason, O Ingcel," says Lomna Druth son of Donn +Desa. "Not to thee is the loss caused by the Destruction. Thou wilt +carry off the head of the king of a foreign country, with thy slaughter +of another; and thou and thy brothers will escape from the Destruction, +even Ingcel and Ecell and the Yearling of the Rapine." + +"Harder, however, it is for me," says Lomna Druth: "woe is me before +every one! woe is me after every one! 'Tis my head that will be first +tossed about there to-night after an hour among the chariot-shafts, +where devilish foes will meet. It will be flung into the Hostel thrice, +and thrice will it be flung forth. Woe to him that comes! woe to him +with whom one goes! woe to him to whom one goes! wretches are they that +go! wretches are they to whom they go!" + +"There is nothing that will come to me," says Ingcel, "in place of my +mother and my father and my seven brothers, and the king of my district, +whom ye destroyed with me. There is nothing that I shall not endure +henceforward." + +"Though a ... should go through them," say Ger and Gabur and Fer rogain, +"the Destruction will be wrought by thee to-night." + +"Woe to him who shall put them under the hands of foes!" says Lomna. +"And whom sawest thou afterwards?" + +THE ROOM OF THE PICTS, THIS + +"I saw another room there, with a huge trio in it: three brown, big men: +three round heads of hair on them, even, equally long at nape and +forehead. Three short black cowls about them reaching to their elbows: +long hoods were on the cowls. Three black, huge swords they had, and +three black shields they bore, with three dark broad-green javelins +above them. Thick as the spit of a caldron was the shaft of each. Liken +thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Hard it is for me to find their like. I know not in Erin that trio, +unless it be yon trio of Pictland, who went into exile from their +country, and are now in Conaire's household. These are their names: +Dublonges son of Trebuat, and Trebuat son of Hua-Lonsce, and Curnach son +of Hua Faich. The three who are best in Pictland at taking arms are that +trio. Nine decads will fall at their hands in their first encounter, and +a man will fall for each of their weapons, besides one for each of +themselves. And they will share prowess with every trio in the Hostel. +They will boast a victory over a king or a chief of the reavers; and +they will afterwards escape though wounded. Woe to him who shall wreak +the Destruction, though it be only on account of those three!" + +Says Lomna Druth: "I swear to God what my tribe swears, if my counsel +were taken, the Destruction would never be wrought." + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel: "clouds of weakness are coming to you. A keen +ordeal which will endanger, etc. And whom sawest thou there afterwards?" + +THE ROOM OF THE PIPERS + +"There I beheld a room with nine men in it. Hair fair and yellow was on +them: they all are equally beautiful. Mantles speckled with colour they +wore, and above them were nine bagpipes, four-tuned, ornamented. Enough +light in the palace were the ornament on these four-tuned pipes. Liken +thou them, O Fer rogain." + +"Easy for me to liken them," says Fer rogain. "Those are the nine pipers +that came to Conaire out of the Elfmound of Bregia, because of the noble +tales about him. These are their names: Bind, Robind, Riarbind, Sibe, +Dibe, Deichrind, Umall, Cumal, Ciallglind. They are the best pipers in +the world. Nine enneads will fall before them, and a man for each of +their weapons, and a man for each of themselves. And each of them will +boast a victory over a king or a chief of the reavers. And they will +escape from the Destruction; for a conflict with them will be a conflict +with a shadow. They will slay, but they will not be slain, for they are +out of an elfmound. Woe to him who shall wreak the Destruction, though +it be only because of those nine!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness come to you," etc. "And +after that, whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF CONAIRE'S MAJORDOMO + +"There I saw a room with one man in it. Rough cropt hair upon him. +Though a sack of crab-apples should be flung on his head, not one of +them would fall on the floor, but every apple would stick on his hair. +His fleecy mantle was over him in the house. Every quarrel therein about +seat or bed comes to his decision. Should a needle drop in the house, +its fall would be heard when he speaks. Above him is a huge black tree, +like a millshaft, with its paddles and its cap and its spike. Liken thou +him, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easy for me is this. Tuidle of Ulaid is he, the steward of Conaire's +household. 'Tis needful to hearken to the decision of that man, the man +that rules seat and bed and food for each. 'Tis his household staff that +is above him. That man will fight with you. I swear what my tribe +swears, the dead at the Destruction slain by him will be more numerous +than the living. Thrice his number will fall by him, and he himself will +fall there. Woe to him who shall wreak the Destruction!" etc. + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness come upon you. What sawest +thou there after that?" + +THE ROOM OF MAC CECHT, CONAIRE'S BATTLE-SOLDIER + +There I beheld another room with a trio in it, three half-furious +nobles: the biggest of them in the middle, very noisy ... rock-bodied, +angry, smiting, dealing strong blows, who beats nine hundred in +battle-conflict. A wooden shield, dark, covered with iron, he bears, +with a hard ... rim, a shield whereon would fit the proper litter of +four troops of ten weaklings on its ... of ... leather. A ... boss +thereon, the depth of a caldron, fit to cook four oxen, a hollow maw, a +great boiling, with four swine in its mid-maw great.... At his two +smooth sides are two five-thwarted boats fit for three parties of ten in +each of his two strong fleets. + +A spear he hath, blue-red, hand-fitting, on its puissant shaft. It +stretches along the wall on the roof and rests on the ground. An iron +point upon it, dark-red, dripping. Four amply-measured feet between the +two points of its edge. + +Thirty amply-measured feet in his deadly-striking sword from dark point +to iron hilt. It shews forth fiery sparks which illumine the Mid-court +House from roof to ground. + +'Tis a strong countenance that I see. A swoon from horror almost befell +me while staring at those three. There is nothing stranger. + +Two bare hills were there by the man with hair. Two loughs by a mountain +of the ... of a blue-fronted wave: two hides by a tree. Two boats near +them full of thorns of a white thorn tree on a circular board. And there +seems to me somewhat like a slender stream of water on which the sun is +shining, and its trickle down from it, and a hide arranged behind it, +and a palace house-post shaped like a great lance above it. A good +weight of a plough-yoke is the shaft that is therein. Liken thou that, O +Fer rogain! + +"Easy, meseems, to liken him! That is Mac cecht son of Snaide Teichid; +the battle-soldier of Conaire son of Eterscel. Good is the hero Mac +cecht! Supine he was in his room, in his sleep, when thou beheldest him. +The two bare hills which thou sawest by the man with hair, these are his +two knees by his head. The two loughs by the mountain which thou sawest, +these are his two eyes by his nose. The two hides by a tree which thou +sawest, these are his two ears by his head. The two five-thwarted boats +on a circular board, which thou sawest, these are his two sandals on his +shield. The slender stream of water which thou sawest, whereon the sun +shines, and its trickle down from it, this is the flickering of his +sword. The hide which thou sawest arranged behind him, that is his +sword's scabbard. The palace-housepost which thou sawest, that is his +lance; and he brandishes this spear till its two ends meet, and he hurls +a wilful cast of it when he pleases. Good is the hero, Mac cecht!" + +"Six hundred will fall by him in his first encounter, and a man for each +of his weapons, besides a man for himself. And he will share prowess +with every one in the Hostel, and he will boast of triumph over a king +or chief of the reavers in front of the Hostel. He will chance to escape +though wounded. And when he shall chance to come upon you out of the +house, as numerous as hailstones, and grass on a green, and stars of +heaven will be your cloven heads and skulls, and the clots of your +brains, your bones and the heaps of your bowels, crushed by him and +scattered throughout the ridges." + +Then with trembling and terror of Mac cecht they flee over three ridges. + +They took the pledges among them again, even Ger and Gabur and Fer +rogain. + +"Woe to him that shall wreak the Destruction!" says Lomna Druth; "your +heads will depart from you." + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel: "clouds of weakness are coming to you" etc. + +"True indeed, O Ingcel," says Lomna Druth son of Donn Desa. "Not unto +thee is the loss caused by the Destruction. Woe is me for the +Destruction, for the first head that will reach the Hostel will +be mine!" + +"'Tis harder for _me_," says Ingcel: "'tis _my_ destruction that has +been ... there." + +"Truly then," says Ingcel, "maybe I shall be the corpse that is frailest +there," etc. + +"And afterwards whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF CONAIRE'S THREE SONS, OBALL AND OBLIN AND CORPRE + +"There I beheld a room with a trio in it, to wit, three tender +striplings, wearing three silken mantles. In their mantles were three +golden brooches. Three golden-yellow manes were on them. When they +undergo head-cleansing their golden-yellow mane reaches the edge of +their haunches. When they raise their eye it raises the hair so that it +is not lower than the tips of their ears, and it is as curly as a ram's +head. A ... of gold and a palace-flambeau above each of them. Every one +who is in the house spares them, voice and deed and word. Liken thou +that, O Fer rogain," says Ingcel. + +Fer rogain wept, so that his mantle in front of him became moist. And no +voice was gotten out of his head till a third of the night had passed. + +"O little ones," says Fer rogain, "I have good reason for what I do! +Those are three sons of the king of Erin: Oball and Obline and +Corpre Findmor." + +"It grieves us if the tale be true," say the sons of Donn Desa. "Good is +the trio in that room. Manners of ripe maidens have they, and hearts of +brothers, and valours of bears, and furies of lions. Whosoever is in +their company and in their couch, and parts from them, he sleeps not and +eats not at ease till the end of nine days, from lack of their +companionship. Good are the youths for their age! Thrice ten will fall +by each of them in their first encounter, and a man for each weapon, and +three men for themselves. And one of the three will fall there. Because +of that trio, woe to him that shall wreak the Destruction!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel: "clouds of weakness are coming to you, etc. +And whom sawest thou afterwards?" + +THE ROOM OF THE FOMORIANS + +I beheld there a room with a trio in it, to wit, a trio horrible, +unheard-of, a triad of champions, etc. + + * * * * * + +Liken thou that, O Fer rogain? + +"'Tis hard for me to liken that trio. Neither of the men of Erin nor of +the men of the world do I know it, unless it be the trio that Mac cecht +brought out of the land of the Fomorians by dint of duels. Not one of +the Fomorians was found to fight him, so he brought away those three, +and they are in Conaire's house as sureties that, while Conaire is +reigning, the Fomorians destroy neither corn nor milk in Erin beyond +their fair tribute. Well may their aspect be loathy! Three rows of teeth +in their heads from one ear to another. An ox with a bacon-pig, this is +the ration of each of them, and that ration which they put into their +mouths is visible till it comes down past their navels. Bodies of bone +(i.e. without a joint in them) all those three have. I swear what my +tribe swears, more will be killed by them at the Destruction than those +they leave alive. Six hundred warriors will fall by them in their first +conflict, and a man for each of their weapons, and one for each of the +three themselves. And they will boast a triumph over a king or chief of +the reavers. It will not be more than with a bite or a blow or a kick +that each of those men will kill, for no arms are allowed them in the +house, since they are in 'hostageship at the wall' lest they do a +misdeed therein. I swear what my tribe swears, if they had armour on +them, they would slay us all but a third. Woe to him that shall wreak +the Destruction, because it is not a combat against sluggards." + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel, etc. "And whom sawest thou there after that?" + +THE ROOM OF MUNREMAR SON OF GERRCHENN AND BIRDERG SON OF RUAN AND MAL +SON OF TELBAND + +"I beheld a room there, with a trio in it. Three brown, big men, with +three brown heads of short hair. Thick calf-bottoms (ankles?) they had. +As thick as a man's waist was each of their limbs. Three brown and +curled masses of hair upon them, with a thick head: three cloaks, red +and speckled, they wore: three black shields with clasps of gold, and +three five-barbed javelins; and each had in hand an ivory-hilted sword. +This is the feat they perform with their swords: they throw them high +up, and they throw the scabbards after them, and the swords, before +reaching the ground, place themselves in the scabbards. Then they throw +the scabbards first, and the swords after them, and the scabbards meet +the swords and place themselves round them before they reach the ground. +Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easy for me to liken them! Mal son of Telband, and Munremar son of +Gerrchenn, and Birderg son of Ruan. Three crown-princes, three champions +of valour, three heroes the best behind weapons in Erin! A hundred +heroes will fall by them in their first conflict, and they will share +prowess with every man in the Hostel, and they will boast of the victory +over a king or chief of the reavers, and afterwards they will chance to +escape. The Destruction should not be wrought even because of +those three." + +"Woe to him that shall wreak the Destruction!" says Lomna. "Better were +the victory of saving them than the victory of slaying them! Happy he +who should save them! Woe to him that shall slay them!" + +"It is not feasible," says Ingcel, etc. "And afterwards whom sawest +thou?" + +THE ROOM OF CONALL CERNACH + +"There I beheld in a decorated room the fairest man of Erin's heroes. He +wore a tufted purple cloak. White as snow was one of his cheeks, the +other was red and speckled like foxglove. Blue as hyacinth was one of +his eyes, dark as a stag-beetle's back was the other. The bushy head of +fair golden hair upon him was as large as a reaping-basket, and it +touches the edge of his haunches. It is as curly as a ram's head. If a +sackful of red-shelled nuts were spilt on the crown of his head, not one +of them would fall on the floor, but remain on the hooks and plaits and +swordlets of their hair. A gold hilted sword in his hand; a blood-red +shield which has been speckled with rivets of white bronze between +plates of gold. A long, heavy, three-ridged spear: as thick as an outer +yoke is the shaft that is in it. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easy for me to liken him, for the men of Erin know that scion. That is +Conall Cernach, son of Amorgen. He has chanced to be along with Conaire +at this time. 'Tis he whom Conaire loves beyond every one, because of +his resemblance to him in goodness of form and shape. Goodly is the hero +that is there, Conall Cernach! To that blood-red shield on his fist, +which has been speckled with rivets of white bronze, the Ulaid have +given a famous name, to wit, the _Bricriu_ of Conall Cernach. + +"I swear what my tribe swears, plenteous will be the rain of red blood +over it to-night before the Hostel! That ridged spear above him, many +will there be unto whom to-night, before the Hostel, it will deal drinks +of death. Seven doorways there are out of the house, and Conall Cernach +will contrive to be at each of them, and from no doorway will he be +absent. Three hundred will fall by Conall in his first conflict, besides +a man for each (of his) weapons and one for himself. He will share +prowess with every one in the Hostel, and when he shall happen to sally +upon you from the house, as numerous as hailstones and grass on green +and stars of heaven will be your half-heads and cloven skulls, and your +bones under the point of his sword. He will succeed in escaping though +wounded. Woe to him that shall wreak the Destruction, were it but for +this man only!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds," etc. + +"And after that whom sawest thou?" + +THE ROOM OF CONAIRE HIMSELF + +"There I beheld a room, more beautifully decorated than the other rooms +of the house. A silvery curtain around it, and there were ornaments in +the room. I beheld a trio in it. The outer two of them were, both of +them, fair, with their hair and eyelashes; and they are as bright as +snow. A very lovely blush on the cheek of each of the twain. A tender +lad in the midst between them. The ardour and energy of a king has he, +and the counsel of a sage. The mantle I saw around him is even as the +mist of Mayday. Diverse are the hue and semblance each moment shewn upon +it. Lovelier is each hue than the other. In front of him in the mantle I +beheld a wheel of gold which reached from his chin to his navel. The +colour of his hair was like the sheen of smelted gold. Of all the +world's forms that I beheld, this is the most beautiful. I saw his +golden-hilted glaive down beside him. A forearm's length of the sword +was outside the scabbard. That forearm, a man down in the front of the +house could see a fleshworm by the shadow of the sword! Sweeter is the +melodious sounding of the sword than the melodious sound of the golden +pipes that accompany music in the palace." + +"Then," quoth Ingcel, "I said, gazing at him: + + I see a high, stately prince, etc. + + I see a famous king, etc. + + I see his white prince's diadem, etc. + + I see his two blue-bright cheeks, etc. + + I see his high wheel ... round his head ... which is over his + yellow-curly hair. + + I see his mantle red, many-coloured, etc. + + I see therein a huge brooch of gold, etc. + + I see his beautiful linen frock ... from ankle to kneecaps. + + I see his sword golden-hilted, inlaid, its in scabbard of + white silver, etc. + + I see his shield bright, chalky, etc. + + A tower of inlaid gold," etc. + +Now the tender warrior was asleep, with his feet in the lap of one of +the two men and his head in the lap of the other. Then he awoke out of +his sleep, and arose, and chanted this lay: + +"The howl of Ossar (Conaire's dog) ... cry of warriors on the summit of +Tol Geisse; a cold wind over edges perilous: a night to destroy a king +is this night." + +He slept again, and awoke thereout, and sang this rhetoric: + +"The howl of Ossar ... a battle he announced: enslavement of a people: +sack of the Hostel: mournful are the champions: men wounded: wind of +terror: hurling of javelins: trouble of unfair fight: wreck of houses: +Tara waste: a foreign heritage: like is lamenting Conaire: destruction +of corn: feast of arms: cry of screams: destruction of Erin's king: +chariots a-tottering: oppression of the king of Tara: lamentations will +overcome laughter: Ossar's howl." + +He said the third time: + +"Trouble hath been shewn to me: a multitude of elves: a host supine; +foes' prostration: a conflict of men on the Dodder[8]: oppression of +Tara's king: in youth he was destroyed; lamentations will overcome +laughter: Ossar's howl." + +[Footnote 8: A small river near Dublin, which is said to have passed +through the Bruden.--W.S.] + +"Liken thou, O Fer rogain, him who has sung that lay." + +"Easy for me to liken him," says Fer rogain. No "conflict without a +king" this. He is the most splendid and noble and beautiful and mighty +king that has come into the whole world. He is the mildest and gentlest +and most perfect king that has come to it, even Conaire son of Eterscel. +'Tis he that is overking of all Erin. There is no defect in that man, +whether in form or shape or vesture: whether in size or fitness or +proportion, whether in eye or hair or brightness, whether in wisdom or +skill or eloquence, whether in weapon or dress or appearance, whether in +splendour or abundance or dignity, whether in knowledge or valour +or kindred. + +"Great is the tenderness of the sleepy simple man till he has chanced on +a deed of valour. But if his fury and his courage be awakened when the +champions of Erin and Alba are at him in the house, the Destruction will +not be wrought so long as he is therein. Six hundred will fall by +Conaire before he shall attain his arms, and seven hundred will fall by +him in his first conflict after attaining his arms. I swear to God what +my tribe swears, unless drink be taken from him, though there be no one +else in the house, but he alone, he would hold the Hostel until help +would reach it which the man would prepare for him from the Wave of +Clidna[9] and the Wave of Assaroe[10] while ye are at the Hostel." + +[Footnote 9: In the bay of Glandore, co. Cork.--W.S.] + +[Footnote 10: At Ballyshannon, co. Donegal.--W.S.] + +"Nine doors there are to the house, and at each door a hundred warriors +will fall by his hand. And when every one in the house has ceased to ply +his weapon, 'tis then he will resort to a deed of arms. And if he chance +to come upon you out of the house, as numerous as hailstones and grass +on a green will be your halves of heads and your cloven skulls and your +bones under the edge of his sword. + +"'Tis my opinion that he will not chance to get out of the house. Dear +to him are the two that are with him in the room, his two fosterers, +Dris and Snithe. Thrice fifty warriors will fall before each of them in +front of the Hostel and not farther than a foot from him, on this side +and that, will they too fall." + +"Woe to him who shall wreak the Destruction, were it only because of +that pair and the prince that is between them, the over-king-of Erin, +Conaire son of Eterscel! Sad were the quenching of that reign!" says +Lomna Druth, son of Donn Desa. + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness are coming to you," etc. + +"Good cause hast thou, O Ingcel," says Lomna son of Donn Desa. "Not unto +_thee_ is the loss caused by the Destruction: for thou wilt carry off +the head of the king of another country, and thyself will escape. +Howbeit 'tis hard for me, for I shall be the first to be slain at +the Hostel." + +"Alas for me!" says Ingcel, "peradventure I shall be the frailest +corpse," etc. + +"And whom sawest thou afterwards?" + +THE ROOM OF THE REARGUARDS + +"There I saw twelve men on silvery hurdles all around that room of the +king. Light yellow hair was on them. Blue kilts they wore. Equally +beautiful were they, equally hardy, equally shapely. An ivory-hilted +sword in each man's hand, and they cast them not down; but it is the +horse-rods in their hands that are all round the room. Liken thou that, +O Fer rogain." + +"Easy for me to say. The king of Tara's guardsmen are there. These are +their names: three Londs of Liffey-plain: three Arts of Ath cliath +(_Dublin_): three Buders of Buagnech: and three Trenfers of Cuilne. I +swear what my tribe swears, that many will be the dead by them around +the Hostel. + +And they will escape from it although they are wounded. Woe to him who +shall wreak the Destruction were it only because of that band! And +afterwards whom sawest thou there?" + +LE FRI FLAITH SON OF CONAIRE, WHOSE LIKENESS THIS IS + +"There I beheld a red-freckled boy in a purple cloak. He is always +a-wailing in the house. A stead wherein is the king of a cantred, whom +each man takes from bosom to bosom. + +"So he is with a blue silvery chair under his seat in the midst of the +house, and he always a-wailing. Truly then, sad are his household +listening to him! Three heads of hair on that boy, and these are the +three: green hair and purple hair and all-golden hair. I know not +whether they are many appearances which the hair receives, or whether +they are three kinds of hair which are naturally upon him. But I know +that evil is the thing he dreads to-night. I beheld thrice fifty boys on +silvern chairs around him, and there were fifteen bulrushes in the hand +of that red-freckled boy, with a thorn at the end of each of the rushes. +And we were fifteen men, and our fifteen right eyes were blinded by him, +and he blinded one of the seven pupils which was in my head" saith +Ingcel. "Hast thou his like, O Fer rogain?" + +"Easy for me to liken him!" Fer rogain wept till he shed his tears of +blood over his cheeks. "Alas for him!" quoth he. This child is a 'scion +of contention' for the men of Erin with the men of Alba for hospitality, +and shape, and form and horsemanship. Sad is his slaughter! 'Tis a +'swine that goes before mast,' 'tis a babe in age! the best crown-prince +that has ever come into Erin! The child of Conaire son of Eterscel, Le +fri flaith is his name. Seven years there are in his age. It seems to me +very likely that he is miserable because of the many appearances on his +hair and the various hues that the hair assumes upon him. This is his +special household, the thrice fifty lads that are around him." + +"Woe," says Lomna, "to him that shall wreak the Destruction, were it +only because of that boy!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness are coming on you, etc." +"And after that whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF THE CUPBEARERS + +"There I saw six men in front of the same room. Fair yellow manes upon +them: green mantles about them: tin brooches at the opening of their +mantles. Half-horses (centaurs) are they, like Conall Cernach. Each of +them throws his mantle round another and is as swift as a millwheel. +Thine eye can hardly follow them. Liken thou those, O Fer rogain!" + +"This is easy for me. Those are the King of Tara's six cupbearers, +namely Uan and Broen and Banna, Delt and Drucht and Dathen. That feat +does not hinder them from their skinking, and it blunts not their +intelligence thereat. Good are the warriors that are there! Thrice their +number will fall by them. They will share prowess with any six in the +Hostel, and they will escape from their foes, for they are out of the +elfmounds. They are the best cupbearers in Erin. Woe to him that shall +wreak the Destruction were it only because of them!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds, etc." "And after that, whom sawest +thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF TULCHINNE THE JUGGLER + +"There I beheld a great champion, in front of the same room, on the +floor of the house. The shame of baldness is on him. White as mountain +cotton-grass is each hair that grows through his head. Earrings of gold +around his ears. A mantle speckled, coloured, he wore. Nine swords in +his hand, and nine silvern shields, and nine apples of gold. He throws +each of them upwards, and none of them falls on the ground, and there is +only one of them on his palm; each of them rising and falling past +another is just like the movement to and fro of bees on a day of beauty. +When he was swiftest, I beheld him at the feat, and as I looked, they +uttered a cry about him and they were all on the house-floor. Then the +Prince who is in the house said to the juggler: 'We have come together +since thou wast a little boy, and till to-night thy juggling never +failed thee.' + +"'Alas, alas, fair master Conaire, good cause have I. A keen, angry eye +looked at me: a man with the third of a pupil which sees the going of +the nine bands. Not much to him is that keen, wrathful sight! Battles +are fought with it,' saith he. 'It should be known till doomsday that +there is evil in front of the Hostel.' + +"Then he took the swords in his hand, and the silvern shields and the +apples of gold; and again they uttered a cry and were all on the floor +of the house. That amazed him, and he gave over his play and said: + +'O Fer caille, arise! Do not ... its slaughter. Sacrifice thy pig! Find +out who is in front of the house to injure the men of the Hostel.' + +'There,' said he, 'are Fer Cualngi, Fer le, Fer gar, Fer rogel, Fer +rogain. They have announced a deed which is not feeble, the annihilation +of Conaire by Donn Desa's five sons, by Conaire's five loving +fosterbrothers.' + +"Liken thou that, O Fer rogain! Who has chanted that lay?" + +"Easy for me to liken him," says Fer rogain. "Taulchinne the chief +juggler of the King of Tara; he is Conaire's conjurer. A man of great +might is that man. Thrice nine will fall by him in his first encounter, +and he will share prowess with every one in the Hostel, and he will +chance to escape therefrom though wounded. What then? Even on account of +this man only the Destruction should not be wrought." + +"Long live he who should spare him!" says Lomna Druth. + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel, etc. + +THE ROOM OF THE SWINEHERDS + +"I beheld a trio in the front of the house: three dark crowntufts on +them: three green frocks around them: three dark mantles over them: +three forked ...(?) above them on the side of the wall. Six black +greaves they had on the mast. Who are yon, O Fer rogain?" + +"Easy to say," answers Fer rogain: "the three swineherds of the king, +Dub and Donn and Dorcha: three brothers are they, three sons of Mapher +of Tara. Long live he who should protect them! woe to him who shall slay +them! for greater would be the triumph of protecting them than the +triumph of slaying them!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel, etc. + +THE ROOM OF THE PRINCIPAL CHARIOTEERS + +"I beheld another trio in front of them: three plates of gold on their +foreheads: three short aprons they wore, of grey linen embroidered with +gold: three crimson capes about them: three goads of bronze in their +hands. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"I know them," he answered. "Cul and Frecul and Forcul, the three +charioteers of the King: three of the same age: three sons of Pole and +Yoke. A man will perish by each of their weapons, and they will share +the triumph of slaughter." + +THE ROOM OF CUSCRAD SON OF CONCHOBAR + +"I beheld another room. Therein were eight swordsmen, and among them a +stripling. Black hair is on him, and very stammering speech has he. All +the folk of the Hostel listen to his counsel. Handsomest of men he is: +he wears a shirt and a bright-red mantle, with a brooch of +silver therein." + +"I know him," says Fer rogain: "'tis Cuscraid Menn of Armagh, +Conchobar's son, who is in hostageship with the king. And his guards are +those eight swordsmen around him, namely, two Flanns, two Cummains, two +Aeds, two Crimthans. They will share prowess with every one in the +Hostel, and they will chance to escape from it with their fosterling." + +THE ROOM OF THE UNDER-CHARIOTEERS + +"I beheld nine men: on the mast were they. Nine capes they wore, with a +purple loop. A plate of gold on the head of each of them. Nine goads in +their hands. Liken thou." + +"I know those," quoth Fer rogain: "Riado, Riamcobur, Riade, Buadon, +Buadchar, Buadgnad, Eirr, Ineirr, Argatlam--nine charioteers in +apprenticeship with the three chief charioteers of the king. A man will +perish at the hands of each of them," etc. + +THE ROOM OF THE ENGLISHMEN + +"On the northern side of the house I beheld nine men. Nine very yellow +manes were on them. Nine linen frocks somewhat short were round them: +nine purple plaids over them without brooches therein. Nine broad +spears, nine red curved shields above them." + +"We know them," quoth he. "Oswald and his two fosterbrothers, Osbrit +Longhand and his two fosterbrothers, Lindas and his two fosterbrothers. +Three crown-princes of England who are with the king. That set will +share victorious prowess," etc. + +THE ROOM OF THE EQUERRIES + +"I beheld another trio. Three cropt heads of hair on them, three frocks +they wore, and three mantles wrapt around them. A whip in the hand +of each." + +"I know those," quoth Fer rogain. "Echdruim, Echriud, Echruathar, the +three horsemen of the king, that is, his three equerries. Three brothers +are they, three sons of Argatron. Woe to him who shall wreak the +Destruction, were it only because of that trio." + +THE ROOM OF THE JUDGES + +"I beheld another trio in the room by them. A handsome man who had got +his baldness newly. By him were two young men with manes upon them. +Three mixed plaids they wore. A pin of silver in the mantle of each of +them. Three suits of armour above them on the wall. Liken thou that, O +Fer rogain!" + +"I know those," quoth he. "Fergus Ferde, Fergus Fordae and Domaine +Mossud, those are the king's three judges. Woe to him who shall wreak +the Destruction were it only because of that trio! A man will perish by +each of them." + +THE ROOM OF THE HARPERS + +"To the east of them I beheld another ennead. Nine branchy, curly manes +upon them. Nine grey, floating mantles about them: nine pins of gold in +their mantles. Nine rings of crystal round their arms. A thumb-ring of +gold round each man's thumb: an ear-tie of gold round each man's ear: a +torque of silver round each man's throat. Nine bags with golden faces +above them on the wall. Nine rods of white silver in their hands. Liken +thou them." + +"I know those," quoth Fer rogain. "They are the king's nine harpers, +with their nine harps above them: Side and Dide, Dulothe and Deichrinne, +Caumul and Cellgen, Ol and Olene and Olchoi. A man will perish by +each of them." + +THE ROOM OF THE CONJURORS + +"I saw another trio on the dais. Three bedgowns girt about them. +Four-cornered shields in their hands, with bosses of gold upon them. +Apples of silver they had, and small inlaid spears." + +"I know them," says Fer rogain. "Cless and Clissine and Clessamun, the +king's three conjurers. Three of the same age are they: three brothers, +three sons of Naffer Rochless. A man will perish by each of them." + +THE ROOM OF THE THREE LAMPOONEERS + +"I beheld another trio hard by the room of the King himself. Three blue +mantles around them, and three bedgowns with red insertion over them. +Their arms had been hung above them on the wall." + +"I know those," quoth he. "Dris and Draigen and Aittit ('Thorn and +Bramble and Furze'), the king's three lampooners, three sons of Sciath +foilt. A man will perish by each of their weapons." + +THE ROOM OF THE BADBS + +"I beheld a trio, naked, on the roof-tree of the house: their jets of +blood coming through them, and the ropes of their slaughter on +their necks." + +"Those I know," saith he, "three ... of awful boding. Those are the +three that are slaughtered at every time." + +THE ROOM OF THE KITCHENERS + +"I beheld a trio cooking, in short inlaid aprons: a fair grey man, and +two youths in his company." + +"I know those," quoth Fer rogain: "they are the King's three chief +kitcheners, namely, the Dagdae and his two fosterlings, Seig and Segdae, +the two sons of Rofer Singlespit. A man will perish by each of +them," etc. + +"I beheld another trio there. Three plates of gold over their heads. +Three speckled mantles about them: three linen shirts with red +insertion: three golden brooches in their mantles: three wooden darts +above them on the wall." + +"Those I know," says Fer rogain: "the three poets of that king: Sui and +Rodui and Fordui: three of the same age, three brothers: three sons of +Maphar of the Mighty Song. A man will perish for each of them, and every +pair will keep between them one man's victory. Woe to him who shall +wreak the Destruction!" etc. + +THE ROOM OF THE SERVANT-GUARDS + +"There I beheld two warriors standing over the king. Two curved shields +they had, and two great pointed swords. Red kilts they wore, and in the +mantles pins of white silver." + +"Bole and Root are those," quoth he, "the king's two guards, two sons of +Maffer Toll." + +THE ROOM OF THE KING'S GUARDSMEN + +"I beheld nine men in a room there in front of the same room. Fair +yellow manes upon them: short aprons they wore and spotted capes: they +carried smiting shields. An ivory-hilted sword in the hand of each of +them, and whoever enters the house they essay to smite him with the +swords. No one dares to go to the room of the King without their +consent. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easy for me is that. Three Mochmatnechs of Meath, three Buageltachs of +Bregia, three Sostachs of Sliab Fuait, the nine guardsmen of that King. +Nine decads will fall by them in their first conflict, etc. Woe to him +that shall wreak the Destruction because of them only!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness," etc. "And whom sawest +thou then?" + +THE ROOM OF NIA AND BRUTHNE, CONAIRE'S TWO WAITERS + +"There I beheld another room, and a pair was in it, and they are +'oxtubs,' stout and thick. Aprons they wore, and the men were dark and +brown. They had short back-hair on them, but high upon their foreheads. +They are as swift as a waterwheel, each of them past another, one of +them to the King's room, the other to the fire. Liken thou those, O +Fer rogain!" + +"Easy to me. They are Nia and Bruthne, Conaire's two table-servants. +They are the pair that is best in Erin for their lord's advantage. What +causes brownness to them and height to their hair is their frequent +haunting of the fire. In the world is no pair better in their art than +they. Thrice nine men will fall by them in their first encounter, and +they will share prowess with every one, and they will chance to escape. +And after that whom sawest thou?" + +THE ROOM OF SENCHA AND DUBTHACH AND GOBNIU SON OF LURGNECH + +"I beheld the room that is next to Conaire. Three chief champions, in +their first greyness, are therein. As thick as a man's waist is each of +their limbs. They have three black swords, each as long as a weaver's +beam. These swords would split a hair on water. A great lance in the +hand of the midmost man, with fifty rivets through it. The shaft therein +is a good load for the yoke of a plough-team. The midmost man brandishes +that lance so that its edge-studs hardly stay therein, and he strikes +the haft thrice against his palm. There is a great boiler in front of +them, as big as a calf's caldron, wherein is a black and horrible +liquid. Moreover he plunges the lance into that black fluid. If its +quenching be delayed it flames on its shaft and then thou wouldst +suppose that there is a fiery dragon in the top of the house. Liken thou +that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easy to say. Three heroes who are best at grasping weapons in Erin, +namely, Sencha the beautiful son of Ailill, and Dubthach Chafer of +Ulaid, and Goibnenn son of Lurgnech. And the _Luin_ of Celtchar son of +Uthider which was found in the battle of Mag Tured, this is in the hand +of Dubthach Chafer of Ulaid. That feat is usual for it when it is ripe +to pour forth a foeman's blood. A caldron full of poison is needed to +quench it when a deed of man-slaying is expected. Unless this come to +the lance, it flames on its haft and will go through its bearer or the +master of the palace wherein it is. If it be a blow that is to be given +thereby it will kill a man at every blow, when it is at that feat, from +one hour to another, though it may not reach him. And if it be a cast, +it will kill nine men at every cast, and one of the nine will be a king +or crown-prince or chieftain of the reavers. + +"I swear what my tribe swears, there will be a multitude unto whom +tonight the _Luin_ of Celtchar will deal drinks of death in front of the +Hostel. I swear to God what my tribe swears that, in their first +encounter, three hundred will fall by that trio, and they will share +prowess with every three in the Hostel tonight. And they will boast of +victory over a king or chief of the reavers, and the three will chance +to escape." + +"Woe," says Lomna Druth, "to him who shall wreak the Destruction, were +it only because of that trio!" + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel, etc. "And after that, whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF THE THREE MANX GIANTS + +"There I beheld a room with a trio in it. Three men mighty, manly, +overbearing, which see no one abiding at their three hideous crooked +aspects. A fearful view because of the terror of them. A ... dress of +rough hair covers them ... of cow's hair, without garments enwrapping +down to the right heels. With three manes, equine, awful, majestic, down +to their sides. Fierce heroes who wield against foeman hard-smiting +swords. A blow, they give with three iron flails having seven chains +triple-twisted, three-edged, with seven iron knobs at the end of every +chain: each of them as heavy as an ingot of ten smeltings. Three big +brown men. Dark equine back-manes on them, which reach their two heels. +Two good thirds of an oxhide in the girdle round each one's waist, and +each quadrangular clasp that closes it as thick as a man's thigh. The +raiment that is round them is the dress that grows through them. Tresses +of their back-manes were spread, and a long staff of iron, as long and +thick as an outer yoke was in each man's hand, and an iron chain out of +the end of every club, and at the end of every chain an iron pestle as +long and thick as a middle yoke. They stand in their sadness in the +house, and enough is the horror of their aspect. There is no one in the +house that would not be avoiding them. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +Fer rogain was silent. "Hard for me to liken them. I know none such of +the world's men unless they be yon trio of giants to whom Cuchulainn +gave quarter at the beleaguerment of the Men of Falga, and when they +were getting quarter they killed fifty warriors. But Cuchulainn would +not let them be slain, because of their wondrousness. These are the +names of the three: Srubdaire son of Dordbruige, and Conchenn of Cenn +maige, and Fiad sceme son of Scipe. Conaire bought them from Cuchulainn +for ... so they are along with him. Three hundred will fall by them in +their first encounter, and they will surpass in prowess every three in +the Hostel; and if they come forth upon you, the fragments of you will +be fit to go through the sieve of a corn-kiln, from the way in which +they will destroy you with the flails of iron. Woe to him that shall +wreak the Destruction, though it were only on account of those three! +For to combat against them is not a 'paean round a sluggard.'" "Ye +cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness are coming to you," etc. "And +after that, whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF DA DERGA + +"There I beheld another room, with one man therein and in front of him +two servants with two manes upon them, one of the two dark, the other +fair. Red hair on the warrior, and red eyebrows. Two ruddy cheeks he +had, and an eye very blue and beautiful. He wore a green cloak and a +shirt with a white hood and a red insertion. In his hand was a sword +with a hilt of ivory, and he supplies attendance of every room in the +house with ale and food, and he is quick-footed in serving the whole +host. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"I know those men. That one is Da Derga. 'Tis by him that the Hostel was +built, and since it was built its doors have never been shut save on the +side to which the wind comes--the valve is closed against it--and since +he began housekeeping his caldron was never taken from the fire, but it +has been boiling food for the men of Erin. The pair before him, those +two youths, are his fosterlings, two sons of the king of Leinster, +namely Muredach and Corpre. Three decads will fall by that trio in front +of their house and they will boast of victory over a king or a chief of +the reavers. After this they will chance to escape from it." + +"Long live he who should protect them!" says Lomna. + +"Better were triumph of saving them than triumph of slaying them! They +should be spared were it only on account of that man. 'Twere meet to +give that man quarter," says Lomna Druth. + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds," etc. "And after that whom sawest +thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF THE THREE CHAMPIONS FROM THE ELFMOUNDS + +"There I beheld a room with a trio in it. Three red mantles they wore, +and three red shirts, and three red heads of hair were on them. Red were +they all together with their teeth. Three red shields above them. Three +red spears in their hands. Three red horses in their bridles in front of +the Hostel. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done. Three champions who wrought falsehood in the elfmounds. +This is the punishment inflicted upon them by the king of the elfmounds, +to be destroyed thrice by the King of Tara. Conaire son of Eterscel is +the last king by whom they are destroyed. Those men will escape from +you. To fulfil their own destruction, they have come. But they will not +be slain, nor will they slay anyone. And after that whom sawest thou?" + +THE ROOM OF THE DOORWARDS + +"There I beheld a trio in the midst of the house at the door. Three +holed maces in their hands. Swift as a hare was each of them round the +other towards the door. Aprons were on them, and they had gray and +speckled mantles. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done: Three doorwardens of Tara's King are those, namely Echur +('Key') and Tochur and Tecmang, three sons of Ersa ('Doorpost') and +Comla ('Valve'). Thrice their number will fall by them, and they will +share a man's triumph among them. They will chance to escape +though wounded." + +"Woe to him that shall wreak!" etc., says Lomna Druth. + +"Ye cannot," says Ingcel, etc. "And after that whom sawest thou?" + +THE ROOM OF FER CAILLE + +"There I beheld at the fire in front a man with black cropt hair, having +only one eye and one foot and one hand, having on the fire a pig bald, +black, singed, squealing continually, and in his company a great +big-mouthed woman. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done: Fer caille with his pig and his wife Cichuil. They (the +wife and the pig) are his proper instruments on the night that ye +destroy Conaire King of Erin. Alas for the guest who will run between +them! Fer caille with his pig is one of Conaire's tabus." + +"Woe to him who shall wreak the Destruction!" says Lomna. + +"Ye cannot," quoth Ingcel. "And after that, whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF THE THREE SONS OF BAITHIS OF BRITAIN + +"There I beheld a room with three enneads in it. Fair yellow manes upon +them, and they are equally beautiful. Each of them wore a black cape, +and there was a white hood on each mantle, a red tuft on each hood, and +an iron brooch at the opening of every mantle, and under each man's +cloak a huge black sword, and the swords would split a hair on water. +They bore shields with scalloped edges. Liken thou them, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done. That is the robber-band of the three sons of Baithis of +Britain. Three enneads will fall by them in their first conflict, and +among them they will share a man's triumph. And after that whom +sawest thou?" + +THE ROOM OF THE MIMES + +"There I beheld a trio of jesters hard by the fire. Three dun mantles +they wore. If the men of Erin were in one place, even though the corpse +of his mother or his father were in front of each, not one could refrain +from laughing at them. Wheresoever the king of a cantred is in the +house, not one of them attains his seat on his bed because of that trio +of jesters. Whenever the king's eye visits them it smiles at every +glance. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done. Mael and Mlithe and Admlithe--those are the king of Erin's +three jesters. By each of them a man will perish, and among them they +will share a man's triumph." + +"Woe to him that will wreak the Destruction!" says Lomna, etc. "And +after that whom sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF THE CUPBEARERS + +"There I beheld a room with a trio in it. Three grey-floating mantles +they wore. There was a cup of water in front of each man, and on each +cup a bunch of watercress. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!" + +"Easily done. Black and Dun and Dark: they are the King of Tara's three +cupbearers, to wit, the sons of Day and Night. And after that, whom +sawest thou there?" + +THE ROOM OF NAR THE SQUINTER-WITH-THE-LEFT-EYE + +"There I beheld a one-eyed man asquint with a ruinous eye. A swine's +head he had on the fire, continually squealing. Liken thou that, O +Fer rogain!" + +"Easy for me to name the like. He is Nar the Squinter with the left eye, +the swineherd of Bodb of the Elfmound on Femen, 'tis he that is over the +cooking. Blood hath been spilt at every feast at which he has ever +been present." + + * * * * * + +"Rise up, then, ye champions!" says Ingcel, "and get you on to the +house!" + +With that the reavers march to the Hostel, and made a murmur about it. + +"Silence a while!" says Conaire, "what is this?" + +"Champions at the house," says Conall Cernach. + +"There are warriors for them here," answers Conaire. + +"They will be needed tonight," Conall Cernach rejoins. + +Then went Lomna Druth before the host of reavers into the Hostel. The +doorkeepers struck off his head. Then the head was thrice flung into the +Hostel, and thrice cast out of it, as he himself had foretold. + +Then Conaire himself sallies out of the Hostel together with some of his +people, and they fight a combat with the host of reavers, and six +hundred fell by Conaire before he could get to his arms. Then the Hostel +is thrice set on fire, and thrice put out from thence: and it was +granted that the Destruction would never have been wrought had not work +of weapons been taken from Conaire. + +Thereafter Conaire went to seek his arms, and he dons his battle-dress, +and falls to plying his weapons on the reavers, together with the band +that he had. Then, after getting his arms, six hundred fell by him in +his first encounter. + +After this the reavers were routed. "I have told you," says Fer rogain +son of Donn Desa, "that if the champions of the men of Erin and Alba +attack Conaire at the house, the Destruction will not be wrought unless +Conaire's fury and valour be quelled." + +"Short will his time be," say the wizards along with the reavers. This +was the quelling they brought, a scantness of drink that seized him. + +Thereafter Conaire entered the house, and asked for a drink. + +"A drink to me, O master Mac cecht!" says Conaire. + +Says Mac cecht: "This is not the order that I have hitherto had from +thee, to give thee a drink. There are spencers and cupbearers who bring +drink to thee. The order I have hitherto had from thee is to protect +thee when the champions of the men of Erin and Alba may be attacking +thee around the Hostel. Thou wilt go safe from them, and no spear shall +enter thy body. Ask a drink of thy spencers and thy cupbearers." + +Then Conaire asked a drink of his spencers and his cupbearers who were +in the house. + +"In the first place there is none," they say; "all the liquids that had +been in the house have been spilt on the fires." + +The cupbears found no drink for him in the Dodder (a river), and the +Dodder had flowed through the house. + +Then Conaire again asked for a drink. "A drink to me, O fosterer, O Mac +cecht! 'Tis equal to me what death I shall go to, for anyhow I +shall perish." + +Then Mac cecht gave a choice to the champions of valour of the men of +Erin who were in the house, whether they cared to protect the King or to +seek a drink for him. + +Conall Cernach answered this in the house--and cruel he deemed the +contention, and afterwards he had always a feud with Mac cecht.--"Leave +the defence of the King to _us_," says Conall, "and go thou to seek the +drink, for of thee it is demanded." + +So then Mac cecht fared forth to seek the drink, and he took Conaire's +son, Le fri flaith, under his armpit, and Conaire's golden cup, in which +an ox with a bacon-pig would be boiled; and he bore his shield and his +two spears and his sword, and he carried the caldron-spit, a spit +of iron. + +He burst forth upon them, and in front of the Hostel he dealt nine blows +of the iron spit, and at every blow nine reavers fell. Then he makes a +sloping feat of the shield and an edge-feat of the sword about his head, +and he delivered a hostile attack upon them. Six hundred fell in his +first encounter, and after cutting down hundreds he goes through the +band outside. + +The doings of the folk of the Hostel, this is what is here examined, +presently. + +Conall Cernach arises, and takes his weapons, and wends over the door of +the Hostel, and goes round the house. Three hundred fell by him, and he +hurls back the reavers over three ridges out from the Hostel, and boasts +of triumph over a king, and returns, wounded, into the Hostel. + +Cormac Condlongas sallies out, and his nine comrades with him, and they +deliver their onsets on the reavers. Nine enneads fall by Cormac and +nine enneads by his people, and a man for each weapon and a man for each +man. And Cormac boasts of the death of a chief of the reavers. They +succeed in escaping though they be wounded. + +The trio of Picts sally forth from the Hostel, and take to plying their +weapons on the reavers. And nine enneads fall by them, and they chance +to escape though they be wounded. + +The nine pipers sally forth and dash their warlike work on the reavers; +and then they succeed in escaping. + +Howbeit then, but it is long to relate, 'tis weariness of mind, 'tis +confusion of the senses, 'tis tediousness to hearers, 'tis superfluity +of narration to go over the same things twice. But the folk of the +Hostel came forth in order, and fought their combats with the reavers, +and fell by them, as Fer rogain and Lomna Druth had said to Ingcel, to +wit, that the folk of every room would sally forth still and deliver +their combat, and after that escape. So that none were left in the +Hostel in Conaire's company save Conall and Sencha and Dubthach. + +Now from the vehement ardour and the greatness of the contest which +Conaire had fought, his great drouth of thirst attacked him, and he +perished of a consuming fever, for he got not his drink. So when the +king died those three sally out of the Hostel, and deliver a wily stroke +of reaving on the reavers, and fare forth from the Hostel, wounded, +to-broken and maimed. + +Touching Mac cecht, however, he went his way till he reached the Well of +Casair, which was near him in Crich Cualann; but of water he found not +therein the full of his cup, that is, Conaire's golden cup which he had +brought in his hand. Before morning he had gone round the chief rivers +of Erin, to wit, Bush, Boyne, Bann, Barrow, Neim, Luae, Laigdae, +Shannon, Suir, Sligo, Samair, Find, Ruirthech, Slaney, and in them he +found not the full of his cup of water. + +Then before morning he had travelled to the chief lakes of Erin, to wit, +Lough Derg, Loch Luimnig, Lough Foyle, Lough Mask, Long Corrib, Loch +Laig, Loch Cuan, Lough Neagh, Morloch, and of water he found not therein +the full of his cup. + +He went his way till he reached Uaran Garad on Magh Ai. It could not +hide itself from him: so he brought thereout the full of his cup, and +the boy fell under his covering. + +After this he went on and reached Da Derga's Hostel before morning. + +When Mac cecht went across the third ridge towards the house, 'tis there +were twain striking off Conaire's head. Then Mac cecht strikes off the +head of one of the two men who were beheading Conaire. The other man +then was fleeing forth with the king's head. A pillar-stone chanced to +be under Mac cecht's feet on the floor of the Hostel. He hurls it at the +man who had Conaire's head and drove it through his spine, so that his +back broke. After this Mac cecht beheads him. Mac cecht then spilt the +cup of water into Conaire's gullet and neck. Then said Conaire's head, +after the water had been put into its neck and gullet: + + "A good man Mac cecht! an excellent man Mac cecht! + A good warrior without, good within, + He gives a drink, he saves a king, he doth a deed. + Well he ended the champions I found. + He sent a flagstone on the warriors. + Well he hewed by the door of the Hostel ... Fer le, + So that a spear is against one hip. + Good should I be to far-renowned Mac cecht + If I were alive. A good man!" + +After this Mac cecht followed the routed foe. + +'Tis this that some books relate, that but a very few fell around +Conaire, namely, nine only. And hardly a fugitive escaped to tell the +tidings to the champions who had been at the house. + +Where there had been five thousand--and in every thousand ten +hundred--only one set of five escaped, namely Ingcel, and his two +brothers Echell and Tulchinne, the "Yearling of the Reavers"--three +great-grandsons of Conmac, and the two Reds of Roiriu who had been the +first to wound Conaire. + +Thereafter Ingcel went into Alba, and received the kingship after his +father, since he had taken home triumph over a king of another country. + +This, however, is the recension in other books, and it is more probably +truer. Of the folk of the Hostel forty or fifty fell, and of the reavers +three fourths and one fourth of them only escaped from the Destruction. + +Now when Mac cecht was lying wounded on the battle-field, at the end of +the third day, he saw a woman passing by. + +"Come hither, O woman!" says Mac cecht. + +"I dare not go thus," says the woman, "for horror and fear of thee." + +"There _was_ a time when I had this, O woman, even horror and fear of me +on some one. But now thou shouldst fear nothing. I accept thee on the +truth of my honour and my safeguard." + +Then the woman goes to him. + +"I know not," says he, "whether it is a fly or a gnat, or an ant that +nips me in the wound." + +It happened that it was a hairy wolf that was there, as far as its two +shoulders in the wound! + +The woman seized it by the tail, and dragged it out of the wound, and it +takes the full of its jaws out of him. + +"Truly," says the woman, "this is 'an ant of ancient land.'" + +Says Mac cecht "I swear to God what my people swears, I deemed it no +bigger than a fly, or a gnat, or an ant." + +And Mac cecht took the wolf by the throat, and struck it a blow on the +forehead, and killed it with a single blow. + +Then Le fri flaith, son of Conaire, died under Mac cecht's armpit, for +the warrior's heat and sweat had dissolved him. + +Thereafter Mac cecht, having cleansed the slaughter, at the end of the +third day, set forth, and he dragged Conaire with him on his back, and +buried him at Tara, as some say. Then Mac cecht departed into Connaught, +to his own country, that he might work his cure in Mag Brengair. +Wherefore the name clave to the plain from Mac cecht's misery, that is, +Mag Bren-guir. + +Now Conall Cernach escaped from the Hostel, and thrice fifty spears had +gone through the arm which upheld his shield. He fared forth till he +reached his father's house, with half his shield in his hand, and his +sword, and the fragments of his two spears. Then he found his father +before his garth in Taltiu. + +"Swift are the wolves that have hunted thee, my son," saith his father. + +"'Tis this that has wounded us, thou old hero, an evil conflict with +warriors," Conall Cernach replied. + +"Hast thou then news of Da Derga's Hostel?" asked Amorgin. "Is thy lord +alive?" + +"He is _not_ alive," says Conall. + +"I swear to God what the great tribes of Ulaid swear, it is cowardly for +the man who went thereout alive, having left his lord with his foes +in death." + +"My wounds are not white, thou old hero," says Conall. + +He shews him his shield-arm, whereon were thrice fifty wounds: this is +what was inflicted upon it. The shield that guarded it is what saved it. +But the right arm had been played upon, as far as two thirds thereof, +since the shield had not been guarding it. That arm was mangled and +maimed and wounded and pierced, save that the sinews kept it to the body +without separation. + +"That arm fought tonight, my son," says Amorgein. + +"True is that, thou old hero," says Conall Cernach. "Many there are unto +whom it gave drinks of death tonight in front of the Hostel." + +Now as to the reavers, every one of them that escaped from the Hostel +went to the cairn which they had built on the night before last, and +they brought thereout a stone for each man not mortally wounded. So this +is what they lost by death at the Hostel, a man for every stone that is +(now) in Carn Lecca. + + +It endeth: Amen: it endeth. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Harvard Classics, Volume 49, Epic +and Saga, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EPIC AND SAGA *** + +***** This file should be named 14019.txt or 14019.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/0/1/14019/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Charlie Kirschner and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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