FullReads

“No one sent me,” he said. “My mother lay very cold and still and would not speak, and she had said my father would come back no more, so there was none but me to seek her food. Give me the wine, I say! for she is so cold and so very, very white”–and the child struggled to free his hand that still held the cup.

“Who art thou, then?” asked Charlemagne.

“My name is Roland–let me go, I pray thee,” and again he tried to drag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:

“Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a clever thief.”

Then anger blazed in Roland’s eyes.

“My mother is a lady of high degree!” he cried, “and I am her page, her cupbearer, her knight! I do not speak false words!”–and he would have struck the King for very rage.

Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked–“Who is this child?”

And one made answer: “He is the son of thy sister Bertha, and of Milon the knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone.”

Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he found that his sister had so nearly died of want, and from that day she never knew aught but kindness and tenderness from him, while Roland was dear to him as his own child.

He was a Douzepere now, and when the envoys from Saragossa had delivered their message to Charlemagne, he was one of those who helped to do them honour at a great feast that was held for them in a pavilion raised in the orchard.

Early in the morning Charlemagne heard mass, and then, on his golden throne under the great pine, he sat and took counsel with his Douzeperes. Not one of them trusted Marsile, but Ganelon, who had married the widowed Bertha and who had a jealous hatred for his step-son–so beloved by his mother, so loved and honoured by the King–was ever ready to oppose the counsel of Roland. Thus did he persuade Charlemagne to send a messenger to Marsile, commanding him to deliver up the keys of Saragossa, in all haste to become a Christian, and in person to come and, with all humility, pay homage as vassal to Charlemagne.

Then arose the question as to which of the peers should bear the arrogant message. Roland, ever greedy for the post of danger, impetuously asked that he might be chosen. But Charlemagne would have neither him nor his dear friend and fellow-knight, Oliver–he who was the Jonathan of Roland’s David–nor would he have Naismes de Baviere, nor Turpin, “the chivalrous and undaunted Bishop of Rheims.” He could not afford to risk their lives, and Marsile was known to be treacherous. Then he said to his peers:

“Choose ye for me whom I shall send. Let it be one who is wise; brave, yet not over-rash, and who will defend mine honour valiantly.”

Then Roland, who never knew an ungenerous thought, quickly said: “Then, indeed, it must be Ganelon who goes, for if he goes, or if he stays, you have none better than he.”

And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said to Ganelon:

“Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voice of all the Franks have given to thee.”

But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be an honour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:

“You and your friends have sent me to my death!” he cried. “But if by a miracle I should return, look you to yourself, Roland, for assuredly I shall be revenged!”

And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:

“I had taken thee for another man, Ganelon. Gladly will I take thy place. Wilt give me the honour to bear thy staff and glove to Saragossa, sire?” And eagerly he looked Charlemagne in the face–eager as, when a child, he had craved the cup of wine for his mother’s sake.