Now the whole Frankish army marched towards the Pyrenees, and, as evening fell, found themselves among the mountains, where Roland planted his banner on the topmost summit, clear against the sky, and the army encamped for the night; but the whole Saracen host had also marched and encamped in a wood not far from the Franks. Meanwhile, as Charlemagne slept he had dreams of evil omen. Ganelon, in his dreams, seized the imperial spear of tough ash-wood, and broke it, so that the splinters flew far and wide. In another dream he saw himself at Aix attacked by a leopard and a bear, which tore off his right arm; a greyhound came to his aid but he knew not the end of the fray, and slept unhappily.
A Morning Council
When morning light shone, and the army was ready to march, the clarions of the host sounded gaily, and Charlemagne called his barons around him.
“‘My lords and Peers, ye see these strait defiles:
Choose ye to whom the rearguard shall be given.’
‘My stepson Roland,’ straight quoth Ganelon.
‘’Mid all the Peers there is no braver knight:
In him will lie the safety of your host.’
Charles heard in wrath, and spoke in angry tones:
‘What fiendish rage has prompted this advice?
Who then will go before me in the van?’
The traitor tarried not, but answered swift:
‘Ogier the Dane will do that duty best.’”
When Roland heard that he was to command the rearguard he knew not whether to be pleased or not. At first he thanked Ganelon for naming him. “Thanks, fair stepfather, for sending me to the post of danger. King Charles shall lose no man nor horse through my neglect.” But when Ganelon replied sneeringly, “You speak the truth, as I know right well,” Roland’s gratitude turned to bitter anger, and he reproached the villain. “Ah, wretch! disloyal traitor! thou thinkest perchance that I, like thee, shall basely drop the glove, but thou shalt see! Sir King, give me your bow. I will not let my badge of office fall, as thou didst, Ganelon, at Cordova. No evil omen shall assail the host through me.”
Roland for the Rearguard
Charlemagne was very loath to grant his request, but on the advice of Duke Naimes, most prudent of counsellors, he gave to Roland his bow, and offered to leave with him half the army. To this the champion would not agree, but would only have twenty thousand Franks from fair France. Roland clad himself in his shining armour, laced on his lordly helmet, girt himself with his famous sword Durendala, and hung round his neck his flower-painted shield; he mounted his good steed Veillantif, and took in hand his bright lance with the white pennon and golden fringe; then, looking like the Archangel St. Michael, he rode forward, and easy it was to see how all the Franks loved him and would follow where he led. Beside him rode the famous Peers of France, Oliver the bold and courteous, the saintly Archbishop Turpin, and Count Gautier, Roland’s loyal vassal. They chose carefully the twenty thousand French for the rearguard, and Roland sent Gautier with one thousand of their number to search the mountains. Alas! they never returned, for King Almaris, a Saracen chief, met and slew them all among the hills; and only Gautier, sorely wounded and bleeding to death, returned to Roland in the final struggle.
Charlemagne spoke a mournful “Farewell” to his nephew and the rearguard, and the mighty army began to traverse the gloomy ravine through the dark masses of rocks, and to emerge on the other side of the Pyrenees. All wept, most for joy to set eyes on that dear land of fair France, which for seven years they had not seen; but Charles, with a sad foreboding of disaster, hid his eyes beneath his cloak and wept in silence.