AFTERWORD

One tidbit was discovered by lucky chance when I set out to write the story down. I’d missed it completely when reading it through.

In a modern novel, the words “he thought” appear almost as often as “he said.” The idea of following a character’s thoughts is so natural to us that we forget it’s a modern invention.[1]

It matters because that just doesn’t happen in Caxton’s work. With one fascinating exception, what you see is what you get. Surprisingly enough, the exception is Ganelon. At several points he says one thing “while secretly wishing” for another to come true.

I tried to adopt this rule wherever I could. Except as driven by the limits of my ability to tell the tale, characters do not “think” beyond what they say and do.

The Bigger Picture

References to other events in the Carolingian Cycle appear constantly in Caxton’s work, and I have tried to do the same. There were isolated cases where I chose not to (most notably with regard to the relics, as discussed above), but as a general matter I’ve tried to maintain the tale’s status as part of a larger cycle. You don’t need to know those details – the story should stand on its own – but it adds extra layers in the same way that long time readers adore the way one Perry Mason book will subtly refer to another.

A Medieval audience would have known the cycle by heart, of course, and I can’t escape a powerful image of two friends listening to the story and elbowing each other about the “in” jokes.

For example: the only Paladins who die in this story are Duke Basyn of Bordeaux and his oldest son. The fact that he comes from Bordeaux makes not difference within the tale, but it’s a big clue to another part of the cycle. Bordeaux was the home of Huon, the main character of a famous story that’s set about ten or fifteen years ahead. The story begins with Huon as a young man coming into a huge inheritance that includes the Duchy of Bordeaux. His father had died some years before in service to the King, while Huon was a child at home. Huon is coming to claim his rights, but Aloys has come up with a scheme . . .

The Ghost of the “Song of Roland”

A more important example is the pervading influence of the “Song of Roland”. I discussed this a bit in the Introduction, but now that you’ve finished I’d like to explore it in a little more detail.

If you asked someone whether they knew any of the Charlemagne stories and the answer was “yes”, I’d lay good odds that more than 90% would be thinking of the “Song of Roland.” In Caxton’s day you’d have been hard pressed to find a person who didn’t know the tale. Here is a bare bones summary of the plot as I perform it:[2]

Charlemagne is about to conquer the last bit of Spain, but he wants to send a messenger with his usual final terms: “If you forsake Mahon and your other gods, consent to be baptized, and agree to be Our friend (i.e., vassal), we’ll avoid the unpleasantness that would otherwise follow.” He chooses Ganelon to deliver it, this time to a city that’s several days march away and heavily walled and defended.

Ganelon arrives, but doesn’t give the ultimatum. Instead, he suggests the following plan: The Saracen King will make a number of paper promises to Charlemagne, and deliver an enormous treasure as a token of good faith. Ganelon will see to it that Roland ends up in command of the treasure party at the rear of the French army. The Saracens can then ambush that party and kill Roland, whom they view as the devil and Ganelon sees as the source of all his trouble. Ganelon then explains how they’ll have to do it.

Next scene: Roncevalles. Roland, Oliver and another Paladin or two (often Archbishop Turpin) are escorting the treasure with a rear guard of 5,000 men. Out of the hills come 10,000 Saracens. “Maybe you should blow your horn to call for help,” says Turpin. “For a mere 2:1 odds?” replies Roland. “Never.” And at a mere 2:1 odds the French begin to win the day.

Then 20,000 more come out of the hills, making the odds 6:1. Now it’s Oliver who suggests blowing the horn, but Roland still won’t. “If I wouldn’t blow it before, it would be cowardice to do it now. Besides, we’ve won against this sort of odds before.” And at 6:1 odds the fight’s about even.

When everyone’s engaged, a final 40,000 Saracens pour down the hills and the French position is overwhelmed. Recognizing a disaster, Roland blows his horn at last, to see if anyone can be saved. Charlemagne wants to turn back, but Ganelon convinces him it was a hunting horn, not Roland’s. Some time passes and the disaster gets worse. Again Roland blows the horn, and again Ganelon convinces the King it’s not worth turning back. The third time, Roland blows so hard that his horn shatters in his hand, and now the King insists.

While Charlemagne has delayed, the French have been slaughtered. At last there’s no one left but Roland. Suffering from terrible wounds, he digs his way out from the pile of Saracen corpses that had covered him over and wanders the field to see who lived. The answer is, “No one.”

He knows it’s all his fault. If only he’d been less proud . . . At last he comes to a mound of Saracen corpses several feet taller than he is. He climbs up and finds Oliver dead at the peak – slain more by Roland’s hubris than any of the enemy’s blades.

That realization does what the enemy never could. Roland’s heart breaks, and with it the will that could shrug off so many wounds. He sits down, facing the enemy, and quietly dies with his sword in his hand.[3]

When Charlemagne arrives he realizes what must have happened, and that Ganelon planned it all. The traitor is torn asunder (by four horses), and the King turns back for home. With Roland gone he never returns to Spain and the Conquest goes unfinished.

How very schmaltzy. How very medieval. And yet, on the other hand, how else could Roland die? What could slay the greatest of knights except for a broken heart?

With that summary in mind, look at what happened in “The Admiral of Spain.” First, over and over we see Roland getting away with exactly the sort of seeming arrogance that killed him in the end.

• When the rescue party is riding toward Aygremore, twice their number of Saracen kings and champions attacks them. Roland crushes the leader’s helmet like cloth and they rapidly slay the rest.
• In the Tower he gets away with comparing the Admiral to the corpse of a dog that’s rotting in the sun, then goes through six elite guards so fast that the Admiral barely has time to leap out a window and into the moat.
• When the Paladins first ride out for supplies in Chapter 3, ten of them slay 500 of the enemy in a space of minutes. The Saracens begin to take command, however, when their great champion Rampyr organizes the throng. Roland solves that by carving open a path and popping his head in the air.
• When Guy is rescued from the gallows, a party of 5,000 Turks ambushes the party. Roland runs into a real challenge in the form of their Captain, Cornyfer. He actually gets in three good shots before the knight gets a chance to strike back. By that time Roland’s a little peeved, however, so with one blow he cuts Cornyfer, the saddle and the horse in two – which has a discouraging effect on the rest of the Turks.
• Before Richard rides out with the message for Charles, it’s Roland who volunteered. The others shouted him down. They recognize his unique value. As Naymon says, “The Pagans’ dread of your hand is half our defense. If they discovered you gone, the Admiral’s host would drown us like the tide; we could stack bodies like hay in the harvest and still they would not pause.”
• During the final assault on the Tower (as managed by Brullant, who knows what he’s doing) there’s a point where they all get ready to die. Ogier makes a stirring farewell speech, and the enemy make the mistake of breaking in while Roland’s still stirred. He leaps in their midst, kills 19 men in half as many seconds, and sends the rest screaming down the stairs. That gains back two levels, which turns out to be just enough.
• And at the end, of course, Roland and the others win the day by setting the 20,000 man Saracen reserve into a panicked flight straight into the rear of the enemy lines. Most of that was Roland, too: “Heads sprang up around him like quail fleeing from a monstrous hound.” Or as Caxton said, “for there was never lark fled more fearfully before the hawk than the Saracens fled before Roland.”[4]

Can you blame Roland for thinking that 2:1 odds at Roncevalles weren’t a good enough reason to call for help? Or even 6:1?

The essence of Ganelon’s treason lay in his knowledge of how Roland’s mind would work: If all the Saracens had attacked at once, he would have called for help, or else managed one of his miraculous escapes. Ganelon realized you first had to engage him, then pin him, and only at the end sneak in the fatal blow. And as noted above, even that wasn’t quite enough – you also had to kill Oliver first.

The parallels between that story and this one are as heavy-handed as they get. Even in that company, however, Ganelon’s ride in Chapter 7 has to stand out. Everyone knows that his mission is the next thing to suicide, but he takes it on anyway – with one of the more moving speeches of the story. Sure enough, the Admiral responds to his message with, “I’ll send back your head as my answer.”

Alone in the Admiral’s tent at the heart of a 200,000-man army, Ganelon not only manages to break free, he also manages to kill Brullant on the way! He couldn’t have chosen a better target if he tried. Brullant was the one Saracen king we have reason to fear. He’s also the man who was determined to keep the Paladins penned. The death of Brullant may well have won the battle.

But that’s not all. Ganelon then struggles to escape in a ride that’s so heroic it brings Roland to tears. Oliver is moved so much that he exclaims, “Oh what a valiant Baron! May God preserve him, brother, I love the man with all my heart. Save you and Charles, there’s none I love any better.”

The odds were too steep, however. Ganelon was trapped and about to die when Charlemagne rides to the rescue. He’s a Paladin, and such things may be expected, but Wow!

When the day’s done, though, Ganelon is all but forgotten; overshadowed (as Aloys so pithily drives home) by the impossible standard of Roland.

The similarities between this scene and the “Song of Roland” couldn’t be any clearer. In the “Song,” Charlemagne asks Ganelon to place himself in exactly the same peril, only worse. Instead of a tent, he’s going to a walled city. Instead of having help over the hill, the help is three days away. Instead of having surprise, the enemy knows what he’s capable of. And there’ve been a few more years of poison building up . . .

Having now read the story many more times than I would ever wish on any of you, that parallel is the part that strikes the deepest. It’s incredibly poignant. Ganelon’s heroics, combined with his fatal flaws, are tragedy in the purest sense of the word. Especially when the Fall is so deep.