CHAPTER 3 – THE TOWER

loripas looked at the company of Paladins and asked, “Father, who are these men?”

“They are knights of King Charles who have reproached me with most uncivil words and demands. What do you recommend?”

“Smite off their heads without delay, and burn their bodies outside the city. But let it wait until after dinner. You cannot enjoy doing justice on an empty stomach. I will take charge of the prisoners until then.”

“An excellent idea, daughter!”

Sortibrant tried to intervene. “Sire, you should not entrust so heavy a task to a woman. They are changeable, inconstant and not to be trusted in such affairs. Think of how many men have been led astray by the doings of women.”

“Nonsense. This is my daughter. She’s different. See they are guarded well Floripas.” The Admiral went to eat, motioning for his subject kings to follow.

Floripas watched her father leave in one direction, then turned on her heel and motioned for the captives to follow her in another. As she led them to her rooms, Duke Naymon sighed quietly to Roland, “If it’s a captive I’m to be, God be thanked for giving me such a jailer. Did you ever see a maiden more fair?”

“This is not the time to dwell on such things,” Roland answered curtly.

“I, too, was once young,” said the Duke.

“Hush,” said Floripas. “This is no time to argue amongst yourselves.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. When the last man had entered, Floripas bolted the door behind him and straightaway moved across the room where, without a word, she opened the secret chamber that sheltered Oliver, Gerard and the other men she had rescued.

The knights within and without crowded the threshold, weeping with joy at their reunion. None were happier than Roland and Oliver, who clasped each other with frank and tender hearts, each demanding to hear of the other’s adventures since they were parted.

Floripas waited a generous time before speaking. “My lords, since I have done you this service, will you now undertake to help me gain my desire?”

“Most willingly, fair one,” said Duke Naymon. “Name your wish and you may trust in our faith.”

“You speak most politely, reverend sir. May I know your name and state?”

“I am called Naymon, Duke of Bavaria and messenger of His Majesty, King Charles of France.”

Floripas was much astonished at her guest’s illustrious rank and asked after the names of his comrades. The first man Naymon introduced was Richard of Normandy, from whom Floripas recoiled in shock. “It was you who slew my uncle Corsuble outside the gates of Rome! I should hate you for that, but for the love of these others will grant you my pardon.”

Then Naymon introduced her to Roland. On hearing this name, Floripas gave a little cry and fell to her knees. “Blessed sir, I love a certain knight, a cousin of yours, named Guy of Burgundy. It is to have him for husband that I have risked all this. Have you any tidings of him you could share?”

“My news is old,” said Roland, “but why not ask him yourself? Not four feet of space lies between you. Guy! Come forward and greet your bride.”

Guy blanched. “God forbid I should marry any woman but one given by the King’s own hand!”

Floripas paled. Her eyes and face grew still, and her voice turned strangely flat. “Say not so, or I swear by Mahomet that all the knights in this room will be hanged by morning.”

Oliver and the other knights who had been captive for a longer time made frantic shushing motions to Guy from behind Floripas’ back. “Guy, for God’s sake . . .!” Oliver urged in a harsh whisper.

Even Roland began to look distinctly uncomfortable. “Greet her with joy, man, and give the lady what she desires.”

Guy paused a moment, then said, “Oh, very well.”

Floripas gave a little cry of joy and leapt to embrace him. She held him close but did not kiss him, being still unbaptized. When they parted, Guy looked more than a little bemused, but also less upset. Women like Floripas have that effect.

*  *  *

Back at the main hall, the Admiral had just sat down to eat when a particular favorite of his, a chieftain named Lucifer, strode boldly in. “Greetings, my lord. Where is your daughter this evening, she who is my promised bride?”

“She has carried to prison some captives who came bearing an evil message from Charles.”

“Sire, you do a great folly to trust such tasks to a woman, for they are changeable, inconstant, and not to be trusted in such affairs. Just think of how many men have been led astray by the doings of women! Let me go and make sure that all is well.”

“You have our permission to leave, but return soon and bring our daughter to join us at table.”

Lucifer hurried to Floripas’ chamber and pressed his ear to the door until he could hear the murmur of voices within. Then he stepped back, raised his foot, and without any warning smote the door so strongly that the bolts broke apart and it flew from its hinges. He strode boldly in past the wreckage.

Outrage flashed over Floripas’ face and she leaned over to whisper in Roland’s ear, “I am ill content at this violence against me. This man insists he will be my husband, but I’d rather be gnawed to death by snakes. I love Guy and no one else. Prithee – avenge me for this dishonor.”

“Doubt it not Madame: ere he departs that man will know he has done an evil deed. No one ever paid more for the buying of a lock than he will pay for the breaking of yours.”

Lucifer surveyed the crowded room and then marched over to Duke Naymon, whom he grasped by the long, white beard. “Who are you old man, and why have you come? Tell me the truth!”

“I would not lie to such as you. I am Naymon of Bavaria, and I come here as a messenger of Charles, my King, that your Admiral might know what must be done to avoid his certain destruction. Now take your hand from my beard and be sure I do not say all I’d like.”

“Bah,” said Lucifer, throwing down the beard and almost Naymon with it. “I would be content if the Admiral pardoned your folly, but I need to know more for my own plans. By your loyalty, tell me: what manner of men are these French and their King? What is their enterprise and what do they do for games?”

With growing ire, Duke Naymon answered, “The French are of all types, like other men, and after the King has dined they go about their diverse affairs. Some ride, some hunt, some hawk. Some sing, some dance, some regale with stories and tales. Some play at chess. Others go to mass. But when they go to battle they are fierce and hardy, one and all. Such are the folk of France.”

“These are but follies,” said Lucifer. “How do they do at blowing the great coal?”

Duke Naymon eyed him suspiciously. “Blowing the great coal? I do not know the game. Moreover, . . .” He broke off when he saw Roland making little signals to abide the man a bit longer. Another of the knights edged over to the broken door.

“Then I will show you!” said Lucifer, missing the byplay. He strode to the fire at the center of the room and selected the heaviest brand. “See you this?” He held the burning wood up toward Duke Naymon. “Watch carefully.”

When the Duke leaned in he blew on the coal sharply, so that sparks flew up and into Naymon’s eye. Lucifer roared with laughter. “Now you try.”

Naymon took the brand and blew on it so fiercely that flames bellowed forth and set the heathen’s beard on fire. Lucifer screeched with rage and reached for his sword, but Naymon took the torch and struck the evil man so great a blow that his neck broke and his eyes popped out to roll on the floor. “False creature. You sought to amuse yourself on me? Lie there, then, in sorrow.”

“In truth, your Grace,” said Roland, “you play most excellently at the great coal.”

“Judge me not, my lords,” said Naymon, “for you saw how he trifled with me.”

Floripas touched his arm lightly. “We will judge you naught but kindly, for Lucifer had no leave to be playing at the coal with you. Now he is at peace and so am I, for never more shall he seek to force me into marriage. I would rather have had my hands smitten off or died a villainous death.”

*  *  *

The lady turned her gaze to include the entire company. “There is no help for it now. My father will be awaiting Lucifer’s return with great eagerness. You must arm yourselves and conquer the Tower. Slay all within; you have no friends here but my ladies and me.

“Do brave deeds, my Guy,” she added quietly.

The knights cleared the upper rooms quickly, then burst in to the main part of the tower, slaying as they went. The Admiral and his nobles were surprised at their meat and had no chance. All but a very few died where they sat. One who escaped, however, was the Admiral himself.

Roland spied him at the head of the table and bolted across the room. Six guards – well-armed knights of Balan’s house – leapt in the Paladin’s way. This was an uneven match, but they managed to delay him just long enough for the Admiral to leap out a window. Even so it was close. Durandal sank a foot deep into the marble stone of the windowsill, and missed her target by no more than a hair.

“I see you lost one,” said Oliver to his friend.

“Aye,” Roland answered, “the worst rat in all the nest. I fear we shall pay for this.”

They turned as one to finish the work together.

Sputtering, soaked and looking like a rat indeed, the Admiral was helped from the moat by Sortibrant and Brullant, who’d left earlier to see about raising the gibbet. “Your daughter must have betrayed us, Sire,” said Sortibrant. “Did I not warn you that she couldn’t be trusted? Women are changeable, inconstant and wont to bring on such disgrace.”

“Never mind that now. Gather my army and call my vassals. We will take back the Tower at dawn and deal with all of the criminals at that time.”

The French finished securing the gate and drawbridge, then paused to take stock of their situation. The fortress was well provisioned with a cistern of water but had no larder to speak of. With twelve knights, Floripas and twenty of her ladies to feed, the supplies would last for no more than three days.

Ogier the Dane shook his head. “This is grim news. They need only be patient and our position will soon be hopeless. We must be bold to survive.”

“Do not worry,” said Floripas, “if the gods favor our cause we shall not want.”

The lady could afford such optimism, of course, because she knew the virtue of her magic girdle; that all who looked upon her would be satisfied as if they’d been at a feast. This secret she kept to herself, however, seeing no reason to share it.

Unfortunately, the Admiral already knew.

*  *  *

The heathen, as all men know, are famous for their thieving ways. In Aygremore, however, there lived a certain thief named Mervyn who was more skilled than any other. It was said he could steal the moon herself and the night would never know. The Admiral sent for this Mervyn and gave him the task of stealing Floripas’ magic girdle. “Do this,” he said, “and I’ll pardon your crimes and fill your pockets with silver coin.”

Mervyn agreed with a long, low bow. When night fell most deeply, he climbed the sheer Tower wall and slipped through a high window into the lady’s sleeping chamber. A magic charm he possessed ensured that everyone would be asleep. Sliding carefully to Floripas’ sleeping form, he unlaced the magic girdle and tied it around his own waist.

At that point Mervyn the thief should have left – and knew he should have left – but instead he paused to gaze on the slumbering maiden. So beautiful . . . and so alone . . . his passion overwhelmed him and he lay down to ravish her.

Floripas woke as the thief’s weight fell upon her. Freed from the spell, she bit the hand on her mouth and screamed. Mervyn leapt to his feet and ran for the open window, but found it was already too late.

Guy of Burgundy had been sleeping just outside the door, and charged inside at the maiden’s cry. With a single, smooth motion, he drew his sword, and sliced the rascal in half. Then he knelt at Floripas’ side.

The maiden clung to him, weeping hysterically at what had nearly happened. When the other knights arrived, they left the pair alone and silently gathered the pieces of Mervyn’s body. These were hurled down to the moat.

It took almost an hour before Floripas calmed down enough to realize that her magic girdle was missing. At that point she screamed again, but to less avail. Cut in half along with the thief, the girdle lay in two pieces down in the sea.

The Admiral and Sortibrant, on watch outside the Tower, heard Floripas’ wail. “The thief does not return, Sire,” said Sortibrant. “He must have failed in his mission.”

“Perhaps. Time will tell. But either way, we attack in the morning.”

*  *  *

The Saracen army poured toward the Tower but soon found that the moat and other defenses were so strong that only a few hundred attackers could press forward at once. That was not enough. A storm of darts from the sturdy French crushed the morning assault.

The Admiral drove a second wave over the bodies of the first, and when the second failed, a third. They had even less success. The only result was a new wall of corpses that reinforced the defense.

When night fell, foreclosing any further attacks, the French laughed and jeered from the high windows. Admiral Balan ground his teeth. “We will starve them out instead,” he said.

This, it turned out, was an excellent plan.

Four days of siege exhausted the Tower’s food supply so thoroughly that the defenders were forced to scavenge among the vermin that lived in the Admiral’s dungeon. The ladies, unused to such hardship, suffered profoundly. Finally even Floripas fainted from want.

She came to herself in Guy’s arms and began to lament. “Now it is proved that you should worship my Gods. Your Jesus on his cross has done nothing to help us, but Mahon would surely give us food and wine for succor.”

These words angered many of the Paladins, but Guy waived them to silence. “Take us to your Gods,” he said, “and we will see what may be.”

Floripas led the knights to a high, locked room, took a silver key from her bodice and opened the heavy door. The men froze utterly still.

“My God!” gasped Gerard of Montdidier. “With that the King could raise a cathedral for every church the Admiral has burned.” Even Duke Naymon, who had seen many treasures in his long life, and Duke Basyn, who ruled the rich fief of Bordeaux, had never seen a more fabulous display. Overflowing chests of coins and gems covered the floor, sometimes piled higher than a man’s head, and layer on layer of gold bars lined all but one of the walls. The air smelled of myrrh.

The final wall held idols to the many heathen Gods. At the center was Mahon, twice the size of a man and made of solid gold with jewels for eyes and a diamond navel. Next to him sat Apollo and Termagant, each cast in silver with eyes of beryl. Beyond these were seven other idols, all intricately carved and draped with necklaces and strands of precious pearl.

Floripas bent her knee and bowed her head. “Come pray with me and these will give us all the food we need.”

“Lady, I cannot,” said Ogier the Dane, “for I perceive that your gods are powerless and asleep.”

He strode forward and with a single, mighty heave threw down the idol of Mahon. It cracked in two and an eye went skittering across the floor. Gerard of Montdidier followed right behind and treated the statue of Apollo to a similar fate.

Floripas collapsed in a faint. Guy dropped to her side and gently chaffed her hand. “Good lady, are you well?” Her eyes fluttered slowly open.

“You live,” she said with astonished delight. “My Guy, you still live!” Looking around, she added, “And so do the others.

“Oh Guy, my love, forgive my lack of faith. I had doubts before, but after this day I will never again believe in Mahon or any other God but the one we share together.”

*  *  *

Happy as the knights were to see Floripas’ new devotion, there still remained the problem of supplies. They collected in the main hall to discuss the matter.

“As for me,” said Ogier, “I would rather die fighting than wither away here for lack of food. And truly, the lamentations of these maidens turns in my heart more sharp than a dagger.”

Oliver voiced his immediate agreement, as did Duke Thierry, Duke Richard and most of the others. After a moment’s thought, Duke Naymon joined too. Only Guy of Burgundy remained silent, for his opinion was clear already.

“Very well, then,” said Oliver, “it is decided. Let us sally forth and obtain some victualing or die in the attempt.”

The knights donned their arms and armor, then gathered by the Tower gate. “Someone must stay and guard the way,” said Roland. “You, Sir Naymon, and you, Sir Ogier; I pray thee to abide here that the rest of us may be sure of a safe return. “

Naymon answered angrily, “Sir Roland, do you think me so slight of limb and lineage that I should be your porter? It will not do. I may be old, but I’m yet hard enough of sinew and bone to smite whomsoever I strike.”

“Sir, you say well and may join us. Thierry, Geoffrey, let you abide instead.”

They liked the task no more than Duke Naymon, but bowed to Roland’s wish and agreed to stand guard over the safety of the Tower and the ladies inside. Together, the pair raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge, then watched as the others charged outside and overwhelmed the besieging guards.

Admiral Balan saw the knights’ sally and swiftly sent for Brullant, Sortibrant and his other advisors. “My kings and counselors, behold: the French have taken the field. I shall be ill content with you if any of them live when the sun has set. Assemble your people and ride!”

A great multitude poured from the Aygremore gates, but Roland, with Durandal in his hand and his fellows at his side, swept down upon them like the reaper’s scythe. The Peers’ attacked with such fury that five hundred Saracens were slain in a space of minutes, and unhappy was he who came to succor the rest. The momentum began to change, however, when King Clarion, the Admiral’s nephew, arrived with fifteen thousand men at his feet and his dread champion, Rampyr, by his side.

In all of Spain there were no two knights more doughty or feared. Their presence returned some heart to the other Saracens, who began to push in on the French. Rampyr, standing tall in his saddle, was a beacon of order. Bellowing clear and loud, he collected the fragmented units together and soon had organized a proper charge.

This effort split the French party into three pieces. Basyn, Aubrey and Guy were wedged off to one part of the field, and Oliver, Duke Richard and Duke Naymon to another. Unfortunately for the Saracens, the charge also brought Rampyr a few steps too close to the four that managed to hold firm.

“Noble knights, to me!” called Roland. “There is one before us who bars our quest.”

Durandal flashed once, then twice again, and a path opened up toward the Saracen lord.

*  *  *

Rampyr met the charging Paladin with a powerful blow to the shield, but might as well have struck at a thundering storm. Roland’s blood was up. His answering stroke sent the heathen’s head tumbling up to the sky.

The Saracens recoiled, their courage broken again. The army dissolved a terrified mob as each man fled from this devil and his glittering sword.

The battle continued after that, waning and waxing, until evening fell and darkness forced a halt to the fighting. Then fortune had her laugh. At one end of the field Gerard of Montdidier cried out, “A train!”

Passing right before the Tower gate were twenty pack horses laden with bread and other supplies. Two guards for every horse rode close by, but that slowed the Peers not at all. Crying for Thierry and Geoffrey to open the gate, Gerard, Ogier, and William the Scot drove the animals in, while Roland, Oliver, and Duke Richard held back those Saracens who sought to interfere.

On the other side of the field, however, Duke Basyn collapsed suddenly when a dart flew out of the night and pierced him in the eye. His son Aubrey fell to his knees over the body, weeping, and soon he too was slain as twenty men leapt on him from all directions. This left only Guy of Burgundy to face King Clarion and the whole of his army. Raising his sword and crying defiance, the young knight spurred toward the foe. His courage was not enough. The Saracens slew his horse halfway there and quickly overwhelmed him beneath dozens of fighting men.

Clarion scoffed at the Frenchman’s struggles and had him bound with his hands behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes. Guy called on his comrades, God and Charlemagne for aid, but the heathen king stoppered his cries with a gauntlet to the face. “Your braying won’t help you now; no more than your King or your hanging God. You’re going alive to the Admiral of Spain whether you will it or not. You’d spend your time better praying for a swift death than for succor and aid; though neither is very likely, to be sure.”

With a wicked laugh he drove the knight in to Aygremore.

*  *  *

Clarion brought Guy to where the Admiral sat in state with a great number of soldiers. The prisoner’s appearance had changed mightily since their last meeting, for he’d not eaten in three days and Clarion’s men had none-too-gently despoiled him of his arms. But bruised, bloody and dressed in rags though he was, Guy still stood proudly.

“Who are you?” the Admiral demanded. “Tell me the truth and I will see you well treated; lie to me and I’ll see you suffer.”

“I would never lie to such as you. I am Guy of Burgundy, loyal subject of King Charlemagne and cousin to Roland the Valiant.”

“Well do I know your name, and often have I cursed it! For these past many months my daughter has been enamored of you. Now I know to what I can blame these many misfortunes. I will have you torn asunder, be sure. Who are your companions in the Tower?”

“Gladly will I tell you that!” Guy listed their names, ending with Duke Basyn and his son Aubrey, “whom you have slain, but for whose lives, by the grace of God, Charlemagne will charge you dear.”

At that point one of the guards could stand Guy’s manner no longer. He smote the knight in the face with his fist so hard that the blood ran freely down. This set the young Paladin afire with rage. He grasped the guard by the hair and dealt the man such a blow on the neck that he instantly fell dead. The other guards leapt on the knight like a pack of wolves, tearing with their nails and kicking with their hard boots. Soon he lay still and unconscious. They would have killed him in that way had Balan not intervened.

“I don’t want him dead. Not yet. And not so quickly.” He motioned curtly for his counselors to join him in chambers.

“My friends,” he said when they’d all been seated, “I pray that you advise me how best to dispose of this villain.”

Brullant stood first. “Let us erect a gallows near the moat, where the French will readily see it. They will undoubtedly ride to rescue their friend; but knowing this, we will conceal five thousand Turks nearby to spring out and take them captive. Then we may dispose of them – and of your daughter – at your whim and leisure.”

“Moreover,” said King Sortibrant, rising to stand by his friend, “if they do not ride forth, what better fate and message could we hope to deliver?”

The council agreed unanimously and the Admiral nodded. “So it will be.”

*  *  *

The next morning a group of ten soldiers rode close to the Tower and built a gallows tree that hung over the moat. The knights gathered, wondering what it could mean. “There can be only one answer,” said Duke Naymon. “They mean to hang young Guy before our eyes.”

Floripas collapsed. The knights had just roused her when they heard the desperate voice of Guy himself coming from out the window.

The young knight knew nothing of the Admiral’s trap, of course. He’d been beaten unconscious, bound with his hands behind his back, and blinded with a hood tied close about his head. His captors, thirty men with staves, prodded him toward the gallows with cruel jabs and blows to his back and calves. Guy, knowing himself led to his death or worse, cried out in the most pitiful tones to God, Charlemagne and his cousin Roland for aid.

Floripas went to her knees before Roland. “Please,” she begged, “rescue my Guy lest my heart be lost forever.”

It was a plea they couldn’t resist. Their minds as one, the knights sped wordlessly to their horses and girded on weapons and shields. Roland broke the strange silence as Floripas ran to the drawbridge wheel.

“Lords, now do we place our lives and deaths on so perilous a scale that if any man fails of loyalty or discipline, all will be doomed together. We are but nine and the enemy is innumerable. By the honor of God I therefore pray you to hold together and take heed of each other as best we may, for if we be divided we shall all be hanged. And too, if one man falls let all the rest guard him until he may be remounted – leave him not for life or death. Do this, and by my life, for so long as I can bear my great sword Durandal you shall have in me a good defender and warrant!”

The knights agreed. They sallied forth with grim expressions as Floripas and her damsels lowered the drawbridge and cheered for them to be valiant and brave.

*  *  *

The Peers rode steadily around the Tower toward the gallows, where the guards continued to jab and abuse young Guy with staves. His hands were bound behind him, and a blindfold covered his eyes. A rope encircled his neck.

Roland spurred his horse and cried out in a fury, “Varlets! What you’ve begun you will sore repent!”

The approach of that dreaded red and white surcoat froze the guards in terror, and most of them died before they remembered how to defend. The others only survived because an eruption of five thousand Turks from the nearby woods distracted the French from their task.

The Turkish Captain, a marvelously huge knight named Cornyfer, led the charge. “Fools,” he cried. “You came to save this man from the Admiral’s justice? ‘Twas a great mistake, for now you shall hang at his side!”

Roland spun toward Turk like an enraged lion, with Durandal bright in his hand.

Cornyfer was a very great champion, however, and not a man to be intimidated. He lashed out with a sword as tall as a man, timing his blow to use the force of Roland’s charge against him. The impact drove the Paladin’s iron shield down with a resounding Gong! like the peal of a giant bell, and frightened his horse so badly that it began to buck and wheel. Roland yanked desperately on the reins, trying to regain control while Cornyfer tried to finish him off.

The next cut came from behind. Roland felt it more than he saw it, and threw his shield blindly over his head. The stroke landed like a falling tree, sending a shivering numbness shooting all the way down to the Paladin’s fingers. The third blow he had to parry with Durandal. It would have slain his horse beneath him.

There was no fourth stroke, however. Cornyfer rode close with sword raised high, but Roland had mastered his mount. The Champion of France stood in his stirrups, brushed the heathen’s guard aside, and struck. The blow was so ferocious that it split Cornyfer’s head and chest in half, and still had enough force to slice through the saddle and slay the Turk’s horse as well. The charging soldiers blanched with horror as their Captain fell in two pieces to either side of his dying mount. Roland took the opportunity to race back toward the gallows.

The Turks recovered quickly, howling with vengeful rage, but the Frenchmen closed behind their leader and held the enemy off. Roland leapt down from the saddle, removed the hood and began to work at the knots that bound Guy. He’d just finished when a single Turk broke through the ring and spurred to attack the dismounted knights. Guy saw him coming and yelled, “Roland, beware!”

It was a sight Guy never forgot. As the Turk’s sword descended from behind, Roland moved in a graceful swirl that drew his sword, and in one fluid motion deflected the blow, thrust up to the enemy’s vitals, and hurled him from the saddle like a sack of laundry. Then he smiled at Guy. “Aren’t the ways of God wonderful to behold? Here I was, worrying about your being afoot, and not a moment later He provides you with a mount.”

Guy laughed and stepped into the empty stirrup.

*  *  *

The Turks surrounded the Paladins tightly, struggling to break through the ring of defense, but the French maintained such good order and cooperated so marvelously well that the heathens could make no dint. Soon all were enmeshed and almost unable to move. It was Guy of Burgundy who won the day. He tore into the enemy crying out, “Now you will see I am truly free!”

Four men fell in as many seconds, and the Turks, abashed, drew back to a bowshot’s range. The Admiral saw this from afar and began to sense another disaster in the offing. With a sharp command he sent reinforcements streaming out from Aygremore.

“Lords,” cried Roland, “now is the time to retire. We must advance on the Tower bridge. With an effort we may yet save ourselves.”

The company turned but Guy called out, “Did we not come out yesterday to gather food? Let us not leave the task half done! After today they will besiege us as though we were each a thousand men. Better to die fighting now than hear again, a few weeks hence, the lamentations of ladies who lack for bread.”

The others could only agree, so as the Turks massed before the bridge to slow the Paladins’ escape, they wheeled about and charged in the other direction – right at the reinforcements who’d thought they were attacking from behind.

The Saracens shattered and splintered into chaos, allowing the French to rampage back and forth over the field. The ladies cheered them on from the high Tower windows, waiving their filmy scarves. Floripas was so filled with joy at Guy’s feats that she cried out in a loud voice, “Oh valiant knight, seeing your prowess I know it’s my father in danger and not us!” Greatly cheered, the Peers rode again and again through the milling foe.

Suddenly Floripas called, “Look, my love! Over there!”

The knights followed her finger and saw an even larger train than the one they’d taken the day before; forty wains laden with bread, meat and wine. They whirled as one, and as one rode down the guards. Before the Admiral could even react, they were safe in the Tower with all the supplies in tow.

*  *  *

It may well be imagined that the Admiral was less than happy when he saw Guy of Burgundy, who had been in his power, not only free but also back with his fellows; and more, that they were all now furnished with great abundance. He drove his servants off with a sword and demanded the presence of Brullant, Sortibrant and his other councilors.

“My Barons,” he said as they arrived, “you have seen how harshly these French men have dealt with us thus far, and now they have garnished the Tower with enough bread, wine and other victuals to last for months. If word of this should somehow reach Charles we would be hard pressed. He would come to their aid with all his armies, and his might and puissance, as well you know, are so great as to threaten us all. Wherefore I am greatly concerned and in need of your wisdom.”

To this Sortibrant answered, “I counsel that every man be armed with great show and mighty engines be erected as if we planned to assail the Tower by force. If we sound a thousand trumpets at once, with great drums as well, the French will be so dismayed that we could enter the Tower at our leisure and ease.”

Brullant replied angrily, “My friend, you speak like a fool! You cannot believe that horns and drums could frighten the men in that Tower. The flower of France lies within those walls!

“Roland is in there, whose might and courage are so great that all who stand before him are sure to die. Beside him is Oliver, who conquered the champion of all Pagans, Fierabras, in single combat. Is there a one of us that holds a candle to Fierabras’ sun?

“And beside them? Ogier the Dane, Thierry of Ardennes, Guy of Burgundy and Gerard of Montdidier. Duke Naymon himself is there! You think to frighten such men as those with horns and drums? That is Roland, in there. Roland! We have slain two, so now they are only ten, but if they were all such as he they would ride from that Tower and drive us into the sea by themselves, Charles or no Charles!”

At these words the Admiral waxed mightily wroth. Flushing with rage, he wrenched his sword from its scabbard and would have struck Brullant dead but for the intervention of Sortibrant, who caught his hand. “Sir Admiral, leave off your anger. Let us rather turn our attention to how this Tower might best be assailed.”

“I will tell you how,” said the Admiral viciously. “Summon Mephistus the Enchanter.”

Every king around the table blanched and whitened at that command, but no one spoke a word of protest.

*  *  *

The next morning innumerable horns shattered the air as the Saracen army gathered around the Tower. Fighting men filled the land for a mile in every direction. But this was not the worst, for the Enchanter Mephistus had arrived to break down the walls by means of his art. Under his command huge engines had been built during the night, with iron shields to protect the men inside from any weapons the defenders might hurl. Now, to the sound of horns and drums, the engines crept slowly forward toward the Paladins’ redoubt.

While still a hundred yards short of the moat, Mephistus’ devices began to fling gigantic stones that broke the Tower’s outer wards to piles of rubble. This quickly filled the moat and made a path right up to the gate. The furious knights could do nothing to impede this process.

At noon the bombardment ceased and the Saracens attacked once again. This time they poured forth in numbers against the gate itself, which they’d not been able to do before. Even lacking its outer defenses, however, the Tower was so strongly built that the enemy could in no way find a means to enter. Moreover, the defenders cast down a hail of arrows, stones, spears and other objects that slew wherever they fell. After a day of this, the attackers once again fell back in confusion and dismay.

The morning after, though, the Enchanter returned with new engines. These hurled balls of flame that, by his craft, set fire to the pillars and stones of the Tower itself. Helpless, the knights watched as the drawbridge collapsed open with a boom, leaving only an iron portcullis to guard the passage into the Tower. “We are doomed,” muttered Geoffrey of Anjou. “We have no means to defend ourselves against an assault such as this.”

“Nay, my lord, be of good heart,” said Floripas. “Do not despair until you have seen the end of things come finally to pass. For I know the means by which these flames artificially burn the stone, and I know how to stop them as well.”

With her ladies and the knights to run and fetch, Floripas collected certain herbs and medicines, then set them to steep in a keg of wine. The knights looked worriedly out the window but were soon forced back. The heat from the burning stone was such that the air was almost too hot to breathe. They voiced no impatience, however. As Duke Naymon reminded them, “Our fate now rests in the lady’s art more than our hands. We must trust that she will act as soon as may be.”

The flames had climbed up the walls and could be seen through the high window when Floripas finally directed the men to pour her beverage on the fire. Fighting the heat, they obeyed.

Silence erupted as loud as the fire’s roar. The blaze was wholly extinguished at the potion’s first touch.

The Admiral almost died of anger when he saw the flames disappear, but when he heard it was the work of Floripas he swooned three times from sheer rage. “Mahon forbid I ever eat another bite until I see her torn asunder for this!”

“If that you would accomplish, Sire,” said King Brullant, “then sound the horns once more and let us assail the Tower without delay. We are all fresh, while those within have already fought a long day’s battle against a foe they couldn’t touch. Let us recommence the assault and give no way until the French are vanquished at last. You can be sure they have but few more darts and shot with which to resist.”

“It shall be so,” said the Admiral grimly. He gave the signal and a great fanfare rose from all the thousand trumpets about the Tower. The Saracens charged again.

This renewed attack was so great that the air grew dark with arrows, stones and other engines of destruction. The weakened outer walls tumbled to the earth as uncountable thousands of armed men charged toward the Tower gate. In truth, at this point the French had no more darts and arrows but what they could retrieve from those who assailed them. More than one voice began to rise in prayer, begging God to grant the speaker His grace of a worthy death. Then Floripas stepped forward.

“Lords, do not dismay! This Tower is yet strong enough to sustain us if we use the weapons at hand.”

“What weapons are those, fair one?” said Ogier. “We’ve naught left but the swords in our hands.”

“Only this,” she answered. “Do you forget the high room wherein the gods watch over the treasure of my father? It contains great wedges and plates of gold and bullion. Let us go fetch it; we can as easily slay the enemy with that as we can with stones – aye, and better!”

Guy of Burgundy, her love, swept her up and spun her about, then kissed her soundly on the lips. The entire group dashed to the room where the pagan gods lay scattered and broken. Each of the knights and maidens gathered a great quantity of treasure, then went to the battlements and began to hurl it down to the pain and dismay of the attacking soldiers. After a moment, however, the Saracens realized with what they were being assaulted. The men instantly forgot both their intent and discomfiture, and began to slay their fellows in greed for a share of this great abundance.

The Admiral became so mad with anger that he almost died where he stood. He foamed at the mouth and turned many colors, all the while screaming in a high voice, “Leave off the assault! Retreat! Retreat!!”

*  *  *

Admiral Balan spent the rest of the day weeping with anguish and rage. “My gods, you betray me! I left my treasure in your care, the which took me great pains to collect, yet now these French hurl it from the walls to my ruin! And how much more will I lose if we take up the battle again?” He kicked at an idol of the god Margotte. “I’ll never trust your word again!”

“Do not blame the gods, Sire” said Sortibrant. “These French are cunning, like thieves. They must have stolen your treasure by trickery.”

None can say if the Admiral accepted this explanation, but it did nothing to calm his fury. The horns continued to sound the retreat, and again he went to his bed with the Tower held by the Frenchmen within.