THE DESTRUCTION OF ROME

Adapted by Scott Pavelle from
The Sultan of Babylon
as found in Three Middle English Charlemagne Romances, Alan Lupack, editor
(Published by Medieval Institute Publications, 1990)
(For TEAMS, the Consortium for the Teaching of the Middle Ages)

SPECIAL COPYRIGHT CONSIDERATIONS FOR THIS PAGE

See http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/teams/sultint.htm for an online version

The Romance of the Sowdone of Babylone

And of Fierabras His Soon Who Conquered Rome

God, mightiest in glory, in his wisdom made all things by virtue of the Word and the Holy Ghost.  He gave to man great excellence and subjected to man all that is on earth, as man is subjected to Him, that he should with heart and thought love and serve none but the Lord.  And if man kept His commandments in all things and loved Him well, and had not sinned in his intent, than should he fully God’s grace feel.  But for the offences done to God many vengeances have befallen.  I will tell you of only one (for it is too much to tell of all), of how Rome excelled all realms in dignity, and how it fell for its offence.  Listen a while and you shall see how it was won and burnt by a Sultan, that heathen was, and how for sin it was destroyed; as King Louis witnessed that cause, as it is written in romance and found in books of antiquity at Saint Dennis Abbey in France.

There as chronicles remembered be, how Balan, the king of high degree, and sire and Sultan of high Babylon, conquered great part of Christendom, that was born in Askalon. And in the city of Aygremore upon the river of Flagot at that time he sojourned there full royally, well I know, with kings twelve and admirals fourteen, with many a baron and knights full bold, that royal blood held and were seemly to see; of their worthiness all may not be told.

It befell betwixt March and May, when kind courage begins to prick, when firth and field wax gay, and everyone desires his like, when lovers sleep with open eye as nightingales on green tree,[1] and sore desire that they could fly, that they might with their lover be: this worthy Sultan in this season decided to the green wood to go, to chase the boar or the venison, the wolf, the bear and the badger. He rode through upon a forest strand with great rite and royalty, the fairest, that was in all that land, with dogs and hunting hounds running free.

His huntsman to chase he commanded; here bugles boldly for to blow, to frighten the beasts in that land. The Sultan waxed weary anon. He rested him under a holly tree upon a green seat.  Seeing a Drummond come sailing in, he immediately had them beckoned to land and asked to hear of new tidings.

The master sent a man of diverse languages to land.  “Lord,” he said, “this Drummond comes from Babylon.  It was worth a thousand pounds, as I shall tell, until it met with criminals.  Charged with pearl and precious stones, rich furs and spices, and oil and brass gathered in quantity for the occasion of a gift to yourself, worthy lord.  A gust of weather drove us to Rome, however, and the Romans robbed us as soon as they could.  They slew full many, and the rest escaped with sorrow and care.

Whereof, lord, we beg of you a remedy.  Ordain by your barons bold to avenge yourself for this villainy; or for certain our bliss is cold.”

The Sultan hearing this tiding, with eager cheer made a vow to Mahon and to Apollo, that they should pay for it dear enough ere he went from them. “Where be you, my kings bold, my barons and my admirals?  These tidings make my heart cold, and if I may be avenged, then I shall.  Sir Fierabras, my son so dear, you must be my comfort.  My joy is all in you now, and in your sister Dame Floripas.

“Sortibrant, my counselor; call him forth to counsel me. Oliborne, my chancellor and noble clerk of high degree, he too must come.

“Espiarde, my messenger; to Asia and Africa you must go, to kings and princes far and near, barons, admirals and dukes alike, commanding them upon their allegiance to come in all haste, well armed with shield and lance, to gather here or else at my rich city of Aygremore.”

In a short time this message was wrought and a hundred thousand men gathered round. That robbery was right dear bought, I deem; none was ever dearer.

The King of Baghdad, Sir Lucifer, of Africa lord and governor, spoke to the Sultan, that men might hear, and said “Sir, for thy honor, do send for ships both far and near.”

Carracks, galleys and noble ships, seven hundred were gathered together and a Drummond for the bold Sultan. Sir Fierabras of Alexandria was with him in the Drummond, of Asia the King of Chaundear, and his faire daughter Floripas. Two masters were in the Drummond, two idols on high seats there were in the maintop, with maces round, to menace with the Christian lore.

The sails were of red silk, embroidered with rich array, with beasts and birds on every part, that were right curious and gay; the arms displayed of Balan of azure and four lions of gold. The rich sultan of Babylon was the mightiest man on earth; he made a vow to Termagent: When Rome was destroyed and had mischance, he would again turn errant and destroy Charles, the King of France.

Forth they sailed on the flood, until they came to the ports by Rome.  The wind them served; it was full good.

There landed many a grim man. They burnt and slew all that Christian were, town, abbey and holy church. The heathen had such power there, that much woe they could work.

*   *   *   *   *

Tidings came quickly to Rome and the pope, that the heathen had come to burn and slay. This was to him a sorry event. He called his council together to decide what to do. The moment they arrived he said:  “Lords, know that this cursed heathen Sultan Burns and destroys our people even now. He leaves scarcely a one alive. Saint Peter be our guide and save this worthy city of Rome, And Saint Paul be our guard from this cursed heathen hound!”

Ifrez then spoke, a senator of Rome, and said, “Send some worthy man To Charles, king of high honor. He would help you with all his might, that noble King of beloved France.”

“Certes,” said Savaris, “that is not right; it would be a foul mistake to send to that worthy king. Our heads are yet all whole, our shields be not broken, nor Hauberk, spear, pauldrons, or poles. Whereof should we complain to him, that nothing yet have assayed? Much villainy we might win, that for nought were so soon afraid. Ten thousand men deliver me quickly Tomorrow next into the field, and I shall try with all my might to break there both spear and shield.”

Unto the senators it seemed well, His counsel good and honorable. This worthy duke was armed in steel in arms good and sound; he bore a checkered cloth, an eagle of gold abroad displayed, with him many a bold bachelor.

Then spoke Savaris with words on high and said, “my fellows all, this day prove your men worthy, And fair you all shall befall. Christ is mightier than all their false gods, And He shall give us the victory, and upon them this day shall foul befall.”

Forth then rode that fair host with right good cheer and speed, until they came full nigh the site Of the Sultan’s pavilion. Fierabras was waiting and sprang out like a sparkling ember. His arms and shield were bright and he was a doughty man of deeds. Fifteen thousand came with him at that same time, Against the Romans to war, with pomp, boast and great pride.

The battle was strong, enduring long: The Romans had there the field; the Saracens they slew among, Ten thousand and more with spear and shield. Savaris was wise and cunning and drove towards the city. His banner he displayed with him to rally with his men.

The pope with his senators Thanked God for his glory, that gave them that day great honors, over the heathen that day to have the victory.

Lucifer, King of Baghdad, The country hade searched and sought, Ten thousand maidens fair of face Unto the Sultan hath he brought. The Sultan commanded him anon, that they should all be slain. Martyrs they were every one, and thereof were they all full glad.

He said, “my people now shall not by them be despoiled, But I would destroy over all the seed over all Christendom.”

Then spoke Lucifer the King, That heathen hound of Baghdad, and said, “Sir Sultan, grant me one thing: Thy daughter Dame Floripas. The King of France I shall thee bring and the Twelve Peers all in irons.”

The Sultan said as a token, “I grant her to thee, that is so dear.”

Then said Floripas, “Sire, make no haste; he has not done as he promised. I believe he speaks these words in vain and makes but an easy boast. Not until he brings home Charles the King And the Twelve Peers all, Will I grant to be his darling Whatsoever thereof may befall.”

Then on the morrow the Sultan Called to him Lucifer of Baghdad, To assail the city at once: “And look tat you do not tarry in this! Thirty thousand of my men, Turks, Ethiopians and Africans, shall you take to the walls. Beat them down; walls, towers and stones.”

Lucifer blew his horn to assemble the Saracen tide. Right well they knew that sound. They made ready for to ride, But when they come to the gate, the dikes were so devilishly deep, they found that they were checked and could creep neither over nor around.

Lucifer in all haste Turned to the Sultan again and said, “Sir, it is all in waste, we labor now all in vain. The moats are too deep and broad, and the towers so strong, that by Mahon I can not see how we should even reach their walls.”

Who was mad but the Sultan? He renounced his gods and called for his engineer Sir Mavone. Balan told him the situation, And Mavone counseled him, in brief to fill the ditches that were so deep. “Every man to wood should go, Faggots to hew and bind. Fill the moat with all that they may find.”

“Gramercy, Mavone,” said Balan then, “Mahon’s blessing you shall have, of all my host the wisest man, whose counsel shall save my men.”

All this was done the second day, so men might go directly up to the walls. The host pressed on every corner and made a general assault. The Romans ran to the towers that were in the greatest doubt. There were many sharp battles, and the city was sorely assailed in all directions. Wives and maidens bore stones to the walls as fast as they could, trembling with dread and care. The men cast them over the walls, where they slew ten thousand Saracens and more. Thus the day passed to its end and the heathen withdrew.

When these tidings came to Balan, His gods he once again cursed. He waxed both black, white and red, and seemed to go all but mad.

Then Lucifer comforted him well and said “Sir, be not dismayed, for I have seen How the walls may be betrayed. Savaris will come to fight us tomorrow. I know his banner well. I shall have another made like to his in every detail. When he is most busy in the battle, I, with his banner displayed, Shall ride into Rome without fail.”

The Sultan received this plan gladly, and even as they hoped, so it came to be. Supposing Lucifer to be Savaris, Come to relieve them from the heathen assault, (Supposing often does harm, without lie) The Romans opened the master tower And thereby lost the city’s first line of defense To this false contrivance. The Saracens slew all that were therein.

When Savaris saw this discomfiture Of the Romans, and how hard then was their lot, He sorrowed that he might rhyme of ten thousand men reduced to but Sixty and twelve.

When he saw this mischief come to pass He turned to the gate himself. By then he found the gate shut, however, and held by the Saracens who’d won it.

One Astrogot of Ethiopia then Came on him then from the rear, Armed with a dark black boar’s head Made into a mace as strong as steel. This Astrogot was a king of great strength; there was no one in all Europe So strong or so long in length. A devils son of Beelzebub’s line, He was ever one to do Christian men great pain. He smote Savaris as he were mad And drove the knight dead to the ground.

When tidings came to the Pope That Duke Savaris was dead, To woe turned all his hope; he called to council All the senators of Rome, Asking what plan might most avail, And what was best to do. Up spoke a worthy man of counsel, An earl of the senators: “The best counsel that I can Imagine is that we Send to Charles the King, Certifying by your messengers The mischief that you are in, And begging that he come with his Peers To rescue Christendom from this heathen.”

All assented to this at once, and the letters were made in haste. Three messengers were ordered in, to bear the copies to Charles. They went by a postern gate about midnight, and passed in secret through all the host.

*   *   *   *   *

But let us now let the messengers go, And speak instead of Balan, How he assailed the city with morning’s light, And commanded that every man Should with pikes or bills Overthrow the walls overthrow, That he might all the Romans kill.

By water he ordered that the ships come close, and the boats sent in with sailors, to fight with him at once, Hand to hand with the foe. Against the seaward bastions, an engine was thrown that could span the walls of the city and break the buildings within both high and low. The sorrows of the citizens were full heavy then.

The Saracens waxed proud. The Sultan Balan called up “Yield you now, for you may not long endure. Resist and I swear by Mahon That all shall be slain.”

A Roman then loosed a dart that smote him though the breastplate, but not the hauberk beneath.

Then the Sultan went more than mad. He cried to Fierabras, “For Mahon’s love, that is so good, Destroy both man and place! Spare nothing that is alive or standing; neither house, tower or wall, Beast nor man, nor child or wife. Burn, slay and destroy it all!”

Fierabras immediately ordered that the engines be turned on the town to beat down both tower and stone. He called for both Sortibrant and Mavone. “Are your engines good? Show me now your craft. For Mahon’s love, that gives men food, Let there be no building left.”

Then the monstrous Astrogot With his mighty mace came up and swore to bend it against the gates of Rome and break them all down.

He entered at the gate, but as he did they let fall the portcullis. He saw it coming too late; it smote him through the heart, liver and gall. He lay crying on the ground so loud that the sound went through the city like a Devil’s horn.

Glad were all the Romans to see him taken in the trap, and sorry were all the Saracens to hear of his ill-fated accident. Sorry, indeed, was the Sultan; and Fierabras and Lucifer as well. They withdrew to their tents, leaving the giant’s corpse where it lay.

Mahon took his soul and brought it to his bliss. He loved him well and all his kin, of that might he not miss.

The Pope then summoned all the people of the city to Saint Peter’s, and thither went every man. He said on high, “My dear children, You know well how matters lie; against the Saracens that now be here We may not long endure. They break our walls and our towers all with casts of their engines. Therefore you here shall give me counsel. The enemy has withdrawn to his host, and laid down his arms for the nonce. Therefore, I think, I might be best to fall on them early tomorrow. We have thirty thousand men; twenty thousand shall go with me, and in this city ten shall stay to govern the community.”

The senators assented immediately Saying, “Better might no man say. Let it be done with the coming of dawn, And God bring them home again.”

The Pope displayed the high banner of Rome, and he absolved every man through gracious God from his judgment seat. He prayed to Saint Peter and to Paul For help and succor, and also to Our Lady, that sweet flower, to save the city of Rome from woe.

Forth they rode toward the host. Fierabras was roaming about and saw the Romans coming by the coast; thereof he had great doubt. He blew a horn, of brass it was, and The Saracens began to wake.

“Arise!” he urged, “or all shall be lost! Every man to his arms, and to horse with his spear and shield! You may see here a fearful sight of our enemies in the field. Ascoparts, you fearsome giants, you go up to the front; Ethiopians, Asians and Turks, You shall take the rank behind. My father and I, with the Babylonians, Shall keep the rearguard. King Lucifer with the men of Baghdad, to avenge all, shall have the van.”

The Romans soon espied that the heathen knew of their coming, and therefore had much care. Nevertheless, on they went – Saint Peter be their succor!

Then began a sturdy battle. Sir Fierabras of Alexandria, Who was a bold man indeed, rode upon a might steed Arrayed in rich clothing. Sire Briere of Poyle, a Roman, fell before him, Pierced through and through with a spear. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Sir Hubert, a worthy man, Saw how Briere was slain; he rode full even upon Fierabras To avenge him.  When his spear broke Upon the Saracen’s shield, he drew his sword and swiftly began to strike. With a single blow He cut Fierabras” shield in twain Right through the midst of its field; but the hauberk he could not break.

Many good strokes were dealt and Fierabras was sore aggrieved; he smote mightily at his smaller foe and Cut the neck asunder, aventail and all, So that Hubert, though dead, sat upright.

The battle was hard and strong; many a steed went astray, or lay wounded on the ground to Never rise again. Nine thousand of the pagans” pride were slain that day in the field, and eight thousand of the Romans. Lucifer, for all his pride, was a fearsome Force in war.  Eighteen Romans He slew by himself. Guicharde, a senator of Rome, Had slain ten Saracens until He met with that cursed man; Lucifer slew him almost without thought.

Then came the Pope with great array, His banner flying before. Fierabras turned his attention to this charge, supposing that this was the sovereign of Rome; he therefore spared him not at all, but bore him down to the plain. Leaping from the saddle he unlaced the aventail and discovered the shaven pate.  This made him ashamed.

“Fie, priest, God give thee sorrow! What are you doing, armed in the field, when you should be saying your morning service[2] instead? What are you doing with spear and shield? I hoped to have felled an Emperor, A chieftain of the host, Or at least someone worthy of conquest. Go home to your choir! To give you the death you’ve earned would shame me for certain; therefore turn to your home again!”

The Pope was glad of this speech, you may be sure. He went home to Rome that night with five thousand men and no more; fifteen thousand were left in the field, and full great was the sorrow therefore.

*   *   *   *   *

Now shall we tell of the messengers that went to Charlemagne with letters dear, Telling how the Romans were slain, The country burnt unto the gate of Rome, And how the people sang “Alas,” And prayed for succor from the French.

“Who,” said the worthy king Charles, “The Sultan and Fierabras? I count them for nothing.  Let no man rest until both have been ousted from Christendom.

“Guy of Burgundy, My nephew so good and true; take our guard from here at Aix and a thousand pounds of gold as well. Head toward Rome at once, building your Force as you go.  Spare neither horse nor Shield, but those that are dead already.

“Take care to hasten as fast as you can, for my stomach knows that they have great need. I shall follow as soon as may be.”

*   *   *   *   *

And now we turn back to the foe Leaving Charles and Guy on their ways. The Sultan Balan has ordered again that Rome be destroyed.  “You, Sir Lucifer, boasted to conquer the Romans and to bring me in chains all Twelve Peers and Charlemagne their king. Upon that condition I granted you my daughter, the dear Dame Floripas. Wherefore I ask now that you hold to your covenant as sworn.”

“So I said,” Lucifer agreed, “And to Mahon I vow to do all that I promised; yea, all that and More for Floripas’ love.”

He ordained assault anon in haste with ten thousand men and more.  At the other side Fierabras assailed them with other great woes. The assault endured all that day, from morning until it was night, with throw and shot flying by every way while the light endured. Then they went home to their tents until morning.

Isres was the hereditary chief porter of the town, and in his false intents, purposed treason and sorrow. Leaving by night he went to the Sultan to betray the rich city.  To Balan he said, “Lord, give me grace for my goods and for me, and I will deliver to you this place to have and hold forever in fee.  The keys of this rich city I have in my control.”

“That I grant,” said Balan.  “You shall be free without ransom.”

Fierabras made ready to fare after this Isres with twenty thousand men and more, and to win the city so.  They entered through the chief gate.  As soon as he all his men were through, however, Fierabras let the portcullis fall and instantly smote off the traitor’s head.  “God give him care!” the Saracen said, “for he never more shall eat of bread. Thus must all traitors fare. If he might live and reigned here, he would betray me; for go he west, south or north, traitor shall he ever be.”

They placed the head on a spear and carried it through the fair city, crying “Treason, treason.” A pity it was to hear and see. The people fled by every way, desperate for somewhere safe to abide. There was no such place.  The highway full of dead men lay, and also by the side of every lane. Fierabras went straight to Saint Peter’s and seized all the relics – the Crosse, the Crown, the bent Nails – he took them each to his personal care. Then he despoiled the city of treasure and gold, took the people as slaves, burnt all that remained, and removed his loot by ship to the city of Aygremore, beyond the Pyrenees, where he met with his father.

Balan and Fierabras idled in Aygremore for three months and three days, filled with mirth and joy. To their gods they made rich offerings of thanks. Before golden idols they burnt frankincense, a fume so strong that the fume of the first day’s rite still lingered on the day they left. They blew horns of brass.  They drank beast’s blood. Milk and honey there was, royal and good. Serpents in oil were fried and serve on plates of Roman gold; “Antrarian, antrarian” they cried, meaning “Joy for all.” Thus they lived in bliss.

But let us now be done with this, and speak of Sir Guy instead.

*   *   *   *   *

Guy of Normandy, the nephew of Charlemagne, sped toward Rome with his host even as his Uncle had commanded.  Smoke from the burning city filled the air even from more than a full day’s march away.  By the time he was close enough to see the coast, the flames were visible as well.  The blaze encompassed everything within the walls, and all the land for three miles beyond.  Not a man was there to see.

Men wept and cursed throughout the army, but no one felt sorrier than Guy himself.  “We come too late. By some treason or guile they entered in at a gate. There is nothing left for us to do but abide until Charles arrives.”  They made camp in a meadow under the green woods and sent messengers back to the king with the evil news of the city’s fall; how Balan had the city sacked and burnt, bore the relics and people away, and sent them all to Aygremore, in Spain, by a great armada of ships.

King Charles had left nothing behind when he gathered his army for the rescue of Rome. All his Twelve Peers had come to his summons, with three hundred thousand men of arms at their side.  Doughty all, their deeds were worth the tales they’ve left behind. Sir Roland led the vanguard, while Oliver, that was so brave, guarded the rear. The King himself and his barons, with dukes and earls of royal blood, governed all the middle party.

The King was, in all ways, a leader men trusted to see to their needs.  By general commandment he’d garnered a great plenty of flesh and fish, bread and wine.  More came in by ships at sea.  The army marched fast and hard, and arrived ready for battle.

Sir Guy espied his coming and rode in haste to the royal banner, the Oriflamme of St. Denis and France.  There he relayed the sorry tale again, how that the cursed Sultan had burnt, pillaged, stolen and enslaved all he found of the Christian faith.  And also he told of the message the Sultan had left behind, vowing to mount another invasion to seek out Charles in his ‘rat-holes’ of France and do even worse to him there.  “God forbid he ever dare!” cursed Guy, his eyes filled with tears once again.

“His search will take but little,” said Charles, “for he’ll find me near enough. By God who redeemed me, Balan shall pay for his work full dear. I swear by God and Saint Denis that I shall pursue him forever, be he within walls or without, until I have sought him out; save only if he comes to be baptized and leaves his false faith.  But for that he will never see Babylon again.  Let every man to ship with the victuals and store!  The proud Sultan awaits.”

The wind favored their cause.  It blew them with speed and comfort over the sea and into the mouth of the river Gase.  Aygremore lay but thirty leagues of marching beyond.  The French came down from their ships and took the castle that guarded the river’s entrance by a single great assault.  Neither tower nor town survived the day.  They burnt and slew all that they found, leaving nothing to be found that stood higher than the knee of a half-grown boy.

Tidings were told to Balan, how Charles had come and slain both child, wife, and man alike, together with crops and fields and anything else that stood on ground.  He also heard full tale of the three hundred thousand bachelor knights, stout and gay, who rode at the side of the Christian King and his Twelve Peers.

When Balan heard these tidings his heart grew cold.  “This is a wonder!” he said. “How dare he be so bold? Little does he ken what I may do. He dreads me little now, but he shall ere he goes.  I swear it by Mahon’s eyes.”

He called in all his chiefs to council; Sir Lucifer and Fierabras, Mavone, Sortibrant, the Moorish king Brullant, and all his lesser barons besides. “I charge you upon your allegiance.  Bring me that wretch that calls himself the King of France, hither to my pavilion.  I want him alive.  The rest of the French you may slay, especially the Twelve Peers. By Mahon I shall teach him the courtesy he needs to learn!”

Fierabras immediately arrayed himself for battle and rode forth with a strong troop of 100,000 proud Saracens to give the first battle.  They met with a troop one-third that size that was led by Roland.  The two chieftains met at the head of their charging forces.  Roland struck first, laying a spear thrust on Fierabras’ shield that left him gaping like a man astounded and struggling to cling to his saddle. Fierabras sought to fight back, but received a second blow, this time on his helm, which left him stunned and aimless.  It felt like his eyes were on fire. He would have died then and there had the press not swept them apart.

Sir Lucifer met with Oliver and hit him on the shield with a stroke that was right well set; a quarter of the Paladin’s shield spun off and flew over the field.

Thus they hurtled together all the day, now hither and now thither.  Many a horse went astray. The Twelve Peers fought well, Duke Naymon and Ogier, with good swords of fine steel, and so did Guy and Duke Basyn. Fierabras was ever about to fight with Oliver, and Oliver without doubt laid on with good cheer. King Charles saw Fierabras; to him fast he rode and hit on the giant’s helm with his mace. That stroke sadly abode. Fierabras was wild for woe.  The press made it impossible for him to return the blow. King Charles then drew Joyeuse and with his own hand threw thirty Saracens dead upon the sand.

Sir Lucifer of Baghdad pressed to Charles side and said, “Sir, with hard luck have you been graced today. I have promised Balan to bring you to him and the Twelve Peers all. Now shall we depart from thy kin and in to the Sultan’s hall. Yield to me if your life you would save!”

Charles replied with his sword.  He laid a stroke on the pagan’s helm with Joyeuse, his good sword, that sent the man to raving words that made even less sense. Had he been alone, he would have been another life laid to the Emperor’s tally.  In the event though, the men of Baghdad rushed forward in a throng to rescue their lord, with Nubians and Turks at their side.  Now it was Charles who found himself imperiled.

Roland saw the danger and drew Durandal to render aid.  He swiftly made room, felling forty of the enemy so swiftly that their fall seemed like the opening petals of a giant flower.  The sight put great doubt in the Saracen heart and they fell away from their push on the King.

Fierce as a lion, Roland drove on in all directions, smiting upon the Saracen heads with all his power. Duke Naymon and Oliver came to his side, which redoubled the carnage, and then Guy, Duke Basyn, and Basyn’s son Aubrey, and then others of the noble Twelve Peers, Ogier and Thierry of Ardennes.  They fought with faith and force until the field was packed beyond measure with corpses. By nightfall thirty thousand Saracens had lost their need for a nightly bed.

All things must have an end. The night came on full soon, and the parties drew apart.  Fierabras said, “Let our horns be blown to end this dreadful fray.  Ill has it been indeed. If the truth be said, our gods helped us not.  What devil could it be that ails them?  This battle was so sharp, in faith, that many a man and wife have cause to pale at its name.  I shall never know peace in my heart until I have redress for the shame it’s brought.  I must prove my might on Roland, that proud lad, Or with Oliver, that was so quick and nimble.  The evil of this day came by their hand; I shall not rest until I’ve been crowned as King in Paris despite them all.”

While Fierabras bemoaned his losses, King Charles went to his pavilion with great honor and joy.  The taste of triumph was sweet, but it did not keep him from giving thanks to almighty God and Saint Denis for their aid, and to Our Lady for the comfort and courage with which She filled their soldiers’ hearts.

Of his men he gave particular praise to his older knights and commended the younger men to contemplate on their glory and keep it in memory; “For worthiness may not be had, but it be often sought, nor knighthood be had until dearly bought. Therefore you knights of young age, take this chance to learn from older hands; learn from how they hurl and rage on the field with shield and spear. And take special example of the Twelve Peers.  See how they have proved their might, and how they were both valiant and fierce to win their honors in fair combat. These heathen hounds we shall tame, by God!  But for now enjoy the fruits of victory.  Let us to supper go in mirth.”

*   *   *   *   *

“Oh red Mars omnipotent, that in the vaulted sky has made thy throne, you are the god of battle and regent of victory in arms.  Hear my plea.  I make it with heart, body and all my intent, and to secure it will offer up a crown of precious stones upon your holy day from now until the end of my life, and see your temples dressed with myrrh, aloes and frankincense each week, on the Tuesday that is Thine.[3]

“Only give to me victory over these Christian dogs! Give them to me to slay like the pigs they are, to repay tenfold the destruction and wrongs they have done to me and my men.  Great Mahon, give them mischance!”

In the seemly season of the year, when the sun is soft and all that is green gives birth; when flowers spring and garnish the growing fields; then it is right for manhood to grow in the mind.  Courage proclaims a man to friends; and also to love, so lissome and lithe; and all good men are therefore called do deed of valor and recognition. There was never a good warrior that could not love aright.  Love, indeed, has conquered many a worthy knight.

This worthy Sultan, heathen though he was, knew how to make a conquest.  Many a country had he taken with shield and spear, conquered by means of his worthy son Fierabras, the king of Alexandria, and the cruelty of Lucifer, the heavy-handed lord of Baghdad.  Valiant and hardy, they had wrought wonders on the field and awe in those they fought.

Seeing the mischief that Charles had done him set Balan’s heart to rage.  He sent ambassadors to provinces far and near; to towns, cities, castles and towers; to all the lands of his realm and sway.  “Come to me!” he called, “From India and Asia, from Venice, Phrygia, and Ethiopia; from Nubia, Turkey and Barbary; from Macedonia and Bulgaria; and from every corner of Spain. Come to me at Aygremore, and come to me for war!”

They answered in numbers beyond all count.  Three hundred thousand and more, fell Saracens one and all.  Some were blue, some yellow, some black as a Moor; some handsome of face and form, and others as horrible and strong as devil of hell.

He walked among them, spreading his word.  “You, dear friends, are the bearers of my trust.  You must avenge me on these French dogs. They have done me many a villainy; many of my people have they slain. And now, moreover they menace me and drive toward my country again.  Together we shall offer their blood to Mahon and all of our Gods.”

He made them drink the blood of wild beasts; of tiger, antelope and of giraffe, as is the custom of Saracens to stir their courage in the days before battle.  The men stomped and screamed their reply.  Men foamed at the mouth and tore at their skin with their nails, leaving long red line of blood that they licked from their fingers like beasts.  Yet still the Sultan was not yet done.

An army of horns was blown and priests went down among the troops.  They showered the men with silver and gold, and led them in song and chant.  Their idols they carried, which vanished and reappeared in the thick pales of scented smoke.  Forward they went, until they arrived at the foot of Balan’s high throne; where every man made his vow to avenge the Sultan of his injury.

When all was done, the Sultan brought Fierabras, his son, to the fore.  “You shall be my van.  Tomorrow, ere daybreak, ride from the city with thirty thousand of those who’ve lately come; Asians, Phrygians, Pagans, Turks, Indians and Venetians, Barbarians, Ethiopians and Macedonians.  “Charles I want alive.  Him I shall keep to teach a bit of courtesy.  Of the others leave nothing.  All are to be slain, save only Roland and Oliver, who bear such great renown, and only if they will deny their Gods and agree to believe in Mahon.”

Fierabras rode forth with great array and made good time.  It wasn’t long before he came upon the French lying in camp beside a green meadow.  He secreted his men in a nearby wood, well hidden, and then rode forth alone.