"I choose, then, the oak forest, with quiet hill and dale, where, if you come upon sprites, the worst will be some gentle swan-maiden, combing her hair by the brookside."

"Or a werwolf lurking in the gloom to seize the unwary hunter."

"Well cast! But I 've yet to see either swan-maiden or werwolf; whereas your crag-fiends that mock with witless mimicry--ay! and peer down from the cliff brink-- Look, brother!"

"Thor! that's no fiend. A Saracen without turban!"

"Saracen? How should they--"

"An onfall! Look ahead!"

"A wall--the gorge is walled!"

"And beyond--black banners! By Loki, the poisoner has snared us! Now are we fated, brother! From the heights men will cast down rocks."

"G.o.d help us! We cannot stand; nor, with foes on the cliff, can we cross that wall."

"Sound your horn. To turn back may alone save us."

"Not even that, if there are many of the traitors," replied Roland; yet he raised his horn. The gorge re-echoed to the blast.

From end to end the long line of hors.e.m.e.n wavered and halted, amazed at the note. But a second blast sent them wheeling back to the rear.

Cries of alarm and bewilderment burst out all along their scattered ranks. Those nearest the ox-wains shouted to the drovers to turn back.

But the Vascons goaded their beasts on into the jam of backward-wheeling Franks.

Then, when all in the gorge was wildest flurry and confusion, high up the steep slopes and along the cliff crests a thousand horns brayed out the battle-note, and in a twinkling the heights swarmed with armed Vascons.

"Lost! all is lost!" cried Roland.

"Thor aid! We die, brother; but we die as men. Ho, Rhine wolves! turn!

turn again! We cross the wall!"

The wild cry roused the great war-count from his despair. Out flashed Ironbiter, and the black stallion bounded after his fellow.

"Christ and king! Christ and king! Upon the pagans! Follow me, Franks!"

A hundred or more riders wheeled at the call, to charge after their leader. And as they charged, the gorge behind them darkened with clouds of spears and arrows, with avalanches of rocks and tree-trunks. From van to rear a shriek went up from the host,--a wail of despair, soon lost in the screams and groans of mangled victims.

Little did the heavy Northern armor avail its bearers. Neither shield nor hauberk nor helmet of bronze or iron could withstand the ponderous Vascon missiles. The very completeness of the Frankish war-gear was fatal, for its weight impeded the efforts of the warriors to escape the trap. Penned in the gorge like sheep for the slaughter, the Franks charged back, to trample their fellows behind, or vainly sought to scale the heights after the nimble Vascon drovers.

Pierced through by arrows and darts, mangled by logs and stones, the doomed warriors fought and trampled one upon another, in frenzied struggles to escape that terrible downpour. But above them the Vascons mocked their cries for mercy with yells of triumph, and drowned their pitiful shrieks with the crash of the war-hail.

Summoned by Anselm's horn to guard the treasure from the pilfering drovers, Eggihard and his Neustrians rushed forward among the ox-wains, only to share in the fate of the Frankish horse. When they turned again to fly, they found the way behind them bristling with pikes and spears.

The laggard Asturians and Navarrese, silently trailing the host, had closed upon the rear, eager to share the Moslem plunder and to avenge the ruined walls of Pampeluna.

In the heart of that steel-leaved thicket fell Eggihard the High Steward, valiantly striving to cut a way for his Neustrians out of the shambles.

But the greater number of the footmen shrank back before the advancing spear-points, to perish on the heaps of slaughtered beasts and men.

Soon Anselm and a score of followers fled alone before the advance of the Hispano-Goths; while from every mountain cleft and slope the Vascons clambered down to s.n.a.t.c.h their blood-drenched booty from beneath the ma.s.s of torn and shattered victims.

CHAPTER XXVI

We have fought; if we die to-day, If we die to-morrow, there is little To choose. No man may speak When once the Norns have spoken.

LAY OF HAMDIR.

But not all the Frankish host perished by the Vascon missiles. As Roland and his hundred hors.e.m.e.n charged after Olvir upon the wall which barred the gorge, the fiery Moslems answered the Northern battle-shouts with shrill yells, and the foremost among them leaped their coursers over the barrier, to rush upon the Franks. A hundred or more had crossed the wall before the slower Frankish horses could meet them; and the treacherous Vascons above, only too willing that their allies should win more of wounds than plunder, hastened away to share in the looting of the baggage-train. Of all the riders who had turned to follow their count, two only were slain by Vascon arrows. The others, stung to desperate fury by the shrieks of those behind them in the gorge, thundered after their leader with brandished blades.

"On, men! on!" cried Roland. "The dogs leap to meet us! On, and strike them down!"

"_Heu_! _heu_! Christ and king! Down with the pagans!" roared back the Franks, and they crashed at full gallop into the ma.s.s of charging Saracens. The shock was frightful. Hurled back by the ma.s.sive strength of the Frankish horses, the graceful desert coursers were either overthrown and trampled underfoot with their riders, or crushed back upon the barrier.

In a twinkling Franks and Saracens were mingled in the death-grapple,--a furious hand-to-hand struggle, where all the vantage lay with the heavy-armed Northerners. Only the closeness of the jam kept the Franks from at once shattering the whole Saracen band. Vengeance lent double force to their blows.

Side by side on their black Arabs, the foster-brothers thrust in among the yelling Moslems. Roland, high in his stirrups, was wielding his ponderous Norse sword in both hands. Where Ironbiter fell, shields and iron casques were shattered like gla.s.s, and their bearers hurled down as though struck by a sledge. The Frank's blue eyes flamed with white fire, his face was flushed, and his powerful frame quivered with rage.

As he struck, he ground his teeth savagely.

But Olvir's fury was of another kind. In his black eyes was the bright, cold glitter of the striking snake's. Unlike the Frank count, he crouched low in the saddle; and from beneath his little steel shield Al-hatif darted out incessantly, like the beak of a heron. The Frank's sword-play was more appalling to the eye, but the Northman's was the deadlier. So swift and fatal was Al-hatif's thrust that many were slain before they were aware of the danger.

Close on the sword-brothers came the Frankish hors.e.m.e.n, hewing and slashing with sword and double-bladed axe. Twice the number of the Saracens could not have withstood such an attack. The slender-limbed Arabs and Berbers were fairly crushed by their big foes. Less than a score in the rear managed to free themselves from the jam and escape the slaughter by leaping back over the barrier.

The Franks, recking little of their own loss, trampled forward over the slain, in hot pursuit of the fugitives. The rout drew from them a roar of triumph, and they rushed forward, only to recoil in rage and despair.

The barrier was far too high for their heavy horses to leap, and its timbers had been too firmly knit together to be easily torn apart. But the main body of the Saracens, hindered by their retreating fellows of the van, had not yet closed upon the farther side of the wall. Olvir was quick to see the vantage.

"Ho, Franks!" he called. "Your horses cannot leap; afoot and follow me!

Behind pours the Vascon hail; before lies the sword-path. Let us die like men!"

"Lead on!" roared the hors.e.m.e.n, and they sprang from their saddles to rush upon the barrier.

Olvir turned to Roland, his look strangely soft.

"Farewell for a little while, brother," he said. "We are fated; the valkyries call us."

But Roland smiled grimly, and reined back his black stallion for the leap.

"Saint Michael!" he cried. "Life, not death, is before us! We 'll cut our way through the midst of the pagans. _Heu_! _heu_! Christ and king! Follow me, men!"

Already Olvir's courser was leaping the barrier, clean and light as a gazehound. No less gallantly the stallion sprang forward and leaped in turn. But the feat was beyond his power. Borne down by the weight of his rider, he failed to clear the wall. His forelegs struck against the crest, and he fell headlong on the farther side. Roland, though hurled violently to the ground, sprang up at once; but the stallion lay where he fell.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'" (Page 163)]

Olvir wheeled his horse before the count, to shield him from the flights of Saracen darts and arrows which came whistling about them.

"Forward, men! forward, and wedge!" he cried; and the Franks, with a wild shout, came swarming over the wall.