Dear Folk,
Today, as tradition has it, August 15, 778, the rearguard of Charlemagne's forces were wiped out on the road between Moorish Spain and France. It was on a trail leading through the Pyrenees mountains known as Roncevalles (Roncevaux in French).
Western Europe had been falling into a funk when Charlemagne became joint king of the Franks in 768. Except in the monasteries, people had all but forgotten education and the arts. Boldly Charlemagne whacked on barbarians and Christians alike to get some action going, something to unify Europe. Okay, that sounds suspiciously like Hitler and other dictators. Charlie was who he was; no excuses.
Charlie's grandpa was Charles Martel (means "hammer" by the way) no relation to Rick or Sherri Martel of wrestling fame. Martel had whomped up on the Saracens to set a good example for grandson. Charlemagne's folks were Bertrade ("Bertha Greatfoot") and Pepin the Short. Now doesn't that sound like good hobbit parents? Kid had to grow up tough. Some folks think that Charlie learned to read from his mom. Nice to think he had some education. He loved the Christian Church, that is for sure.
Charlie was tall, blond and buff. He was a great big jock who loved hunting, riding and swimming. Liked blue cloaks and ermine coats. Darn it! He was kingly! He was knightly. He even would spare an occasional foe. True, did whack 4500 Saxons after an uprising but it was business, nothing personal. He kicked out two of his four wives without giving them any reason. On the up side, his mom and the other two wives (who knew where he slept) would often rule the roost.
In 772, Charlie launched a 30 year campaign to conquer and make very Christian Europe. That included beating down the Saxons up north in Holland, the Avars (Tartar dudes) on the Danube, Bavarians in southern Germany, Lombards in Italy. The young king was formidable. He launched over 50 campaigns and rode at the head of at least half of them. He was a demon for details; could tell his folks what to bring and what not to bother with; even supervised baggage wagon loading.
In 778 he went to Spain. It seemed that a Saracen ruler had promised, for reasons unclear, the city of Saragossa. . He entered Spain by the Eastern Pyrenees, and made an easy conquest of Barcelona and Pampeluna. But Saragossa refused to open her gates to him, and Charles ended by negotiating, and accepting a vast sum of gold as the price of his return over the Pyrenees. Sacrifices had to be made. The troops were missing Bob Hope's show.
On the way over, Charlie managed to upset the Basques who not only did not like the Saracens, did not like the French either. They were much like mountain people anywhere: proud, independent and suspicious of strangers. Charlie insured their cooperation by taking hostages among the locals.
On his way back, he marched with his whole army through the gorges of the mountains by way of the valleys of Engui, Eno, and Roncesvalles. The chief of the region had played it cool and let Charlemagne cross the first time, as a faithful vassal of the monarchy. On the return of the Franks, he called together all the wild mountaineers who acknowledged him as their chief, and they occupied the heights of the mountains under which the army had to pass.
Old trick we learned in Vietnam (and the Basque already knew): let the main body go through and then ambush the straggling rearguard. Sure enough, the main body of the troops met with no obstruction, and received no hint of danger; but the rear-guard, which was considerably behind, and encumbered with its plunder, was bushwhacked by the mountaineers in the pass of Roncesvalles, and slain to a man. Some of the bravest of the Frankish chiefs perished on this occasion, among whom is mentioned Roland or Orlando. As Einhard noted in his Life of Charlemagne, a few nobles were killed, including "Hrudoland, lord of the Marches of Brittany."
We will talk more about Charlie in another column, I would hope. Instead, let's talk a bit about the epic poem "The Song of Roland." No, I am not going to quote it for you. It is about 4000 lines long. It was written about the year 1100 (only 300 + years after the event) in northern France – we think. It is a chansons de geste – a song which tells knights how to behave, a recounting of bravery, chivalry, the code of the paladin.
The poem relates that the Frankish king Charlemagne was fighting the Saracens in Spain for seven years when trouble at home compelled him to return. He left Roland and a small band to guard the rear of his army by holding the pass at Roncesvalles. Soon an army of 400,000 Saracens attacked the heroic band. Roland fought in the front of the battle with his sword, Durandal. Even the utmost in studly heroism, however, could not defeat the enemy hordes. Finally Roland was urged by his comrade Oliver to summon aid from Charlemagne by sounding his horn. The horn, named "Olifant," had been given to Roland by Charlemagne. Of all the knights, only Roland could sound it. On hearing it, birds fell from the trees, the ground shook, chimneys fell from houses, and people cried out from the pain in their ears. It was not unlike William Shatner singing. Only when in deadliest peril would Roland sound it, and he refused to do so. One by one the Frankish knights fell. Soon only a few remained alive. Then Roland raised his horn. Charlemagne turned back, but it was too late. The little band had been slain, and Roland lay dying.
There is much more to the poem: some real posers of questions. For example, Roland speaks first in a major council of war, yet he is supposedly very young. Roland's stepfather tries to call Roland on that, and Roland ridicules him and gets away with it. Then stepfather, Ganelon, who swears a vengeance against his stepson, is nominated by Roland to go as an ambassador to the Saracens – last two had been returned in baggies, small baggies – and Charlie says "sure." It is Ganelon who, in the poem, turns traitor and has Roland whacked: tells the Saracens where to wait in ambush; tells Charlie that the horn is just Roland hunting. It is an altogether fine poem full of slicing and dicing. It also has some real food for thought. You medieval folk out there, go read the darned poem online at
Song of Roland
I guarantee you a chance for some great arguments amidst the scenes of brains running out of folks ears and Saracens being cut right down the middle. Gosh, and folks ask me why I love history!
With that in mind, I ask you what have we learned? Jocks make good kings? Knowing what to pack is over half the battle? No matter how big and famous you get, your mom and wife usually can whup your butt? Don't alienate those who guard your road home? How about age and cunning win over youth and brawn every time? In my dreams, I know, I know.
If you wish to send my missives across the Pyrenees, do leave my name and sig attached.
Happy Birthday to England's Princess Anne!
Blowing on my Olifant,