Charlemagne held his state in the city of Pampeluna. This city of the Moors he had invested for six months; and being unable to take it, he prayed to St. James,—whereat the walls fell down as did those of Jericho before the blast of the priests' trumpets.
Great was the Emperor’s fame after his prodigious conquests in Saxony, France, Germany, Lorraine, Burgundy, Italy, and now in Spain; and his person befitted his renown.
“He was of a ruddy complexion,” says Turpin’s Chronicle, “with brown hair; of a well-made handsome form, but stern visage. His height was about eight of his own feet which were very long. He was of a strong, robust make; his legs and thighs very stout, and his sinews firm. His face was thirteen inches long; his beard a palm; his nose half a palm; his forehead a foot over. His lion-like eyes flashed fire like carbuncles; his eye-brows were half a palm over. When he was angry it was a terror to look upon him. He required eight span for his girdle besides what hung loose. He ate sparingly of bread, but a whole quarter of lamb, two fowls, a goose, or a large portion of pork; a peacock, crane or a whole hare. He drank moderately of wine and water. He was so strong, that he could at a single blow cleave asunder an armed soldier on horseback, from the head to the waist, and the horse likewise. He easily vaulted over four horses harnessed together; and could raise an armed man from the ground to his head, as he stood erect upon his hand.
“He was liberal, just in his decrees, and fluent of speech. Four days in the year, especially during his residence in Spain, he held a solemn assembly at court, adorning himself with his royal crown and sceptre: namely on Christmas-day, at Easter, Whitsuntide, and on the festival of St. James. A naked sword, after the imperial fashion, was then borne before him. A hundred and twenty devout knights watched nightly around his couch, in three courses of forty each. A drawn sword was laid at his right hand, and a lighted candle at his left.”
Yet the chief glory of this regal court was the band of Paladins, (Palace knights), sworn to the Emperor and to each other—Roland of Brittany, Oliver of Genoa, Ogier the Dane, Richard of Normandy, Guy of Burgundy, Rinaldo of the White Thorn, Terry of Ardennes, old Neymes of Bavaria, and the rest. Save perhaps at that Round Table of King Arthur, never was there gathered together such a company of heroes as these Douzepeers. All the world of christendom and paynimry resounded with their fame.
Amid one of these high festivals there arrived messengers spurring hotly from Nager. White-faced, they told of the coming of a Moorish giant hight Ferragus. He sent defiance to Charles and all his knights. Men said no weapon might harm him, while he himself was possessed of twenty men’s strength.
Also he was surrounded by a reputation of magic art; for as Valentine and Orson later discovered, his home was on an island far to the south. Here glittered a strong castle of shining metal; and in a chamber therein stood on a pillar a marvellous brazen head, “composed a long time ago by the necromancy of a magician, which Head was of such an excellent composition, that it gave Answer to anything that was demanded.” In addition he had for servitor one Pacolet, a dwarf, a very cunning wizard, who had made a wooden horse that would carry him through the air whithersoever he would. Natheless, be what he might, the Saracen challenger must be met, for the honor of knighthood. The Emperor therefore marched to Nager and pitched his camp there.
When the giant appeared from the city next morning, all were aghast at the sight. He was twelve cubits high, and the fingers which gripped his huge brand were three palms in length. From his loathly dark face his eyebrows stuck out like stiff pig’s bristles. A hideous and fell creature he looked, and when the French knights beheld his monstrous thews they had little desire to seek “los” in that encounter.
Bold Ogier the Dane, however, demanded the honor of the fight. Carefully he armed himself, chose the heaviest lance he could find, and mounted his stoutest charger. Then he sped forth over the plain before the watching army. When he approached the giant, he set spurs to his horse and thundered down upon him with a speed and force that seemed irresistible.
With utter indifference the monster received the spear point on his shield, and the tough wood flew to pieces. Ferragus was not even staggered by the onset. He stepped forward, thrust a great arm about Ogier, lifted him bodily from his horse, and, despite all the struggles of this renowned warrior, carried him off beneath his arm to the castle, no more disturbed than a falcon is by the fluttering of the prey in his talons.
Next there came against him Rinaldo of the White Thorn, but he fared no better, being seized and borne away in the same manner.
Scornfully the giant taunted the French king:
“Ah, it was you who won Spain! And this is the best you have? By the Prophet, ten such at a time were no match for Ferragus alone.”
Chafing under this disgrace, Charlemagne despatched two knights together, Sir Constantine of Rome, and Earl Howel of Nantes—only to suffer the humiliation of seeing the huge Saracen tuck one under each arm and walk away with them as if they were children.
Abandoning all thought of equal combat, he bade ten knights sally out and destroy this prodigy, whose boasting grew ever more difficult to endure. To his amazement, the issue was the same: Ferragus was not so much as wounded, while these doughty knights were borne off in triumph to the castle dungeon.
Ruin instead of renown seemed to lie at the end of this road, and the Emperor refused to risk any more of his knights in conflict with this unearthly being.
Roland’s proud heart could not brook this. He came before Charles and demanded the combat. Dreading a similar fate for this best-loved of his douzepeers, the Emperor urged him to forego the adventure; yet when the Duke insisted that he must undertake it, for his own honor and that of France, Charles could no longer withhold his assent.
Armed cap-à-pie, the undefeated Paladin rode forth. So confident and haughty was his mien that Ferragus perceived this was no adversary to be despised. As the knight drew near, the giant’s great hand shot out and gripped him inexorably by the sword arm. That vise-like grasp paralyzed the victim’s muscles, as the crushing jaws of the lion are said to destroy effort and feeling. Then he put forth all his superhuman power, and lifted the knight from the saddle. Swinging him in front of himself, he urged his huge charger towards the castle, well assured of adding him too to the growing band of captives.
But as he was bearing him to the city (says the chronicler of nearly a thousand years ago), Roland recovered his strength, and trusting in the Almighty, seized the giant by the beard, and tumbled him from his horse, so that both came to the ground together. Roland then thinking to slay the infidel, drew his sword Durandal and struck at him, but the blow fell upon his steed and shore through it.
The giant, being thus on foot, drew his enormous sword; but Roland, who had remounted his own charger, dealt him a sudden stroke on the sword arm. Though Durandal was tempered so that the knight could cut through a block of marble with it, yet could the blade make no impression upon this creature’s skin. Still, the sheer force of the blow struck the brand from the giant’s grasp.
Greatly enraged at this mischance, Ferragus aimed a blow at Roland with his fist, but, missing him, hit his horse on the forehead and laid it dead on the spot. Avoiding the monster’s grasp Roland laid on him lustily with Durandal, but the unfailing weapon could find no spot where the giant’s hide might be pierced.
For the rest of that day they battled with fists and stones. The giant then demanded a truce till next day, agreeing to meet Roland without horse or spear. Each warrior then retired to his post.
Next morning they accordingly met once more. Ferragus brought his sword, but Roland armed himself only with a sturdy club to ward off the blows of the giant, who wearied himself to no purpose.
They now began again to batter each other with stones that lay scattered about the field, till at last the giant begged a second truce. This being granted, he presently fell fast asleep upon the ground. Roland, taking a stone for a pillow, quietly laid himself down also. For such was the law of honor between the Christians and the Saracens at that time, that no one on any pretence dared to take advantage of his adversary before the truce was expired, as in that case his own party would have slain him.
When Ferragus awoke, he found Roland awake also, marvelling at the prodigious snoring which came from his huge adversary. He discovered, too, that the knight had placed a block of stone beneath his head for a pillow, and this courtesy caused him to inquire the Frenchman’s name.
Roland told him, and inquired in his turn of that matter which most bewildered him: how it was that no wounds had resulted from all his swordplay with his trusted Durandal.
“Because,” said Ferragus proudly, “I am invulnerable except in one point.”
“And where is that?”
“In the navel.”
Ferragus spoke in the Spanish language, which Roland understanding tolerably well, a conversation now followed between them.
“Of what race are you?” asked the giant.
“Of the race of the Franks.”
“What law do you follow?”
“The law of Christ, so far as his grace permits me.”
“Who is this Christ in whom you profess to believe?”
“The Son of God, born of a Virgin, who took upon him our nature, was crucified for us, rose again from the dead, and ascended into heaven, where he sitteth on the right hand of the Father.”
“We believe,” said Ferragus, “that the Creator of heaven and earth is one God, and that, as he was not made himself, so cannot another God spring from him. There is, therefore, only one God and not three, as I understand you Christians profess.”
“You say well; there is but one God; but your faith is imperfect; for as the Father is God, so likewise is the Son, and so is the Holy Ghost. Three persons, but one God.”
“Nay, if each of these three persons be God, there must be three Gods.”
“By no means,” replied Roland. “He is both three and one. Abraham saw three but worshipped one. Let us recur to natural things. When the harp sounds, there is the art, the strings and the hand, yet but one harp. In the almond there is the shell, the coat and the kernel. In the sun, the body, the beams and the heat. In the wheel, the hub, the spokes, and the nave. In you likewise, there is the body, the members and the soul. In like manner may Trinity in Unity be ascribed to God.”
They discoursed at length upon these mysteries, the giant listening with great interest to the knight’s explanation of the resurrection from the dead. To Roland’s surprise, however, Ferragus presently remarked:
“Well, to end our arguments, I will fight you on these terms: if the faith you profess be the true faith, you shall conquer; otherwise the victory shall be mine. And let the issue be eternal honor to the conqueror, but dishonor to the vanquished.”
“Be it so!” said Roland.
Whereupon they immediately fell to blows. The very first which the giant aimed at him would have certainly been fatal, if Roland had not nimbly leaped aside, and caught it on his club, which was, however, cut in twain. Ferragus, seeing his advantage, rushed in upon him, and both came to the ground together.
Then Roland, finding it impossible to escape, implored the divine assistance; and, feeling himself invigorated, he sprung upon his feet, seized the giant’s sword and thrust it into his navel.
Finding himself mortally wounded, Ferragus called aloud with a mighty voice upon Mahomet; which the Saracens hearing, sallied from the city, and bore him off in their arms.
Roland returned safe to the camp, to the great joy of Charlemagne and his fellows. Then the French boldly attacked the city, and carried it by storm. The giant and his people were slain, his castle taken, and all the Christian warriors liberated.