CHAPTER XXXIII. HOW THE ARMY MADE THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES.
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steepcurvingroadforitwastheprince'sorderthattheyshouldbethefirsttopassthrough,andthattheyshouldremainonguardatthefurtherenduntilthewholearmyhademergedfromthemountains.Daywasalreadybreakingintheeast,andthesummitsofthegreatpeakshadturnedrosyred,whilethevalleysstilllayintheshadow,whentheyfoundthemselveswiththecliffsoneitherhandandthelong,ruggedpassstretchingawaybeforethem.
SirNigelrodehisgreatblackwar-horseattheheadofhisarchers,dressedinfullarmor,withBlackSimonbearinghisbannerbehindhim,whileAlleyneathisbridle-armcarriedhisblazonedshieldandhiswell-steeledashenspear.Aproudandhappymanwastheknight,andmanyatimeheturnedinhissaddletolookatthelongcolumnofbowmenwhoswungswiftlyalongbehindhim.
“BySaintPaul!Alleyne,”saidhe,“thispassisaveryperilousplace,andIwouldthattheKingofNavarrehadhelditagainstus,foritwouldhavebeenaveryhonorableventurehaditfallentoustowinapassage.IhaveheardtheminstrelssingofoneSirRolandwhowasslainbytheinfidelsintheseveryparts.”
“Ifitpleaseyou,myfairlord,”saidBlackSimon,“Iknowsomethingoftheseparts,forIhavetwiceservedatermwiththeKingofNavarre.Thereisahospiceofmonksyonder,whereyoumayseetheroofamongthetrees,andthereitwasthatSirRolandwasslain.ThevillageupontheleftisOrbaiceta,andIknowahousethereinwheretherightwineofJuranconistobebought,ifitwouldpleaseyoutoquaffamorningcup.”
“Thereissmokeyonderupontheright.”
“ThatisavillagenamedLesAldudes,andIknowahosteltherealsowherethewineisofthebest.Itissaidthattheinn-keeperhathaburiedtreasure,andIdoubtnot,myfairlord,thatifyougrantmeleaveIcouldprevailuponhimtotelluswherehehathhidit.”
“Nay,nay,Simon,”saidSirNigelcurtly,“Iprayyoutoforgetthesefreecompaniontricks.Ha!Edricson,Iseethatyoustareaboutyou,andingoodsooththesemountainsmustseemwondrousindeedtoonewhohathbutseenButserorthePortsdownhill.”
Thebrokenandruggedroadhadwoundalongthecrestsoflowhills,withwoodedridgesoneithersideofitoverwhichpeepedtheloftiermountains,thedistantPeakoftheSouthandthevastAltabisca,whichtoweredhighabovethemandcastitsblackshadowfromlefttorightacrossthevalley.Fromwheretheynowstoodtheycouldlookforwarddownalongvistaofbeechwoodsandjaggedrock-strewnwilderness,allwhitewithsnow,towherethepassopenedoutupontheuplandsbeyond.BehindthemtheycouldstillcatchaglimpseofthegrayplainsofGascony,andcouldseeherriversgleaminglikecoilsofsilverinthesunshine.Asfaraseyecouldseefromamongtherockygorgesandthebristlesofthepinewoodstherecamethequicktwinkleandglitterofsteel,whilethewindbroughtwithitsuddendistantburstsofmartialmusicfromthegreathostwhichrolledbyeveryroadandby-pathtowardsthenarrowpassofRoncesvalles.OnthecliffsoneithersidemightalsobeseentheflashofarmsandthewavingofpennonswheretheforceofNavarrelookeddownuponthearmyofstrangerswhopassedthroughtheirterritories.
“BySaintPaul!”saidSirNigel,blin