ugh the centuries. One account tells that he
blew his horn so loud and long that the veins of his neck burst in the
strain. Others tell that he split a mountain in twain by a mighty stroke
of his sword Durandal. The print of his horse's hoofs are shown on a
mountain-peak where only a flying horse could ever have stood. In truth,
Roland, whose name is barely mentioned in history, rose to be the greatest
hero of romance, the choicest and best of the twelve paladins of
Charlemagne.

Bernardo del Carpio was similarly celebrated in Spanish song, though he
attained no such worldwide fame. History does not name him at all, but the
ballads of Spain say much of his warlike deeds. It must suffice here to
say that this doughty champion marched upon Roland and his men while they
were winding through the narrow mountain-pass, and as they advanced the
mountaineers swelled their ranks.

"As through the glen his spears did gleam, the soldiers from the hills,
They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;
They round his banner flocked in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,
And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain."

Roland and his force lay silent in death when the valiant prince led back
his army, flushed with victory, and hailed with the plaudits of all the
people of the land. At this moment of his highest triumph the tragedy of
his life began. His old nurse, who had feared before to tell the tale, now
made him acquainted with the true story of his birth, telling him that he
was the nephew, not the son, of the king; that his mother, whom he thought
long dead, still lived, shut up for life in a convent; and that his father
lay languishing in a dungeon cell, blind and in chains.

As may well be imagined, this story filled the soul of the young hero with
righteous wrath. He strode into the presence of the king and asked, with
little reverence, if the story were true. Alfonso surlily admitted it.
Bernardo then demanded his father's freedom. This the king refused.
Burning with anger, the valiant youth shut himself up in his castle,
refusing to take part in the rejoicings that followed the victory, and
still sternly demanding the release of his father.

"Is it well that I should be abroad fighting thy battles," he asked the
king, "while my father lies fettered in thy dungeons? Set him free and I
shall ask no further reward."

Alfonso, who was obstinate in his cruelty, refused, and the ind