What happened at Roncesvalles. To Roland. And to me

In my memory, David Ross was a large man. Something about him always made me think of him as a walrus. He was tall and broad-shouldered and the years had added to his girth too. A shock of white hair and a fine white moustache naturally reinforced my impression of him as a walrus. He also struck me as immensely old, which is a little chastening, since he was probably younger when I knew him than I am today.

He was, I should mention in passing, my professor of Mediaeval French when I was studying at Birkbeck College, London.

At the back, on the left, with a moustache:
David Ross and other Birkbeck heads of department, 1972-3

The conversation I’m thinking about took place in 1979. I know that because he gave me a copy of an article he’d written, Before Roland: what happened 1200 years ago next August 15? He was referring to 15 August 1978, but it was the following year when he gave me the paper. So it was in 1979. I was 26. Which is no doubt why he seemed so old to me.

What did happen 1200 years before August 1978? That was a battle in 778 in a place the French call Roncevaux. The great French emperor Charlemagne had come across the Pyrenees into what we now call Spain, though he would have said he was in Gascony, the land of the Gascons or Basques (slightly different name, same people), on his way into the Emirate of Aragon. An Emirate because this was the time of Arab control of most of the Iberian Peninsula. Zaragoza, the capital of Aragon, was one of the great centres of Spanish Muslim culture.

Charlemagne had won some victories but things hadn’t worked out too well. The Arab allies who’d agreed to let him have Zaragoza in return for his support had decided, once the city had fallen, that, well, actually, they weren’t that keen on handing it over. And he’d had bad news about enemies threatening his home territory in France, so he set off to get back across the Pyrenees. On the way, he attacked and destroyed the walls of the Gascon (or Basque) capital Pamplona, which had left them (the Basques or Gascons) more than a little irritated with him. Besides, they knew that he had a rich baggage train with him, along with some important Arab prisoners that their compatriots would like back.

And who’s this Roland Ross talked about? Well, he’s the eponymous hero of the first great work of French literature that survives to this day, The Song of Roland. Not everyone is convinced that Roland ever existed, but Ross seemed to feel that, on balance, the evidence suggests he probably did, and I tend to agree with him (perhaps I should say that I follow his view: he was an authority on the subject, I a mere student).

Charlemagne, the story has it, gave Roland command of the rearguard of his forces. The baggage train would be between that rearguard and the main body of the army. In that formation, the French headed for Roncevaux and from there through a nearby pass in the Pyrenees, back into France.

Well, most of them made it. But the Basques/Gascons had other ideas. There are various schools of thought as to whether they were alone, or whether it was Arabs alone, or a mixed force, that took exception to Charlemagne’s plans. David Ross inclined towards the idea of a mixed force. Again, I go with him.

The Song of Roland describes how they lay in wait for the French in wooded territory on the way to the pass. The ambushing forces knew they couldn’t hope to tackle the whole of Charlemagne’s army, but maybe the rearguard would be an easier target. And so it turned out.

Not only did they defeat Roland’s men, they wiped them out to the last man. Who, this being an epic poem after all, was Roland himself. As he lay dying, he at last blew his great horn, which he hadn't wanted to do before, to avoid recalling Charlemagne and the main force. Now, though, he needed to let his king know what had happened. Such was the force of his blowing that he burst a blood vessel at his temple, and the king's army heard him, even in the distant passes.

The dying Roland sounding his horn
This is not a contemporaneous image

His last dying gesture was to hold out his right-hand glove to God. That was the gesture of vassalage, of subordination, that a knight would make to a fief lord, his chief, and Roland, knowing his time in this world was over, was offering to become one of the paladins of the divine host, as in life he’d been one in Charlemagne’s. All very noble and chivalrous and heroic, as I’m sure you’d agree.

Meanwhile, the Basques/Gascons and their Arab partners made off with the baggage and the freed prisoners.

The trouble is, The Song of Roland is from the twelfth century and the battle was in the eighth. What Ross demonstrated, I thought with great skill, was that the poem had been heavily modified in those four centuries and, in particular, a great deal from the middle sections had been massively rewritten. So his article was about reconstructing the story as it was originally told, which is why his title referred to ‘what happened’. I reckon he did an excellent job of it. 

So why am I telling this story now?

Because earlier this month, Danielle and I, along with three friends of ours, peeling off from a hiking exhibition in high Navarre in Spain, spent the day in and near the little town of Roncesvalles. If you’ve guessed that this is the Spanish name of Roncevaux, congratulations. It’s also known as Orreaga, in Basque.

Navarre – or Navarra in Spanish – is traditionally part of the Basque nation, though these days the province is so heavily inhabited by Castilian-speaking Spanish that few Basque-speakers remain. Why, it isn’t even part of the official Spanish autonomous community known as the Basque Country. Even the high part of the province, where we were, doesn’t have many Basque speakers anymore, though the proportion is higher there than in the lowlands. Back then, however, the place must have been full of Basques. I imagine certainly enough to seriously disrupt, with a little help from some Arab allies, Roland’s trip back to France.

Roncesvalles today boasts a colossal monastery and a couple of churches, a museum and three restaurants or cafés. Part of the monastery has been turned into a hotel and another into a hostel for pilgrims. “Pilgrims?” I hear you cry, “What does Roland have to do with pilgrims?” To which the answer is nothing.

Interior of the Royal Collegiate Church in Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles is now part of the pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Compostella, or the ‘Camino’ as its fans call it. That’s become a heck of a business these days. There are cafés and hostels and restaurants all along the way, catering to the footsore pilgrim. As, of course, there are all the support services, such as guides and shops selling everything from camping gas to maps to sticking plasters.

Pilgrimage is today, as I suspect it always has been, a huge commercial opportunity for the shopkeepers, hostel keepers and restaurant owners all along the way.

Roncesvalles, whose actual registered population these days is just 12, is a thriving place but the crowds are all from outside, walkers working their way along the Camino together with the multitude offering them money-making services.

And of the great battle? Of Charlemagne? Of Roland holding out his glove to God? Frankly, there’s practically nothing. God, or possibly Mammon, has taken over.

790 km to Santiago. We managed three

Ah, well. We had a good day anyway. We walked a stretch of the Camino. Three kilometres, I think, at a point where there were 790 more to go. Clearly, we failed to get anywhere near Santiago but, on the other hand, we got to a wonderful restaurant in the next-door town of Burguete (Auritz in Basque) where we had a lunch worth a pilgrimage.

And that’s without mentioning the great dip into my past, to one of my favourite teachers, David Ross. Not to mention the even longer flashback to Roland.

Thanks, Roncevaux, and my hiking friends, for providing me with an excellent trip into old memories.

My hiking companions, leaving Roncesvalles
On the way to a fine meal in the next town