The king took up their cause, but little good came of his championship; for when Desiderius found that nothing could induce the Pope to anoint the children with the sacred chrism as kings of the Franks, he pounced on three of the papal cities and stormed up within a day's march of Rome itself. Pope Hadrian promptly manned his walls, threatened the invaders with the curse of St. Peter, and called Charlemagne to his aid.

The vast realm of the Franks rang with the Summons to arms, and over the snowy passes the hosts of the great Karl poured down into Italy. They found the lower gorges blocked with bulwarks of stone, but the Lombards were suddenly stricken with a midnight panic and fell back in confusion on Pavia, and the armies of the north spread over the wide corn lands of Lombardy.

From the top of one of the lofty towers Desiderius and Ogier looked out over the far-off fields when they were made aware that Charlemagne was advancing. The siege and baggage trains first emerged from the low haze of dust, and when Desiderius saw how all the ways were cumbered with waggons and engines of war, "Is not Karl with this great host?" he asked. "No," replied Ogier, who had been a hostage at Charles's court.

Then appeared the troops raised in all parts of the empire—spearmen and archers, men armed with flails, with scythes, with clubs of gnarled oak; and Desiderius exclaimed, "Surely the king is with this great multitude." "No, not yet," said Ogier. "What shall we do," cried Desiderius, growing troubled, "if he can bring more than these against us?" "You will soon see what manner of king this man is," replied Ogier; "but what will happen to us I cannot tell."

Then came the mighty Paladins, whose prowess was never at rest, and the Lombard cried out in repidation, "At last this must be Karl!" but again Osier replied, "Not yet; no, not yet!"

In the rear of these battalions rode in proud array the bishops, the priests of the chapel royal, the counts of the realm; and at the sight of them Desiderius loathed the light of the sun, and fell to sobbing and stammering, "Let us go down and hide ourselves in the depths of the earth." But once more Ogier answered, "Karl is not among these. When you shall see all the fields of the harvest tossing, and the ranks of corn bending in wild gusts, and when you shall hear your rivers roaring in a deluge of iron and your bridges creaking, and the clash of arms sounding in your ears, then you may say that Charlemagne is nigh."

Scarcely had Ogier spoken when a stretch of sombre cloud rolled up in the north-west. The day grew dark; and more awful than the darkness, glimmering swords flashed out from the smoke of the cloud. Then appeared a figure of iron. It was Charlemagne.

Iron was his helm; iron sheathed his breast and broad shoulders; his gauntlets were iron; his feet were shod in iron. Of the colour and of the might of iron was the horse on which he rode. The host that rode before him, behind him, on either hand of him, were iron hearts, clad in the terror of iron. The land in all its ways and in all its fields was thronged with iron and with points of iron flashing dreadful lights.

"Behold at last," said Ogier, "the man you have so long looked to see," and sank down at the king's side in a dead swoon.

Pavia surrendered; Desiderius was dethroned; the baby princes went unharmed, but the dominion of the Lombards was ended. And "iron" was the last word in the story of this grim pageant of iron, for when Charlemagne crowned himself Lord of Lombardy, it was with the Iron Crown, which enshrined in gold and jewels one of the nails of the Crucifixion.

This was the Charlemagne of the wars of giants and the mighty conquests. There was another; a big gladsome man, with more turns and likings than a harp has strings, and as full of music. For he delighted in learning, in hunting the aurochs, in following the cross barefoot on the solemn Rogation days, in having all his merry girls about him and giving the least little maid on his knee bite and sip from his plain cup and trencher.

Seven feet he stood, in cross-gartered hose and high-laced boots—Frank fashion. His flaxen hair fell on his broad shoulders, and his soul looked out from a cheerful face and swift lively eyes. He went in homely tunic of linen or wool, bordered with coloured silk, and perchance a coat of otter-skin in winter; and over all he wore a white or a sapphire cloak, the corners of which hung low back and front, but scarce reached the knees on either side. "Warm to wear, and little to spoil," he said, laughing, to his courtiers, whom he once took to the chase in all their Eastern finery and brought back drenched and tattered; "but oh, you spendthrifts in Tyrian purple and dormouse fur and Phœnician feathers and fringes of cedar bark, how many pounds of silver have you left on the thorns and brambles?"

Yet if he was simple and sparing in his person, he opened a kingly hand when splendour was seemly. One priceless thing he ever carried in his belt and that was Joyeuse, the Sword Jewellous, which contained in a hilt of gold and gems the head of the lance that pierced our Saviour's side. And thereto he wore a pilgrim's pouch—"against my faring to Jerusalem, or, if that may not be, to remind me that our life is but a pilgrim's way, and our joy but a pilgrim's rest, and our hope a palm."

In the palace too were massive tables of engraved silver. One, which was square, displayed the City of Constantinople on the blue waters that wash at once the East and the West; one, which was round, showed the glory of Rome on the Seven Hills; but the costliest and most beautifully wrought was a similitude of the world. Here were Adam and Eve, and the Serpent on a withered tree. A narrow pass separated Mount Carmel from Sinai; and hard by the Mountains of Antioch stood the mountains of Araby, and one saw the mysteries of the earth from the Head of Europe to the deserts of the Antipodes. "And where is Frankland?" asked little Hildruda. "This is Frankland near the two great waters." "Oh, the dear silver place! cried Hildruda. "Now you tell me," said Charlemagne, "who these are," pointing to four figures outside the ring of the regions of men. "They are blowing horns," replied Hildruda; "are they wild hunters, since they have no clothes? And these two are head over heels; maybe the aurochs has tossed them!" "Nay," laughed Charlemagne, "these are the four winds that blow over the world."

Charles made them into twelve afterwards, and called them by Frankland names; and the twelve months he changed from their heathen calling to Winter-month and Mud-month, Spring-month and Easter-month, and the month of the storks and new leaves and springing flowers he named Love-month; and so with the rest, for he liked best all that was Frank and homely.

The old folk-songs and the stories of ancient kings and heroes he had collected and written down. "These," he said, "are the joy and glory of a people; never should they be forgotten; "and often he would sing those songs to the harp. So too with old customs; when they were good and kindly he would have them still observed, like that of the wayfarer, who might pluck three apples or three bunches of grapes or take three radishes, and no man would begrudge him. But if the customs might be bettered, he would change them; and thus instead of the old idols, people carried round the fields the cross with the fair image of Christ, not naked and in anguish, as we have it, but gold-crowned and clad in bright raiment; and instead of going round the budding corn with loud cries, they went singing litanies and hymns. "A pleasant and wholesome thought," he said, "that men and women should be singing away toil and care," and he would have herd and shepherd lad sing cheerily as they went afield and returned to fold and byre with their good beasts.

Nor would he abate old uses even when they touched his own greatness. Riding abroad with his train one day, he saw seated by the roadside a man, who neither rose nor uncovered, but only raised his hand to his hat. An officer of the palace went angrily towards the man. "Who art thou," he asked, "to make so small account of King Karl?" "Who art thou to ask?" said the man.

Then Charlemagne drew near, and the man arose, with a smile on his ruddy brown face. "Thou dost not know me, Lord King," he said, "but it may be thou hast heard of the Barons of the Sun, old free-holders of this land when it was yet but a clearing here and there in forest and swamp. This man who speaks to thee is one of the last of their line. They held not from town, or prince, or emperor. Neither does he. They owed no man vassalage, they rose at no man's coming, they bared their heads to no man. Neither does he. Little is left of the old fiefs, but the Barons of the Sun were ever free men." Charlemagne smiled. "Wilt thou tell me where thou livest?" "Yonder by the fir-wood," said the man. "Wouldst thou give me welcome should I come to see thee?" asked the king. "My poor house were thine, and thrice welcome shouldst thou be." "Be sure then I will come, for I am fain to talk with thee;" and Charlemagne, leaning from his horse, stretched out a hand which this chief of the old heaths and woods grasped with a proud smile.

Frank speech he called the salt of freedom, and the fearless truth-teller a third eye. It chanced at one of his feasts a captive Saxon prince was one of the guests, and when the Saxon saw how Charles and his paladins and prelates sat at table and were served on broidered cloths, while the poor sat on the bare ground, and the dogs with them, he rose from his place and spoke low in the king's ear. "Did not your Christ say that the poor were His body and in them He was received? How can you bow your head before Him whom you treat with such scorn and give but a dog's honour?" The paladins wondered to see Charlemagne blush, but he answered, "Your words are just. I have thought too little of this. But it shall be amended."

These high feasts were little to his liking, and save when majesty and honour required his presence, the great earls held them in his name, and Charles fared frugally apart, listening the while to some brave book telling of bygone days. Most of all he took pleasure in St. Augustine's goodly tome, Touching the City of God. "I would," he said, "I had but twelve clerks as learned and as wise as Jerome and Augustine." Whereat Alcuin, the bluff ruddy Englishman who had been the scholar of Bede's scholars, laughed outright: "Commend me the moderation of great kings. The Creator of heaven and earth had no equals to these two, and you would have a dozen!"

And work enough he could have found for a dozen; for most of his princes of the Church were worldly and unlettered beyond belief. He had released them from service in arms, but still they flaunted in silk and purple—lords of luxury and turbulence; mighty men with hawks by the river-side and hounds in the forest; burly revellers in their great tapestried halls, drinking deep, with garlanded heads, amid a tumult of music. Alcuin gave him untiring service in founding schools all over the land, and rearing a nobler generation; and now and again, as the old warrior-priests were lapped in purple and lead, Charlemagne, by good guidance, laid his hand on some worthier man.

It was scarcely by chance alone that as he hunted deep in the forest darkness closed in, and he came benighted to a little church and priest's house. The priest Amalarius gave him friendly welcome, and set such cheer as he could before him. Talking gaily and praising the sweet brown bread and the toothsome apples and the noble cheese, Charlemagne glanced in his talk at the rich tables of abbots and prelates, whom it would better become to think of barley loaves and fishes.

The simple priest shook his head and answered gently: "If we judge at all, fair lord, let it be with charity. Are not these things God's creatures for our comfort and strength in the day? One man may offend on green herbs, and another be blameless on the stalled ox. Esau was rebuked not for flesh, but for pottage; Adam condemned not for flesh but for fruit; Jonathan judged not for flesh but for honey. Elias ate flesh yet sinned not, and Abraham laid flesh before angels. And so with drink. Surely Paul's little cup of wine were less to be reproved than greed and water."

Charlemagne was well pleased, and thinking to test Amalarius yet further, he spoke slightly of the royal house. The priest's face grew troubled, and he replied: "Doubtless you say this in jest, or it may be with little thought. Yet he was a wise man who wrote, 'Revile not the king, no, not even in thought, for a bird of the air shall carry the matter.' But even if it chanced that fault might be found in the king's household, think how St. Augustine answered in such a case: 'I would not boast that my house is better than the Ark, wherein of eight men one was reprobate; or than the Lord's, in which Judas was one of the Twelve; or than heaven itself, from which the angels fell.'"

Then Charlemagne smiled and said, "Forgive me, good father; I spoke with a fool's tongue, and you have done well to chide me."

"Nay, son, not to chide, but to remind you," said the priest.

At daybreak when the king rose and would have taken to horse, Amalarius came to him and said: "You thought not that even now I go to say Mass, and that you could tarry to thank God for sleep, and safety in the night, and a glad awakening in the world."

"Nay, gladly will I stay," said Charlemagne, reddening in the grey light.

When Mass was said and the two came forth, Charlemagne took a piece of gold from his pilgrim's pouch and offered it to his host. "Great thanks," replied the priest, "I have no need for it; but if in your sport to-day you bring down a hind, very thankful shall I be to have the skin, for my poor boots are as weathered and worn as the shoes of poor pilgrims."

"So much you shall have, and more," replied Charlemagne, "were it but for that saying of St. Augustine about his house."

Home to Aix rode Charlemagne, right well pleased to have found such a priest; and not long afterwards, when the Archbishop of Treves died, he raised this single-hearted Amalarius to his high place.

As streams are green, winding in the evening sun, and blue in the cold of the morning, and yet ever lightsome to see, so the colour of the king's moods and conditions changed, but still the man remained large and lovable. He travelled far, but his fame outstripped his horses. The Moorish minstrels sang of him in Fez, and he was the joy of the story-tellers of Baghdad. Foreign princes ransacked land and sea to honour him.

Of all the kingly men who loved him, the Caliph Haroun al-Raschid was the most lavish in his gifts. He sent him perfumes and spices, coloured hangings and mantles of silk, a mirror set in gold and enamel, and a bronze clock which was a miracle of cunning. For it had crystal windows that opened, some for the day and some for the night; it showed the time, which fleets like clear wind and none can hold it, and it dropped little brazen balls on a cymbal to count the hour. At noon twelve windows opened, and twelve Persian heroes rode out in bright mail, and closed the twelve other windows which had been open since midnight.

As if that were a trivial thing, Haroun sent him Abul-abaz, which is to say the Father of Stern Brows. Isaac the Jew brought Abul-abaz. From Africa they came to Genoa, sailing in a great carrack or sea-waggon; the winter stayed them at Vercelli, because of the deep snows in the Alps; but at last, on a July evening, the Father of Stern Brows stood towering in the sun before the palace gates, with the mahout on his neck, and Isaac beside his huge pillared shoulders, and a crowd of the good folk of Aix chattering in open-mouthed wonder.

When the children got to know the friendly mind and gentleness of Abul-abaz, they delighted to make him their playmate, adorning him with garlands and ribbons, and screaming with glee as he lumbered beneath them like a hillside in motion. Charlemagne, who could crumple horse-shoes, discovered that a strong man was but a babe in the fold of the great creature's trunk. "No sage," he said to Alcuin, "could possibly be a tenth part as wise as the Father of Stern Brows looks. The lore of ages is stored in that huge prophet's head of his. His people have been Barons of the Sun from the morning of the sixth day—a more ancient race than ours. Herein you see the lofty soul of the caliph, to send so noble an ambassador between brother kings."

But of all Haroun's gifts Charlemagne prized most the keys of the Holy Sepulchre. These he sent to be in the keeping of the Bishop of Jerusalem, "for I know not," he wrote, "how long it might be before I could bring them and worship on that most sacred spot."

When Charlemagne had finished the stately chapel from which Aix-la-Chapelle took half its name, he planned to enlarge the palace. On the ground that was needed for this work a poor woman had a little hut, which she would not sell even at ten times the price given for the houses of her neighbours. "Here I was born," she said, "and here my mother died, and here my father was born, and his father before him. This is my dear home; what gold or silver can buy me another which shall be the same?"

As the officers of the palace could not persuade her, they began to threaten her with Charlemagne's displeasure. "I wonder," she said sharply, "to hear the king's servants so belie the king. You would not dare to say these things if he could hear you." "And I too wonder," said Charlemagne, when he was told of the matter, "that knowing me for what I am, you should act thus, thinking to please me." Whereupon he went himself to the woman, and bade her be neither fearful nor troubled.

"I had no fear," she answered, "for I knew the king's justice would not suffer me to be harmed. But troubled I was, because of many memories. Yet lying awake in the night I have since thought how foolish we are to cling too closely to what is ours for only a little time, even were we to live long. And moreover, at any moment wind from the heavens, or fire, or weight of snow might snatch from us what we hold too dearly. So I pray the king to take the poor house, if I may only have some otherwhere to live."

"You shall not want," said Charlemagne. But he ordered that the hut should remain untouched, as a token of how men should value justice. "To be generous," he said, "is in our own nature, but to be just we need God to give us something of His." So amid arcades of bright stone and marble columns from Rome and Ravenna stood the poor hut thatched with brown reeds. And there it remained until, long afterwards, the Northmen invaded Aix-la-Chapelle, and destroyed the palace, and stabled their horses in the noble chapel; but they could not find the spot where Charlemagne sat crowned on his throne of gold, with Joyeuse in his belt and a copy of the Gospels lying open on his knees.