With Spurs of Gold: Heroes of Chivalry and their Deeds

The Story

With Spurs of Gold gathers brief historical sketches of celebrated knights and men of arms, moving across the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance to present a chain of heroic lives and deeds. The book’s purpose is plain from the outset: it wants to make history vivid by telling the romantic, dramatic stories left out of textbooks, while still treating its figures with sympathy rather than modern judgment. That approach shapes every chapter. The figures here are not handled as distant names but as beings formed by their time, praised chiefly for courage, loyalty, courtesy, endurance, and service. The book begins with the early life of Roland, then passes through the betrayal of Charlemagne’s rear guard at Roncesvalles; from there it turns to the Cid in Spain, then to the First Crusade under Godfrey of Bouillon, then to Richard Coeur-de-Lion in the Holy Land, and later to Bayard and Sidney, until it ends with a memorial vision of chivalry itself.

Roland appears first as a rough, hungry, half-wild boy in Sutri, brought up in poverty and already marked by exceptional strength and spirit. He becomes the leader of village boys, and his first important bond is with Oliver, son of the governor, whom he defeats in a fistfight. The quarrel turns into the deepest of friendships: Oliver admires valor wherever he finds it, and Roland gains not only a companion but a lifelong ally. Soon after, Charlemagne passes through Sutri, and Roland, desperate with hunger while his mother suffers, seizes food from the emperor’s attendants and carries it home. Charlemagne, troubled by a dream, is drawn to the boy and notices him as one who will matter. Roland’s youth is thus shown as a mixture of wildness, need, and destiny, preparing the way for his place among the emperor’s champions.

The central Roland story reaches its great crisis in the campaign against the Saracens under Marsilius. Ganelon is sent as envoy to arrange peace, after Roland recommends him in a way that stirs the older knight’s rage. The terms are treacherous and humiliating in their own right, for they promise Christian control and the eventual conversion of Marsilius. Ganelon’s resentment at Roland is one of the forces driving the later disaster. When Roland and Oliver finally fight in the rear guard at Roncesvalles, they do so against impossible odds. The battle becomes a scene of heroic exhaustion and ruin: Roland presses on even after Oliver dies, and the two friends reconcile in their final moments. The episode ends in the destruction of the rear guard, the grief of France, and the terrible sense that valor can be magnificent and still fail. The emphasis is not on triumph but on constancy in defeat.

From the French battlefield the book moves to Spain and the Cid, where the tone shifts from youthful romance to a more varied account of statesmanship, military success, and personal honor. The Cid helps King Sancho, confronts the pride of Princess Urraca at Zamora, and serves as messenger between rulers even when the task wounds his feelings. His loyalty is tested by the demands of kingship and by the tension between affection and duty. Later, when he is dying in Valencia, Saint Peter appears to tell him that death is near, but also that he will conquer Bucar after death. The Cid prepares calmly, takes farewell of his household, confesses, and lies down to die with dignity. His death is not an end of power but a final arrangement of earthly and spiritual order, since even after his passing the legend promises victory.

The Crusade narratives widen the scale from individual knights to armies, cities, and holy war. Godfrey of Bouillon is presented as a model ruler and warrior, drawn by piety and backed by the enthusiasm of whole peoples. The book stresses that men and women, nobles and commoners, sell property and equip themselves for the journey to Jerusalem. Godfrey’s character is shown as a balance of martial prowess and moral discipline: brave in battle, gentle in conduct, and grounded in his mother’s teaching. The hardships of the campaign are severe. The Crusaders suffer hunger, disease, quarrels, and delays, and yet they keep going. At Antioch the fighting becomes desperate and almost elemental, even including battles between children in view of the walls. At Jerusalem the struggle reaches its climax. Towers are built, ramparts stormed, witches appear on the battlements, flames rise, and the Christians at one point withdraw in despair. Yet they return at dawn with fiercer resolve, and the city is finally taken. The victory is presented not as easy triumph but as the result of endurance, sacrifice, and religious fervor.

Richard Coeur-de-Lion’s story adds a more restless and politically tangled figure to the book’s gallery. He begins in conflict with his father Henry II and with the problem of his own marriage, then is drawn into rebellion when his father will not clearly secure his rights. After Henry’s defeat and death, Richard is struck with remorse, especially when the dead king’s body seems to accuse him. He then goes eastward on crusade, arriving amid the long siege of Acre, where the Christians are themselves besieged and starving. Richard’s presence lifts their spirits. He fights with fierce energy, and the campaign moves toward Jerusalem, though dissension among the princes prevents the final assault. When Richard later hears Jaffa is in danger, he turns back at once to help. His part of the narrative is marked by quick shifts between pride, grief, military brilliance, and political frustration. The Holy Land does not yield clean victories here; rivalry among Christians matters as much as hostility from the enemy.

The later sketches, especially those of Bayard and Sidney, bring chivalry into a newer age and ask what survives when medieval ideals meet changing times. Bayard is introduced as the “knight without fear and without reproach,” born to noble lineage and pious training. From childhood he wants to be a soldier and a knight. As a young man he behaves with frankness, daring, and generosity, even when captured. At Binasco and later in the Italian wars, he shows a soldier’s gift for rapid action and an almost reckless courage, but the chapters also note the restraint and courtesy he receives from enemies. Sidney, in turn, appears as a courtly Englishman whose integrity makes him difficult to fit into Elizabeth’s world. He resists flattery, defends honor in a quarrel with the Earl of Oxford, and speaks plainly even to the queen. His final act of self-denial, giving water to another wounded man, captures the moral ideal the book keeps returning to. The ending gathers Sidney into a larger reflection on the fading age of chivalry, making him a last bright figure rather than a nostalgic fantasy.

The People

• Roland wants food, honor, and the chance to prove his strength. He begins as a hungry, impulsive boy and becomes a warrior whose courage is so intense that it borders on ruin. His friendship with Oliver and his loyalty to Charlemagne define him, but his greatest trial is learning that bravery cannot always prevent disaster.

• Oliver stands at the center of friendship and judgment. He starts as Roland’s enemy, then becomes his brother-in-arms after admiring the quality that defeats him. He is steadier and more reflective than Roland, and in the last battle he softens in death, making peace with the comrade he has loved.

• The Cid, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar wants to serve honorably while keeping faith with his king and his own conscience. He is treated as a messenger, warrior, and adviser, and he repeatedly faces situations where loyalty and personal feeling diverge. He ends not in defeat but in legend, with death folded into prophecy and final victory.

• Godfrey of Bouillon wants to lead the Crusade in a spirit of piety and disciplined courage. He is not simply a battlefield hero; the book emphasizes his fairness, gentleness, and ability to unite peoples. He changes from noble ruler to spiritual champion and remains one of the book’s clearest models of ideal knighthood.

• Richard Coeur-de-Lion wants glory, justice, and the fulfillment of the crusading cause, but he is also driven by pride and quick anger. He is brilliant in war and difficult in peace, and the book lets both aspects stand. His story ends in disappointment over Jerusalem and in the pressure of home politics, which makes his heroism feel unfinished and strained.

• Sir Philip Sidney wants to live honorably in a court that rewards other qualities. He resists compromise, speaks with unusual directness, and tries to make his life match his ideals. He ends as an emblem of self-command, and the book presents him as the figure where old chivalry becomes most inward and humane.

In Its Own Voice

Roland’s grief and loyalty are made plain in the battle of Roncesvalles, where he turns to Oliver in helpless anguish:

“O God, my gentle Oliver! ... is this the end of all thy valor?”

The Cid’s dignity in the face of death is captured when he is told how near the end has come:

“Sleepest thou, Rodrigo?”

Sidney’s courtesy and self-denial come through in a line that shows how he measures his own need against another man’s suffering:

“Thy necessity is greater than mine.”

What It's Really About

The book is not mainly interested in strategy, chronology, or even complete biography. It is concerned with the moral shape of heroism as the older world understood it. Again and again, it asks what a noble life looks like when war, rank, loyalty, and faith all press in at once. The answer is not always purity. The preface already makes clear that the author is selecting the “fine, strong virtues” of these figures rather than dwelling on what later centuries condemn. That choice matters. Roland’s recklessness, Richard’s pride, Ganelon’s treachery, and even crusading violence are not ignored, but they are placed within a larger effort to understand the age on its own terms.

A recurring theme is the union of courage with self-mastery. Roland is brave, but his courage must be tested by friendship and loss. The Cid combines military success with a careful sense of courtesy, even in conflict. Godfrey joins zeal to discipline, and Sidney embodies restraint more than spectacle. Bayard is praised for the rare balance of “fearless” and “without reproach,” which gives the book one of its clearest formulations of ideal conduct. The book keeps insisting that honor is not just battlefield bravery. It is also truthfulness, gentleness, loyalty, mercy, reverence, and the willingness to yield personal pride for a higher duty.

Another strong thread is the relationship between individual greatness and historical change. These figures live in an age the book treats as both brutal and luminous. Knights fight on horseback, cities are besieged, messages are carried between rulers, and religion shapes public life. Yet the final chapters, especially Sidney’s, suggest that the old pattern of knighthood is passing away. The closing poetic tribute calls Sidney “the last and most perfect flower of knighthood,” which gives the collection a backward-looking sadness. The book honors the past, but it also implies that the world has moved on.

There is also a deep interest in friendship and comradeship. Roland and Oliver are the clearest pair, but similar loyalties appear in the Cid’s household, in Bayard’s relations with enemies who treat him honorably, and in Sidney’s courtesy toward those beneath him. In these stories, a knight is measured not just by how he fights but by whom he honors. That is why the book can move from combat to deathbed to council chamber without losing its moral focus.

Why Read It Today

It will appeal most to readers who like brisk historical narrative, old heroic legend, and books that present character through decisive moments rather than through long psychological analysis. The prose is formal, but it is clear enough to keep the stories moving. The sketches also have a strong emotional shape: friendship, betrayal, siege, repentance, death, and remembrance. Even when the material is remote, the human patterns are simple to follow.

At the same time, the book’s age is visible. It treats warfare as a noble proving ground more often than a tragedy, and its religious and cultural judgments are shaped by the language of crusade and medieval hierarchy. That perspective is part of the book’s design, not an accidental flaw. Readers who expect modern skepticism will not find it here. What they will find is a confident, reverent, sometimes romantic account of men trying to live by demanding codes.

What stays with you is the book’s conviction that conduct matters even in violent times. Roland’s final anguish, the Cid’s quiet preparation for death, Godfrey’s disciplined leadership, Richard’s remorse, Bayard’s courtesy, and Sidney’s act of giving away water all point to the same ideal: greatness is not merely success, but the manner in which one bears oneself under pressure. The book lingers because it keeps returning to that standard, and because it knows how often the standard is broken, preserved, or only half-achieved.