The Steed Beiaard

In a time so old that no one can date it precisely, four brothers lived in the Ardennes — sons of Duke Aymon, knights without equal. The eldest was Reinout, strong as an ox and proud as a lion. Then came Writsaert, Adelaert, and Ritsaert, each a master of the sword, each willing to die for the others. Together they were invincible.

Their father had left them a gift worth more than all the gold in the realm: a horse named Beiaard. No ordinary horse — Beiaard was enormous, swifter than the wind, and cleverer than many a man. Most wondrous of all, Beiaard could change his size: carrying one rider he was a sturdy warhorse; carrying all four brothers he grew into a giant whose hooves made the earth tremble.

The brothers served at the court of Charlemagne, the mightiest emperor of the West. Reinout won every tournament and earned the sovereign’s favour. But at a Pentecost feast things went wrong. During a game of chess a quarrel arose, and Reinout killed one of the emperor’s nephews in blind rage. Charlemagne was merciless: the four brothers had to die.

But the sons of Aymon fled. All four leapt onto Beiaard’s back, and the horse grew, stretched his legs, and galloped away like thunder. No army could catch them. Beiaard jumped over rivers as if they were ditches, over mountains as if they were hills. Through forests and marshes he raced, carrying four armed riders on his back, and every time Charlemagne’s soldiers drew near the horse quickened as though he had wings.

The flight lasted years. The brothers built a fortress, fought battles, endured hunger and betrayal. But always it was Beiaard who saved them — Beiaard who shattered the gates of hostile cities, Beiaard who flew into the night when all seemed lost.

At last Reinout sought peace. He was weary of fighting, weary of fleeing, weary of a life without rest. Charlemagne agreed, but set one condition: the Steed Beiaard had to die. A horse that had carried four rebels could not be allowed to live.

With lead in his heart Reinout brought his horse to the river. Soldiers tied a heavy stone to Beiaard’s neck and pushed him into the water. The horse sank, deeper and deeper. But Beiaard was no ordinary horse. Beneath the surface he fought, shook his mighty head, and shattered the stone with a single wrench. He shot up out of the water, neighed so loudly that the banks trembled, and galloped into the forest. No one ever found him again.

In Dendermonde they say Beiaard still lives — somewhere in the woods, waiting. Every ten years he returns to the streets of the city, borne by dozens of men and ridden by four real brothers from Dendermonde. The procession of the Steed Beiaard has been recognised as a UNESCO Masterpiece of the Intangible Heritage of Humanity since 2008. It is proof that some stories are stronger than death — even that of a horse.