w Ganelon break my
trusty lance--this Ganelon who has sent Roland to the rear. And now I
have left Roland in a foreign land, and, O God! if I lose him I shall
never find his equal!" And the emperor rode on in silence, seeing
naught but his own sad foreboding visions.

The Saracen Pursuit

Meanwhile King Marsile, with his countless Saracens, had pursued so
quickly that the van of the heathen army soon saw waving the banners
of the Frankish rear. Then as they halted before the strife began, one
by one the nobles of Saragossa, the champions of the Moors, advanced
and claimed the right to measure themselves against the Twelve Peers
of France. Marsile's nephew received the royal glove as chief
champion, and eleven Saracen chiefs took a vow to slay Roland and
spread the faith of Mahomet.

"Death to the rearguard! Roland shall die! Death to the Peers! Woe to
France and Charlemagne! We will bring the Emperor to your feet! You
shall sleep at St. Denis! Down with fair France!" Such were their
confident cries as they armed for the conflict; and on their side no
less eager were the Franks.

"Fair Sir Comrade," said Oliver to Roland, "methinks we shall have a
fray with the heathen."

"God grant it," returned Roland. "Our duty is to hold this pass for
our king. A vassal must endure for his lord grief and pain, heat and
cold, torment and death; and a knight's duty is to strike mighty
blows, that men may sing of him, in time to come, no evil songs.
Never shall such be sung of me."

Oliver Descries the Saracens

Hearing a great tumult, Oliver ascended a hill and looked towards
Spain, where he perceived the great pagan army, like a gleaming sea,
with shining hauberks and helms flashing in the sun. "Alas! we are
betrayed! This treason is plotted by Ganelon, who put us in the rear,"
he cried. "Say no more," said Roland; "blame him not in this: he is my
stepfather."

Now Oliver alone had seen the might of the pagan array, and he was
appalled by the countless multitudes of the heathens. He descended
from the hill and appealed to Roland.

Roland will not Blow his Horn

"'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn,
Your great Olifant, far-sounding:
Charles will hear it and return here.'
'Cowardice were that,' quoth Roland;
'In fair France my fame were tarnished.
No, these Pagans all shall perish
When I brandish Durendala.'

"'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn:
Charles will hear it and ret