en Turpin felt himself mortally wounded he
plunged into the throng of the heathen, killing four hundred before he
fell, and Roland fought on with broken armour, and with ever-bleeding
head, till in a pause of the deadly strife he took his horn and again
sent forth a feeble dying blast.

Charles Answers the Horn

Charlemagne heard it, and was filled with anguish. "Lords, all goes
ill: I know by the sound of Roland's horn he has not long to live!
Ride on faster, and let all our trumpets sound, in token of our
approach." Then sixty thousand trumpets sounded, so that mountains
echoed it and valleys replied, and the heathen heard it and trembled.
"It is Charlemagne! Charles is coming!" they cried. "If Roland lives
till he comes the war will begin again, and our bright Spain is
lost." Thereupon four hundred banded together to slay Roland; but he
rushed upon them, mounted on his good steed Veillantif, and the
valiant pagans fled. But while Roland dismounted to tend the dying
archbishop they returned and cast darts from afar, slaying Veillantif,
the faithful war-horse, and piercing the hero's armour. Still nearer
and nearer sounded the clarions of Charlemagne's army in the defiles,
and the Saracen host fled for ever, leaving Roland alone, on foot,
expiring, amid the dying and the dead.

Turpin Blesses the Dead

Roland made his way to Turpin, unlaced his golden helmet, took off his
hauberk, tore his own tunic to bind up his grievous wounds, and then
gently raising the prelate, carried him to the fresh green grass,
where he most tenderly laid him down.

"'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave
To carry here our comrades who are dead,
Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here
And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.'
'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return.
Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!'"

With great pain and many delays Roland traversed the field of
slaughter, looking in the faces of the dead, till he had found and
brought to Turpin's feet the bodies of the eleven Peers, last of all
Oliver, his own dear friend and brother, and Turpin blessed and
absolved them all. Now Roland's grief was so deep and his weakness so
great that he swooned where he stood, and the archbishop saw him fall
and heard his cry of pain. Slowly and painfully Turpin struggled to
his feet, and, bending over Roland, took Olifant, the curved iv