en cities.

No sooner had he entered a valley that led along the road to Orange,
than he saw a fresh body of Saracens blocking one end. He turned to
escape into another path, but in front of him rode a handful of his
enemies. "By the faith that I swore to my dear Lady Gibourc," he said,
"I had better die than never strike a blow," and so rode straight at
their leader. "William!" cried the Saracen, "this time you will not
escape me." But the sun was in his eyes, and his sword missed his aim.
Before he could strike another blow William had borne him from his
horse and galloped away.

The mountain that he was climbing now was beset with enemies, like all
the rest, and William looked in vain for a way of escape. He jumped
from his horse and rubbed his flanks saying to him, "What will you do?
Your sides are bleeding, and you can scarcely stand; but remember, if
once you fall it means my death."

At these words the good horse neighed, pricked up his ears and shook
himself, and as he did so the blood seemed to flow strongly in his
veins, as of old. Then the count rode down into the field of the
Aliscans, and found his nephew, Vivian, lying under a tree.

"Ah!" cried William, "what sorrow for me! To the end of my life I
shall mourn this day. Lady Gibourc, await me no longer, for never more
shall I return to Orange!"

So he lamented, grieving sore, till Vivian spoke to him. The Count was
full of joy to hear his words, and, kneeling beside the youth, took him
in his arms, and bade him confess his sins to him, as to his own
father. One by one Vivian remembered them all, then a mist floated
before his eyes, and, murmuring a farewell to the Lady Gibourc, his
soul left the world.

[Illustration: Vivian's last confession]

William laid him gently down on his shield, took another shield for
covering, and turned to mount his horse, but at this his heart failed
him.

"Is it you, William, that men look to as their leader, who will do this
cowardly deed?" he said to himself, and he went back to his nephew's
side, and lifted the body on to his horse, to bury it in his city of
Orange.

He had done what he could to give honour to Vivian, but he might as
well, after all, have left him where he fell, for in a fierce combat
with some Saracens on the road the Count was forced to abandon his
nephew's body and fight for his own life. He knew the two Saracens
well as brave men, but he soon slew one, and the other he unhorsed