ith him Oliver, and Turpin the Archbishop, and others also; but the
lines of the men of France were broken, and their armor thrust through
and their spears shivered, and their flags trodden in the dust. For all
this they made such slaughter among the heathen that King Almaris, who
led the armies of the enemy, scarcely could win back his way to his own
people, wounded in four places and sorely spent. A right good warrior
was he; had he but been a Christian, but few had matched him in battle.

Count Roland saw how grievously his people had suffered and spake thus
to Oliver his comrade: "Dear comrade, you see how many brave men lie
dead upon the ground. Well may we mourn for fair France, widowed as she
is of so many valiant champions. But why is our King not here? O Oliver,
my brother, what shall we do to send him tidings of our state?" "I know
not," answered Oliver. "Only this I know--that death is to be chosen
rather than dishonor."

After a while Roland said again, "I shall blow my horn; King Charles
will hear it, where he has encamped beyond the passes, and he and his
host will come back."

"That would be ill done," answered Oliver, "and shame both you and your
race. When I gave you this counsel you would have none of it. Now I like
it not. 'Tis not for a brave man to sound the horn and cry for help now
that we are in such case."

[Illustration: ROLAND'S OWN DEATH WAS VERY NEAR]

[Illustration: THE YOUTHFUL CID AVENGING THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER]

"The battle is too hard for us," said Roland again, "and I shall sound
my horn, that the King may hear."

And Oliver answered again, "When I gave you this counsel, you scorned
it. Now I myself like it not. 'Tis true that had the King been here, we
had not suffered this loss. But the blame is not his. 'Tis your folly,
Count Roland, that has done to death all these men of France. But for
that we should have conquered in this battle, and have taken and slain
King Marsilas. But now we can do nothing for France and the King. We can
but die. Woe is me for our country, aye, and for our friendship, which
will come to a grievous end this day."

The Archbishop perceived that the two friends were at variance, and
spurred his horse till he came where they stood, "Listen to me," he
said, "Sir Roland and Sir Oliver. I implore you not to fall out with
each other in this fashion. We, sons of France, that are in this place,
are of a truth condemned to death, neither will the sounding of