en Roland heard him cry he set spurs to his horse and galloped to him.
"Walter," said he, "you are a brave warrior and a trustworthy. Tell me
now where are the thousand valiant men whom you took from my army. They
were right good soldiers; and I am in sore need of them."

"They are dead," answered Walter; "you will see them no more. A sore
battle we had with the Saracens yonder on the hills; they had the men of
Canaan there and the men of Armenia and the Giants; there were no better
men in their army than these. We dealt with them so that they will not
boast themselves of this day's work. But it cost us dear; all the men of
France lie dead on the plain, and I am wounded to the death. And now,
Roland, blame me not that I fled; for you are my lord, and all my trust
is in you."

"I blame you not," said Roland, "only as long as you live help me
against the heathen." And as he spake he took his cloak and rent it into
strips and bound up Walter's wounds therewith. This done he and Walter
and the Archbishop set fiercely on the enemy. Five-and-twenty did Roland
slay, and Walter slew six, and the Archbishop five. Three valiant men of
war they were; fast and firm they stood one by the other; hundreds there
were of the heathen, but they dared not come near to these three valiant
champions of France. They stood far off, and cast at the three spears
and darts and javelins and weapons of every kind. Walter of Hum was
slain forthwith; and the Archbishop's armor was broken, and he wounded,
and his horse slain under him. Nevertheless he lifted himself from the
ground, still keeping a good heart in his breast. "They have not
overcome me yet," said he; "as long as a good soldier lives, he does not
yield."

Roland took his horn once more and sounded it, for he would know whether
King Charles were coming. Ah me! it was a feeble blast that he blew. But
the King heard it, and he halted and listened. "My lords!" said he,
"things go ill for us, I doubt not. Today we shall lose, I fear me much,
my brave nephew Roland. I know by the sound of his horn that he has but
a short time to live. Put your horses to their full speed, if you would
come in time to help him, and let a blast be sounded by every trumpet
that there is in the army." So all the trumpets in the host sounded a
blast; all the valleys and hills re-echoed with the sound; sore
discouraged were the heathen when they heard it.

"King Charles has come again," they cried; "we are all as