and and sword to sword. None struck harder than Turpin
the Archbishop, who cursed his foes as he bore them from their
saddles. 'He fights well,' said the Franks who watched his blows. But
the Franks had fought long, and were faint and weary. They had lost
much blood, and their arms were weak to strike. 'See how our brothers
fall,' they whispered one to another, and Roland heard their groans,
and his heart was near breaking. Thousands lay dead, thousands more
were wounded, but still the battle went on. Horses without riders
wandered about the field neighing for their masters. Then Marsile bade
the trumpets sound, and his army gathered round the great standard
with the Dragon, borne by a Saracen named Abimus. When Turpin the
Archbishop caught sight of him, he dashed straight towards the banner,
and with one blow of his mighty sword stretched the Unbeliever dead on
the ground before the Dragon. 'Montjoie! Montjoie!' he cried, and the
Franks heard, and said one to the other, 'Heaven send that Charles has
many like him!' The lances of the Franks were broken, and their
shields were for the most part split in two, but three hundred naked
swords still were left to deal blows at the shining helmets of the
Infidels. 'Help! help! O King!' cried the Saracens, and Marsile heard,
and answered, 'Better die than flee before these Franks. Let no one
think of himself, but all press round Roland. If Roland dies, Charles
is conquered. If Roland lives, all is over for us!' But Roland, with
Oliver at his side, swept a clear space with Durendal, and none might
come near him; the Archbishop kept his enemies at bay with his lance.
Four times the Franks endured the shock of the onset, but at the fifth
they were borne down by numbers, and now only sixty remained upon the
ground.

Then Roland turned to Oliver and said, 'Fair sir and dearest friend,
well may we pity France who will henceforth be widowed of such brave
warriors. O Charles, my King, why do you not come to us? Oliver, tell
me, how can we let him know what straits we are in?' 'There is no
way,' said Oliver, 'and death rather than dishonour.'

'I will sound my horn,' said Roland, 'and Charles will hear, and come
back through the defiles. I know that the Franks will retrace their
steps and come to our aid.'

'That would be a shameful thing for them,' replied Oliver; 'all our
kinsfolk would blush for us for ever, and we should likewise blush for
ourselves. When I begged you to do it you