t and hard."

But now he drew his shining Hauteclere from its scabbard, and with it
he dealt such blows that Roland cried, "My brother art thou, Oliver,
from henceforth. Ah! such blows our Emperor would dearly love to see."

Furious and more furious waxed the fight. On all sides might be heard
the cry of "Montjoie! Montjoie!" and many a blow did Frank and heathen
give and take. But although thousands of Saracens lay dead, the Franks
too had lost many of their bravest knights. Shield and spear, banner
and pennon, broken, bloodstained and trampled, strewed the field.

Fiercer, wilder still, the battle grew. Roland, Oliver, Archbishop
Turpin and all the twelve peers of France fought in the thickest of
the press. Many of the heathen fled, but even in flight they were cut
down.

Meanwhile over France burst a fearful storm. Thunder rolled, lightning
flashed, the very earth shook and trembled. There was not a town in
all the land but the walls of it were cracked and riven. The sky grew
black at midday, rain and hail in torrents swept the land. "It is the
end of the world," the people whispered in trembling fear.

Alas, they knew not! It was the earth's great mourning for the death
of Roland, which was nigh.

The battle waxed horrible. The Saracens fled, and the Franks pursued
till of that great heathen host but one was left. Of the Saracen army
which had set out in such splendor, four hundred thousand strong, one
heathen king alone remained. And he, King Margaris, sorely wounded,
his spear broken, his shield pierced and battered, fled with the
direful news to King Marsil.

The Franks had won the day, and now mournfully over the plain they
moved, seeking their dead and dying comrades. Weary men and worn were
they, sad at the death of many brother knights, yet glad at the might
and victory of France.

IV

ROLAND SOUNDS HIS HORN

Alone, King Margaris fled, weary and wounded, until he reached King
Marsil, and fell panting at his feet.

"Ride! ride! Sire," he cried, "thy army is shattered, thy knights to
the last man lie dead upon the field; but thou wilt find the Franks
in evil plight. Full half of them also lie dead. The rest are sore
wounded and weary. Their armor is broken, their swords and spears are
shattered. They have naught wherewith to defend themselves. To avenge
the death of thy knights were now easy. Ride! oh, ride!"

In terrible wrath and sorrow King Marsil gathered a new army. In
twenty column