And every warrior dashed forward to meet the foe.

Long and fierce was the fight, and terrible was the slaughter. With
heart and strength the French knights struck. The Moors were slain by
hundreds and by thousands. For a time victory seemed to be with the
French. Many and valiant were the deeds achieved by Roland and Oliver
and the archbishop and the peers that were with them. But at length
Marsilius came down upon them with a fresh troop of seven thousand
Moors. They hemmed the French heroes in on every side. Roland saw his
knights falling one by one around him. All were slain save sixty men.

"Oliver, my fair dear comrade," said he, "behold how many brave vassals
have fallen! The battle goes hard with us. If, now, we only knew how
to send news to Charlemagne, he would return and succor us."

"It is too late," answered Oliver. "Better would we die than suffer
shame."

Then said Roland, "I will sound my ivory horn. Mayhap Charlemagne, who
is passing the gates of Spain, will hear it and return."

"Do no such thing," answered Oliver. "Great shame would be upon you
and your kinsmen forever. You would not blow your horn when I advised
it, and now you shall not do so because the day is lost."

Then the archbishop rode up, and said, "The day is indeed lost, and to
blow the horn would now no more avail us. But, should the king hear
it, he will come back through the passes. He will find us dead: his
men will lift us in biers and carry us home to be buried in minsters,
and we shall not be left as food for wolves and dogs."

"Thou sayest well," said Roland. And he placed the horn to his lips.
High were the hills, deep and dark were the gorges, narrow were the
ways among the mountains. Yet the sound of that horn was heard for
thirty leagues. Charlemagne and Duke Namon heard it while yet they
were between the gates.

"Hark!" said the king. "I hear Roland's horn. The felon Moors have
attacked him: he is hard pressed in battle."

"You are foolishly mistaken," said Ganelon. "There is no battle. You
are old, your beard is white, your head is flowery, you are growing
childish. You love your silly nephew, Roland, too well. He is only
hunting among the mountains. He would blow his horn all day for a
single hare, and then he would boast before you of his valor. Ride on.
Your own France is not far ahead."

But the king was not to be deceived. He ordered Ganelon to be seized
and bound and given in cha