rge of his cooks, who were to hold him a
close prisoner. They bound him with a great chain, and laid him across
the back of a sumter horse; they pulled his beard; they struck him with
their fists; they beat him with sticks. Sorry indeed was the traitor's
plight, but his punishment was just. As for Charlemagne, he turned and
with all his host hastened back to the succor of Roland and the valiant
rear-guard. High were the mountain walls, and darkly did they overhang
the way; deep were the mountain gorges; swift and strong were the
torrents; narrow and steep was the road. The trumpets sounded:
anxiously and with haste the king and his horsemen retraced their steps.

Fiercely still the battle raged in the fated Vale of Thorns. One by
one the French knights fell; but for every one that was slain ten
Pagans bit the dust. At length Oliver was wounded unto death; but
still he sat on his horse and struck valiantly about him with his good
Haultclear. His eyes lost their strength: he could not see. He met
Roland, and struck him a blow which split his helmet down to the
nose-piece, but luckily wounded him not.

"Brother," said Roland softly and gently, "thou hast not done this
willingly. I am Roland, he who has loved thee so long and so well."

"Ah, comrade!" said Oliver, "I hear thee; but I cannot see thee. Pray
forgive me if I have harmed thee."

"I am none the worse," answered Roland; "and there is naught to
forgive."

Then the two brothers bent over from their steeds, and embraced each
other; and amid much love and many hasty words of farewell, they parted.

And now all the French were slain, save only Roland and the archbishop.
The hero was wounded in a dozen places: he felt his life-blood oozing
away. Again he drew his ivory horn, and feebly sounded it. He would
fain know whether Charlemagne were coming. The king was in the pass,
not far away, and he heard the failing blast.

"Ah, Roland!" said he, "the battle goes ill with thee." Then he turned
to his host, and said, "Blow loud your trumpets, that the hero may know
that succor comes."

At once sixty thousand bugles were blown so loudly that the valley and
the caves resounded, and the rocks themselves trembled. Roland heard
it and thanked God. The Pagans heard it and knew that it boded no good
to them. They rushed in a body upon Roland and the archbishop.
Roland's horse was slain beneath him; his shield was split in twain;
his hauberk was broken. T