her to be pleased or not. At first he thanked Ganelon for naming
him. "Thanks, fair stepfather, for sending me to the post of danger.
King Charles shall lose no man nor horse through my neglect." But when
Ganelon replied sneeringly, "You speak the truth, as I know right
well," Roland's gratitude turned to bitter anger, and he reproached
the villain. "Ah, wretch! disloyal traitor! thou thinkest perchance
that I, like thee, shall basely drop the glove, but thou shalt see!
Sir King, give me your bow. I will not let my badge of office fall, as
thou didst, Ganelon, at Cordova. No evil omen shall assail the host
through me."

Roland for the Rearguard

Charlemagne was very loath to grant his request, but on the advice of
Duke Naimes, most prudent of counsellors, he gave to Roland his bow,
and offered to leave with him half the army. To this the champion
would not agree, but would only have twenty thousand Franks from fair
France. Roland clad himself in his shining armour, laced on his lordly
helmet, girt himself with his famous sword Durendala, and hung round
his neck his flower-painted shield; he mounted his good steed
Veillantif, and took in hand his bright lance with the white pennon
and golden fringe; then, looking like the Archangel St. Michael, he
rode forward, and easy it was to see how all the Franks loved him and
would follow where he led. Beside him rode the famous Peers of France,
Oliver the bold and courteous, the saintly Archbishop Turpin, and
Count Gautier, Roland's loyal vassal. They chose carefully the twenty
thousand French for the rearguard, and Roland sent Gautier with one
thousand of their number to search the mountains. Alas! they never
returned, for King Almaris, a Saracen chief, met and slew them all
among the hills; and only Gautier, sorely wounded and bleeding to
death, returned to Roland in the final struggle.

Charlemagne spoke a mournful "Farewell" to his nephew and the
rearguard, and the mighty army began to traverse the gloomy ravine
through the dark masses of rocks, and to emerge on the other side of
the Pyrenees. All wept, most for joy to set eyes on that dear land of
fair France, which for seven years they had not seen; but Charles,
with a sad foreboding of disaster, hid his eyes beneath his cloak and
wept in silence.

Charles is Sad

"What grief weighs on your mind, sire?" asked the wise Duke Naimes,
riding up beside Charlemagne.

"I mourn for my nephew. Last night in a vision I sa