hree alone, and the
caliph, rushing at Oliver, pierced him from behind with his lance. But
though mortally wounded Oliver retained strength enough to slay the
caliph, and to cry aloud: "Roland! Roland! Aid me!" then he rushed on
the heathen army, doing heroic deeds and shouting "Montjoie!
Montjoie!" while the blood ran from his wound and stained the earth
blood-red. At this woeful sight Roland swooned with grief, and Oliver,
faint from loss of blood, and with eyes dimmed by fast-coming death,
distinguished not the face of his dear friend; he saw only a vague
figure drawing near, and, mistaking it for an enemy, raised his sword
Hauteclaire and gave Roland one last terrible blow, which clove the
helmet, but harmed not the head. The blow roused Roland from his
swoon, and, gazing tenderly at Oliver, he gently asked him:

"'Comrade and brother, was that blow designed
To slay your Roland, him who loves you so?
There is no vengeance you would wreak on me.'
'Roland, I hear you speak, but see you not.
God guard and keep you, friend; but pardon me
The blow I struck, unwitting, on your head.'
'I have no hurt,' said Roland; 'I forgive
Here and before the judgment-throne of God.'"

And Dies

Now Oliver felt the pains of death come upon him. Both sight and
hearing were gone, his colour fled, and, dismounting, he lay upon the
earth; there, humbly confessing his sins, he begged God to grant him
rest in Paradise, to bless his lord Charlemagne and the fair land of
France, and to keep above all men his comrade Roland, his best-loved
brother-in-arms. This ended, he fell back, his heart failed, his head
drooped low, and Oliver the brave and courteous knight lay dead on the
blood-stained earth, with his face turned to the east. Roland lamented
him in gentle words: "Comrade, alas for thy valour! Many days and
years have we been comrades: no ill didst thou to me, nor I to thee:
now thou art dead, 'tis pity that I live!"

Turpin is Mortally Wounded. The Horn Again

Turpin and Roland now stood together for a time and were joined by the
brave Count Gautier, whose thousand men had been slain, and he himself
grievously wounded; he now came, like a loyal vassal, to die with his
lord Roland, and was slain in the first discharge of arrows which the
Saracens shot. Taught by experience, the pagans kept their distance,
and wounded Turpin with four lances, while they stood some yards away
from the heroes. But wh