ide."

Roland heard, and he knew full well the deep hatred that prompted the
count's reply, but he made answer in full knightly fashion,--

"Sir step-sire, I thank thee that thou hast named me for this trust, and
I do assure thee that if King Karl lose aught in this retreat, our
swords shall tell the reason."

So it was settled as Ganelon and the Saracen king had schemed,--Roland,
the first of Charlemagne's peers and the darling of the emperor's heart,
was left to guard the rear of the retiring hosts; and the heathen,
silently, and by thousands and tens of thousands, were massing
together,--watchful, alert.

Count Roland hastened to make him ready. He donned a suit of peerless
armor, and hung his flower-emblazoned shield about his neck. Girt at his
side was his matchless "Durindana,"--the blade that had been given to
Charlemagne by an angel, who told the emperor that it must be the sword
of a valorous captain. Thus arrayed and armed, with the gold fringe of
his white pennon floating over his shoulders, Roland rode out on his
fiery "Veillantif"; and his men, as with one voice, exclaimed,--

"We will follow thee!"

The ones who followed him were the flower of the Frankish army,--twenty
thousand picked men. First chosen of all was Oliver, and among the
others was the valorous Archbishop Turpin.

Then right cautiously the van-guard began the homeward march. Beyond the
Pyrenees lay their well-beloved France; and they pressed on toward her
vine-clad provinces, but with anxious thoughts of the rear-guard,
leagues behind, between them and the Moslem hosts. The way to home and
loved ones lay through the Vale of Roncesvalles. This vale was a long
and narrow defile in the mountains, through which the army was obliged
to march in a scattered and dismembered way; and so it was that Karl and
the van had already gained France, while the beloved Roland and his
chosen followers were just entering the pass of Roncesvalles.

Now Charlemagne knew full well where the danger lay, and he was
grievously concerned for his sister's son. Moreover, on the night
before, he had dreamed a dream, in which he beheld a vision, symbolizing
the treachery of Ganelon. But it was not a time to hearken to the
misgivings of his heart, and the emperor pressed on, solacing himself
with the thought that his best and bravest were behind with the
rear-guard.

From far over the marches of Spain the heathen hosts were gathering.
Swiftly, surely, their serr