churchman rang through the hollow pass:

"Barons, we are here for our emperor's sake; strike we for him, though
death be our portion." He stretched out his arms above them, and the
Franks alighted and knelt on the ground, crying, "_Mea culpa!_" Then he
assoiled them and blessed them, giving them for penance, to smite their
best.

The next instant the storm of battle broke, and Paynim and Christian
closed in the death-struggle, each hoping, believing, to find in the
blood of the other his passport into Paradise; each with the name of God
on his lips.

Well might the emperor bow his white head in woful fear, though the blue
skies of his native France were smiling above him. Death stalked
triumphant at Roncesvalles, and Frank and Saracen yielded him tribute
till the pass was covered with the dying and the dead.

If only King Karl could have seen his knights that day, the glory of
the sight would have blotted out its tragedy. Roland was proud, but
there was none braver than he; and he flung himself upon the enemies of
his king, his country, and his God with a fierce courage that none might
withstand. Wherever his splendid form was seen, his followers greeted
him with loud acclaim, and he cheered them on with their emperor's
battle-cry,--"Montjoie, Saint Denis!"

No less courageous was his dear comrade. But no fierce joy impelled
Oliver to the great deeds that he performed. He saw his duty, and met it
like a true knight.

Nor were the ten others of the emperor's peers less zealous in his
cause. Each gave his all for Charlemagne; and if that all was less than
the mighty Roland gave, it was not the fault of the knight who pledged
it.

Conspicuous in the fight was the great archbishop,--here blessing and
assoiling according to his holy office; there rushing to the charge like
the warrior that nature had made him, crying,--

"Strike, barons! Remember your chivalry!"

But not to the Franks alone belong all the glory and all the praise. The
Moslem hosts that opposed them were "worthy of their steel,"--equally
zealous in their own cause, equally certain of the approval of God.

Wilder and fiercer grew the strife, and Paynim and Christian mingled
together in dire confusion. At length the Moslem ranks wavered for an
instant, gave back a little, and then broke in panic. And a pitiful
remnant of the mighty host of King Marsilius fled from the field,
leaving slain in the pass the great body of that once proud army. But
eve