through the mountain gates?"

"Give It to Roland, your nephew," said Ganelon. "There is none more
worthy than he."

"And who shall lead the vanguard?"

"Ogier, the Dane. Next to Roland, he is the bravest of your barons."

Right willingly did Roland accept the dangerous trust.

"I will see to it," said he, "that no harm come to the French while
passing through the gates. Neither pack-horse, nor mule, nor palfrey,
nor charger, nor man shall we lose, that shall not be paid for by the
blood of our foes."

Then he mounted his steed, and rode back to the rear. And with him
went Oliver and Turpin the archbishop, and twenty thousand valiant
fighting-men.

High were the mountains, and gloomy the valleys; dark were the rocks,
and fearful were the glens. But the day was fair, and the sky was
clear; and the bright shields of the warriors glittered in the sunlight
like flashes of fire. All at once a sound, as of a thousand trumpets
blowing, was heard in the valley below them. The French knights
hearkened.

"Comrades," said Oliver, "methinks that we are followed by the Moors."

"And may God grant us battle and victory!" said Roland earnestly.
"Well is it that we are here to defend the king. For one should never
murmur that he suffers distress for his friends: for them, he should
lose, if need be, both blood and flesh and even life itself."

Then Oliver climbed a high pine tree, and looked down into the grassy
valley behind them. There he beheld such troops of Pagan folk as he
had never seen before.

"Comrades," cried he, "we shall have such a battle as no man has known.
The passes are full of armed Moors: their hauberks and glittering
helmets fill the lower valleys. Great mischief is in store for us, but
may we stand to the field like men!"

"Shame be to him that flees!" said the warriors who heard him.

Bewildered and amazed at sight of so terrible an array of Pagans,
Oliver descended from the tree.

"Brother Roland," said he, "I pray thee blow thy horn. The king will
hear it, and he will turn him about and come to our succor."

"To do so would be to act as a craven," answered Roland. "Never shall
it be said that I feared a foe. I will strike strong strokes with my
sword, Durandal. Ill shall it fare with the Pagan traitors."

"Comrade Roland," again said Oliver, "now blow thy horn. Charlemagne
will hear it, and he will make his host return."

"Never," answered Roland, "shall my kinsmen upbraid me,