s, but they overpowered him and his
followers. He was wounded with four several lances, and four times did
he swoon, so that at the last he was constrained to leave the field of
battle, that he might call the Count Roland to his aid. But small was
the aid which Roland could give him or any one. Valiantly he held up
the battle, and with him Oliver, and Turpin the Archbishop, and others
also; but the lines of the men of France were broken, and their armor
thrust through and their spears shivered, and their flags trodden in
the dust. For all this they made such slaughter among the heathen that
King Almaris, who led the armies of the enemy, scarcely could win back
his way to his own people, wounded in four places and sorely spent. A
right good warrior was he; had he but been a Christian, but few had
matched him in battle.

Count Roland saw how grievously his people had suffered and spake thus
to Oliver his comrade: "Dear comrade, you see how many brave men lie
dead upon the ground. Well may we mourn for fair France, widowed as
she is of so many valiant champions. But why is our King not here? O
Oliver, my brother, what shall we do to send him tidings of our
state?" "I know not," answered Oliver. "Only this I know--that death
is to be chosen rather than dishonor."

After a while Roland said again, "I shall blow my horn; King Charles
will hear it, where he has encamped beyond the passes, and he and his
host will come back."

"That would be ill done," answered Oliver, "and shame both you and
your race. When I gave you this counsel you would have none of it. Now
I like it not. 'Tis not for a brave man to sound the horn and cry for
help now that we are in such case."

"The battle is too hard for us," said Roland again, "and I shall
sound my horn, that the King may hear."

And Oliver answered again, "When I gave you this counsel, you scorned
it. Now I myself like it not. 'Tis true that had the King been here,
we had not suffered this loss. But the blame is not his. 'Tis your
folly, Count Roland, that has done to death all these men of France.
But for that we should have conquered in this battle, and have taken
and slain King Marsilas. But now we can do nothing for France and the
King. We can but die. Woe is me for our country, aye, and for our
friendship, which will come to a grievous end this day."

The Archbishop perceived that the two friends were at variance, and
spurred his horse till he came where they stood. "Listen