t that you have
taken a penny's worth from King Charles!" But to Roland he cried,
"Come, comrade, help me; well I know that we two shall part in great
sorrow this day."

Roland came with all speed, and saw his friend, how he lay all pale
and fainting on the ground and how the blood gushed in great streams
from his wound. "I know not what to do," he cried. "This is an ill
chance that has befallen you. Truly France is bereaved of her bravest
son." So saying he went near to swoon in the saddle as he sat. Then
there befell a strange thing. Oliver had lost so much of his blood
that he could not any more see clearly or know who it was that was
near him. So he raised up his arm and smote with all his strength that
yet remained to him on the helmet of Roland his friend. The helmet he
cleft in twain to the visor; but by good fortune it wounded not the
head.

Roland looked at him and said in a gentle voice, "Did you this of set
purpose? I am Roland your friend, and have not harmed you."

"Ah!" said Oliver, "I hear you speak, but I cannot see you. Pardon me
that I struck you; it was not done of set purpose."

"It harmed me not," answered Roland; "with all my heart and before God
I forgive you." And this was the way these two friends parted at the
last.

And now Oliver felt the pains of death come over him. He could no
longer see nor hear. Therefore he turned his thoughts to making his
peace with God, and clasping his hands lifted them to heaven and made
his confession. "O Lord," he said, "take me into Paradise. And do Thou
bless King Charles and the sweet land of France." And when he had
said thus he died. And Roland looked at him as he lay. There was not
upon earth a more sorrowful man than he. "Dear comrade," he said,
"this is indeed an evil day. Many a year have we two been together.
Never have I done wrong to you; never have you done wrong to me. How
shall I bear to live without you?" And he swooned where he sat on his
horse. But the stirrup held him up that he did not fall to the ground.

When Roland came to himself he looked about him and saw how great was
the calamity that had befallen his army. For now there were left alive
to him two only, Turpin the Archbishop and Walter of Hum. Walter had
but that moment come down from the hills where he had been fighting so
fiercely with the heathen that all his men were dead; now he cried to
Roland for help. "Noble Count, where are you? I am Walter of Hum, and
am not unworthy