her his good sword Durendal, and made his
way the distance of a furlong or so till he came to a plain, and in
the midst of the plain a little hill. On the top of the hill in the
shade of two fair trees were four marble steps. There Roland fell in a
swoon upon the grass. There a certain Saracen spied him. The fellow
had feigned death, and had laid himself down among the slain, having
covered his body and his face with blood. When he saw Roland, he
raised himself from where he was lying among the slain and ran to the
place, and, being full of pride and fury, seized the Count in his
arms, crying aloud, "He is conquered, he is conquered, he is
conquered, the famous nephew of King Charles! See, here is his sword;
'tis a noble spoil that I shall carry back with me to Arabia."
Thereupon he took the sword in one hand, with the other he laid hold
of Roland's beard.

But as the man laid hold, Roland came to himself, and knew that some
one was taking his sword from him. He opened his eyes but not a word
did he speak save this only, "Fellow, you are none of ours," and he
smote him a mighty blow upon his helmet. The steel he brake through
and the head beneath, and laid the man dead at his feet. "Coward," he
said, "what made you so bold that you dared lay hands on Roland?
Whosoever knows him will think you a fool for your deed."

[Illustration: ROLAND'S OWN DEATH WAS VERY NEAR]

And now Roland knew that death was near at hand. He raised himself and
gathered all his strength together--ah me! how pale his face was!--and
took in his hand his good sword Durendal. Before him was a great rock
and on this in his rage and pain he smote ten mighty blows. Loud
rang the steel upon the stone; but it neither brake nor splintered.
"Help me," he cried, "O Mary, our Lady! O my good sword, my Durendal,
what an evil lot is mine! In the day when I must part with you, my
power over you is lost. Many a battle I have won with your help; and
many a kingdom have I conquered, that my lord Charles possesses this
day. Never has any one possessed you that would fly before another. So
long as I live, you shall not be taken from me, so long have you been
in the hands of a loyal knight."

Then he smote a second time with the sword, this time upon the marble
steps. Loud rang the steel, but neither brake nor splintered. Then
Roland began to bemoan himself. "O my good Durendal," he said, "how
bright and clear thou art, shining as shines the sun! Well I mind me
o