A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

his voice ceased they beheld the Saracen host close upon them. Then
Roland spoke brave words of cheer to his army and commended their
souls and his own to Christ, "who suffrid for us paynes sore," and for
whose sake they had to fight the enemies of the Cross. Behind every
tree and rock a Saracen seemed to be hidden, and in a moment the
whole pass was alive with men in mortal strife.
Surely never in any fight were greater prodigies of valour performed
than those of Roland and his comrades. Twelve Saracen kings fell
before their mighty swords, and many a Saracen warrior was hurled
down the cliffs to pay for the lives of the men of France whom they had
trapped to their death. Never before, in one day, did one man slay so
many as did Roland and Oliver his friend--"A Roland for an Oliver"
was no good exchange, and yet a very fair one, as the heathen quickly
learned.
"Red was Roland, red with bloodshed; Red his corselet, red his
shoulders, Red his arm, and red his charger."
In the thickest of the fight he and Oliver came together, and Roland
saw that his friend was using for weapon and dealing death-blows with
the truncheon of a spear.
"'Friend, what hast thou there?' cried Roland. 'In this game 'tis not a
distaff, But a blade of steel thou needest. Where is now Hauteclaire, thy
good sword, Golden-hilted, crystal-pommelled?' 'Here,' said Oliver; 'so
fight I That I have not time to draw it.' 'Friend,' quoth Roland, 'more I
love thee Ever henceforth than a brother.'"
When the sun set on that welter of blood, not a single Saracen was left,
and those of the Frankish rearguard who still lived were very weary
men.
Then Roland called on his men to give thanks to God, and Bishop
Turpin, whose stout arm had fought well on that bloody day, offered up
thanks for the army, though in sorry plight were they, almost none
unwounded, their swords and lances broken, and their hauberks rent
and blood-stained. Gladly they laid themselves down to rest beside the