A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

unlaced his golden helmet. With what poor skill was left to him, he
strove to bind up his terrible wounds with strips of his own tunic, and
he dragged him, as gently as he could, to a spot under the beech trees
where the fresh moss still was green.
"'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave To carry here our
comrades who are dead, Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here And thou shalt bless them,
and me, ere thou die.' 'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return. Thank
God! the victory is yours and mine!'"
With exquisite pain Roland carried the bodies of Oliver and of the rest
of the Douzeperes from the places where they had died to where Turpin,
their dear bishop, lay a-dying. Each step that he took cost him a pang of
agony; each step took from him a toll of blood. Yet faithfully he
performed his task, until they all lay around Turpin, who gladly blessed
them and absolved them all. And then the agony of soul and of heart
and body that Roland had endured grew overmuch for him to bear, and
he gave a great cry, like the last sigh of a mighty tree that the
woodcutters fell, and dropped down, stiff and chill, in a deathly swoon.
Then the dying bishop dragged himself towards him and lifted the horn
Olifant, and with it in his hand he struggled, inch by inch, with very
great pain and labour, to a little stream that trickled down the dark
ravine, that he might fetch some water to revive the hero that he and all
men loved. But ere he could reach the stream, the mists of death had
veiled his eyes. He joined his hands in prayer, though each movement
meant a pang, and gave his soul to Christ, his Saviour and his Captain.
And so passed away the soul of a mighty warrior and a stainless priest.
Thus was Roland alone amongst the dead when consciousness came
back to him. With feeble hands he unlaced his helmet and tended to
himself as best he might. And, as Turpin had done, so also did he
painfully crawl towards the stream. There he found Turpin, the horn
Olifant by his side, and knew that it was in trying to fetch him water
that the brave bishop had died, and for tenderness and pity the hero
wept.
"Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth, Thy soul I give to the great