The trumpets sounded and the army went on its way to France. The next
day King Charles called his lords together. "You see," said he, "these
narrow passes. Whom shall I place to command the rear-guard? Choose you
a man yourselves."
Said Ganelon, "Whom should we choose but my son-in-law, Count Roland?
You have no man in your host so valiant. Of a truth he will be the
salvation of France."
The King said when he heard these words, "What ails you, Ganelon? You
look like to one possessed."
When Count Roland knew what was proposed concerning him, he spake out as
a true knight should speak: "I am right thankful to you, father-in-law,
that you have caused me to be put in this place. Of a truth the King of
France shall lose nothing by my means, neither charger, nor mule, nor
pack-horse, nor beast of burden."
Then Roland turned to the King and said, "Give me twenty thousand only,
so they be men of valor, and I will keep the passes in all safety. So
long as I shall live, you need fear no man."
Then Roland mounted his horse. With him were Oliver, his comrade, and
Otho and Berenger, and Gerard of Roussillon, an aged warrior, and
others, men of renown. And Turpin the Archbishop cried, "By my head, I
will go also." So they chose twenty thousand warriors with whom to keep
the passes.
Meanwhile King Charles had entered the valley of Roncesvalles. High were
the mountains on either side of the way, and the valleys were gloomy and
dark. But when the army had passed through the valley, they saw the
fair land of Gascony, and as they saw it they thought of their homes and
their wives and daughters. There was not one of them but wept for very
tenderness of heart. But of all that company there was none sadder than
the King himself, when he thought how he had left his nephew Count
Roland behind him in the passes of Spain.
And now the Saracen King Marsilas began to gather his army. He laid a
strict command on all his nobles and chiefs that they should bring with
them to Saragossa as many men as they could gather together. And when
they were come to the city, it being the third day from the issuing of
the King's command, they saluted the great image of Mahomet, the false
prophet, that stood on the topmost tower. This done they went forth from
the city gates. They made all haste, marching across the mountains and
valleys of Spain till they came in sight of the standard of France,
where Roland and Oliver and the Twelve Peers were ranged in battle
array.
The Saracen champions donned their coats of mail, of double substance
most of them, and they set upon their heads helmets of Saragossa of
well-tempered metal, and they girded themselves with swords of Vienna.
Fair were their shields to view; their lances were from Valentia; their
standards were of white, blue, and red. Their mules they left with the
servants, and, mounting their chargers, so moved forwards. Fair was the
day and bright the sun, as their armor flashed in the light, and the
drums were beaten so loudly that the Frenchmen heard the sound.
Said Oliver to Roland, "Comrade, methinks we shall soon do battle with
the Saracens."
"God grant it," answered Roland. "'Tis our duty to hold the place for
the King, and we will do it, come what may. As for me, I will not set an
ill example."
Oliver climbed to the top of a hill; and saw from thence the whole army
of the heathen. He cried to Roland his companion, "I see the flashing of
arms. We men of France shall have no small trouble therefrom. This is
the doing of Ganelon the traitor."
"Be silent," answered Roland, "till you shall know; say no more about
him."
Oliver looked again from the hilltop, and saw how the Saracens came on.
So many there were that he could not count their battalions. He
descended to the plain with all speed, and came to the array of the
French, and said, "I have seen more heathen than man ever yet saw
together upon the earth. There are a hundred thousand at the least. We
shall have such a battle with them as has never before been fought. My
brethren of France, quit you like men, be strong; stand firm that you be
not conquered." And all the army shouted with one voice, "Cursed be he
that shall fly."
Then Oliver turned to Roland, and said, "Sound your horn; my friend,
Charles will hear it, and will return."
"I were a fool," answered Roland, "so to do. Not so; but I will deal
these heathen some mighty blows with Durendal, my sword. They have been
ill-advised to venture into these passes. I swear that they are
condemned to death, one and all."
After a while, Oliver said again, "Friend Roland, sound your horn of
ivory. Then will the King return, and bring his army with him, to our
help." But Roland answered again, "I will not do dishonor to my kinsmen,
or to the fair land of France. I have my sword; that shall suffice for
me. These evil-minded heathen are gathered together against us to their
own hurt. Surely not one of them shall escape from death."
"As for me," said Oliver, "I see not where the dishonor would be. I saw
the valleys and the mountains covered with the great multitude of
Saracens. Theirs is, in truth, a mighty array, and we are but few."
"So much the better," answered Roland. "It makes my courage grow. 'Tis
better to die than to be disgraced. And remember, the harder our blows
the more the King will love us."
Roland was brave, but Oliver was wise. "Consider," he said, "comrade.
These enemies are over-near to us, and the King over-far. Were he here,
we should not be in danger; but there are some here today who will never
fight in another battle."
Then Turpin the Archbishop struck spurs into his horse, and rode to a
hilltop. Then he turned to the men of France, and spake: "Lords of
France, King Charles has left us here; our King he is, and it is our
duty to die for him. Today our Christian Faith is in peril: do ye fight
for it. Fight ye must; be sure of that, for there under your eyes are
the Saracens. Confess, therefore, your sins, and pray to God that He
have mercy upon you. And now for your soul's health I will give you all
absolution. If you die, you will be God's martyrs, every one of you, and
your places are ready for you in His Paradise."
Thereupon the men of France dismounted, and knelt upon the ground, and
the Archbishop blessed them in God's name. "But look," said he, "I set
you a penance--smite these pagans." Then the men of France rose to their
feet. They had received absolution, and were set free from all their
sins, and the Archbishop had blessed them in the name of God. After this
they mounted their swift steeds, and clad themselves in armor, and made
themselves ready for the battle.
Said Roland to Oliver, "Brother, you know that it is Ganelon who has
betrayed us. Good store he has had of gold and silver as a reward; 'tis
the King Marsilas that has made merchandise of us, but verily it is
with our swords that he shall be paid." So saying, he rode on to the
pass, mounted on his good steed Veillantif. His spear he held with the
point to the sky; a white flag it bore with fringes of gold which fell
down to his hands. A stalwart man was he, and his countenance was fair
and smiling. Behind him followed Oliver, his friend; and the men of
France pointed to him, saying, "See our champion!" Pride was in his eye
when he looked towards the Saracens; but to the men of France his regard
was all sweetness and humility. Full courteously he spake to them:
"Ride not so fast, my lords," he said; "verily these heathen are come
hither, seeking martyrdom. 'Tis a fair spoil that we shall gather from
them today. Never has King of France gained any so rich." And as he
spake, the two hosts came together.
Said Oliver, "You did not deem it fit, my lord, to sound your horn.
Therefore you lack the help which the King would have sent. Not his the
blame, for he knows nothing of what has chanced. But do you, lords of
France, charge as fiercely as you may, and yield not one whit to the
enemy. Think upon these two things only--how to deal a straight blow and
to take it. And let us not forget King Charles' cry of battle."
Then all the men of France with one voice cried out, "Mountjoy!" He that
heard them so cry had never doubted that they were men of valor. Proud
was their array as they rode on to battle, spurring their horses that
they might speed the more. And the Saracens, on their part, came forward
with a good heart. Thus did the Frenchmen and the heathen meet in the
shock of battle.
Full many of the heathen warriors fell that day. Not one of the Twelve
Peers of France but slew his man. But of all none bore himself so
valiantly as Roland. Many a blow did he deal to the enemy with his
mighty spear, and when the spear was shivered in his hand, fifteen
warriors having fallen before it, then he seized his good sword
Durendal, and smote man after man to the ground. Red was he with the
blood of his enemies, red was his hauberk, red his arms, red his
shoulders, aye, and the neck of his horse. Not one of the Twelve
lingered in the rear, or was slow to strike, but Count Roland was the
bravest of the brave. "Well done, sons of France!" cried Turpin the
Archbishop, when he saw them lay on in such sort.
Next to Roland for valor and hardihood came Oliver, his companion. Many
a heathen warrior did he slay, till at last his spear was shivered in
his hand. "What are you doing, comrade?" cried Roland, when he was aware
of the mishap. "A man wants no staff in such a battle as this. 'Tis the
steel and nothing else that he must have. Where is your sword Hautclere,
with its hilt of gold and its pommel of crystal?"
"On my word," said Oliver, "I have not had time to draw it; I was so
busy with striking." But as he spake he drew the good sword from its
scabbard, and smote a heathen knight, Justin of the Iron Valley. A
mighty blow it was, cleaving the man in twain down to his saddle--aye,
and the saddle itself with its adorning of gold and jewels, and the very
backbone also of the steed whereon he rode, so that horse and man fell
dead together on the plains. "Well done!" cried Roland; "you are a true
brother of mine. 'Tis such strokes as this that make the King love us."
Nevertheless, for all the valor of Roland and his fellows the battle
went hard with the men of France. Many lances were shivered, many flags
torn, and many gallant youths cut off in their prime. Never more would
they see mother and wife. It was an ill deed that the traitor Ganelon
wrought when he sold his fellows to King Marsilas!
And now there befell a new trouble. King Almaris, with a great host of
heathen, coming by an unknown way, fell upon the rear of the host where
there was another pass. Fiercely did the noble Walter that kept the same
charge the newcomers, 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."
[Illustration: ROLAND'S OWN DEATH WAS VERY NEAR]
[Illustration: THE YOUTHFUL CID AVENGING THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER]
"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 to me," he
said, "Sir Roland and Sir Oliver. I implore you not to fall out with
each other in this fashion. We, sons of France, that are in this place,
are of a truth condemned to death, neither will the sounding of your
horn save us, for the King is far away, and cannot come in time.
Nevertheless, I hold it to be well that you should sound it. When the
King and his army shall come, they will find us dead--that I know full
well. But they will avenge us, so that our enemies shall not go away
rejoicing. And they will also recover our bodies, and will carry them
away for burial in holy places, so that the dogs and wolves shall not
devour them."
"You say well," cried Roland, and he put his horn to his lips, and gave
so mighty a blast upon it, that the sound was heard thirty leagues away.
King Charles and his men heard it, and the King said, "Our countrymen
are fighting with the enemy." But Ganelon answered, "Sire, had any but
you so spoken, I had said that he spoke falsely."
Then Roland blew his horn a second time; with great pain and anguish of
body he blew it, and the red blood gushed from his lips; but the sound
was heard yet farther than at first. Again the King heard it, and all
his nobles, and all his men. "That," said he, "is Roland's horn; he
never had sounded it were he not in battle with the enemy." But Ganelon
answered again: "Believe me, Sire, there is no battle. You are an old
man, and you have the fancies of a child. You know what a mighty man of
valor is this Roland. Think you that any one would dare to attack him?
No one, of a truth. Ride on, Sire; why halt you here? The fair land of
France is yet far away."
Roland blew his horn a third time, and when the King heard it he said,
"He that blew that horn drew a deep breath." And Duke Naymes cried out,
"Roland is in trouble; on my conscience he is fighting with the enemy.
Some one has betrayed him; 'tis he, I doubt not, that would deceive you
now. To arms, Sire! utter your war-cry, and help your own house and your
country. You have heard the cry of the noble Roland."
Then King Charles bade all the trumpets sound, and forthwith all the men
of France armed themselves, with helmets, and hauberks, and swords with
pommels of gold. Mighty were their shields, and their lances strong, and
the flags that they carried were white and red and blue. And when they
made an end of their arming they rode back with all haste. There was not
one of them but said to his comrade, "If we find Roland yet alive, what
mighty strokes will we strike for him!"
But Ganelon the King handed over to the knaves of his kitchen. "Take
this traitor," said he, "who has sold his country." Ill did Ganelon fare
among them. They pulled out his hair and his beard and smote him with
their staves; then they put a great chain, such as that with which a
bear is bound, about his neck, and made him fast to a pack-horse.
This done, the King and his army hastened with all speed to the help of
Roland. In the van and the rear sounded the trumpets as though they
would answer Roland's horn. Full of wrath was King Charles as he rode;
full of wrath were all the men of France. There was not one among them
but wept and sobbed; there was not one but prayed, "Now, may God keep
Roland alive till we come to the battle-field, so that we may strike a
blow for him." Alas! it was all in vain; they could not come in time for
all their speed.
Count Roland looked round on the mountain-sides and on the plains. Alas!
how many noble sons of France he saw lying dead upon them! "Dear
friends," he said, weeping as he spoke, "may God have mercy on you and
receive you into His Paradise! More loyal followers have I never seen.
How is the fair land of France widowed of her bravest, and I can give
you no help. Oliver, dear comrade, we must not part. If the enemy slay
me not here, surely I shall be slain by sorrow. Come then, let us smite
these heathen."
Thus did Roland again charge the enemy, his good sword Durendal in his
hand; as the stag flies before the hounds, so did the heathen fly before
Roland. "By my faith," cried the Archbishop when he saw him, "that is a
right good knight! Such courage, and such a steed, and such arms I love
well to see. If a man be not brave and a stout fighter, he had better by
far be a monk in some cloister where he may pray all day long for our
sins."
Now the heathen, when they saw how few the Frenchmen were, took fresh
courage. And the Caliph, spurring his horse, rode against Oliver and
smote him in the middle of his back, making his spear pass right through
him. "That is a shrewd blow," he cried; "I have avenged my friends and
countrymen upon you."
Then Oliver knew he was stricken to death, but he would not fall
unavenged. With his great sword Hautclere he smote the Caliph on his
head and cleft it to the teeth. "Curse on you, pagan. Neither your wife
nor any woman in the land of your birth shall boast 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 to be your friend. Help me therefore. For see how my spear
is broken and my shield cleft in twain. My hauberk is in pieces, and my
body sorely wounded. I am about to die; but I have sold my life at a
great price."
When Roland heard him cry he set spurs to his horse and galloped to him.
"Walter," said he, "you are a brave warrior and a trustworthy. Tell me
now where are the thousand valiant men whom you took from my army. They
were right good soldiers; and I am in sore need of them."
"They are dead," answered Walter; "you will see them no more. A sore
battle we had with the Saracens yonder on the hills; they had the men of
Canaan there and the men of Armenia and the Giants; there were no better
men in their army than these. We dealt with them so that they will not
boast themselves of this day's work. But it cost us dear; all the men of
France lie dead on the plain, and I am wounded to the death. And now,
Roland, blame me not that I fled; for you are my lord, and all my trust
is in you."
"I blame you not," said Roland, "only as long as you live help me
against the heathen." And as he spake he took his cloak and rent it into
strips and bound up Walter's wounds therewith. This done he and Walter
and the Archbishop set fiercely on the enemy. Five-and-twenty did Roland
slay, and Walter slew six, and the Archbishop five. Three valiant men of
war they were; fast and firm they stood one by the other; hundreds there
were of the heathen, but they dared not come near to these three valiant
champions of France. They stood far off, and cast at the three spears
and darts and javelins and weapons of every kind. Walter of Hum was
slain forthwith; and the Archbishop's armor was broken, and he wounded,
and his horse slain under him. Nevertheless he lifted himself from the
ground, still keeping a good heart in his breast. "They have not
overcome me yet," said he; "as long as a good soldier lives, he does not
yield."
Roland took his horn once more and sounded it, for he would know whether
King Charles were coming. Ah me! it was a feeble blast that he blew. But
the King heard it, and he halted and listened. "My lords!" said he,
"things go ill for us, I doubt not. Today we shall lose, I fear me much,
my brave nephew Roland. I know by the sound of his horn that he has but
a short time to live. Put your horses to their full speed, if you would
come in time to help him, and let a blast be sounded by every trumpet
that there is in the army." So all the trumpets in the host sounded a
blast; all the valleys and hills re-echoed with the sound; sore
discouraged were the heathen when they heard it.
"King Charles has come again," they cried; "we are all as dead men. When
he comes he shall not find Roland alive." Then four hundred of them, the
strongest and most valiant knights that were in the army of the
heathen, gathered themselves into one company, and made a yet fiercer
assault on Roland.
Roland saw them coming, and waited for them without fear. So long as he
lived he would not yield himself to the enemy or give place to them.
"Better death than flight," said he, as he mounted his good steed
Veillantif, and rode towards the enemy. And by his side went Turpin the
Archbishop on foot. Then said Roland to Turpin, "I am on horseback and
you are on foot. But let us keep together; never will I leave you; we
two will stand against these heathen dogs. They have not, I warrant,
among them such a sword as Durendal."
"Good," answered the Archbishop. "Shame to the man who does not smite
his hardest. And though this be our last battle, I know well that King
Charles will take ample vengeance for us."
When the heathen saw these two stand together they fell back in fear and
hurled at them spears and darts and javelins without number. Roland's
shield they broke and his hauberk; but him they hurt not; nevertheless
they did him a grievous injury, for they killed his good steed
Veillantif. Thirty wounds did Veillantif receive, and he fell dead under
his master. At last the Archbishop was stricken and Roland stood alone,
for the heathen had fled from his presence.
When Roland saw that the Archbishop was dead, his heart was sorely
troubled in him. Never did he feel a greater sorrow for comrade slain,
save Oliver only. "Charles of France," he said, "come as quickly as you
may! Many a gallant knight have you lost in Roncesvalles. But King
Marsilas, on his part, has lost his army. For one that has fallen on
this side there have fallen full forty on that." So saying he turned to
the Archbishop; he crossed the dead man's hands upon his breast and
said, "I commit thee to the Father's mercy. Never has man served God
with a better will, never since the beginning of the world has there
lived a sturdier champion of the faith. May God be good to you and give
you all good things!"
Now Roland felt that his own death was near at hand. In one hand he took
his horn, and in the other 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."
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 of
the day when a voice that seemed to come from heaven bade King Charles
give thee to a valiant captain; and forthwith the good King girded it on
my side. Many a land have I conquered with thee for him, and now how
great is my grief! Can I die and leave thee to be handled by some
heathen?" And the third time he smote a rock with it. Loud rang the
steel, but it brake not, bounding back as though it would rise to the
sky. And when Count Roland saw that he could not break the sword, he
spake again but with more content in his heart. "O Durendal," he said,
"a fair sword art thou, and holy as fair. There are holy relics in thy
hilt, relics of St. Peter and St. Denis and St. Basil. These heathen
shall never possess thee; nor shalt thou be held but by a Christian
hand."
And now Roland knew that death was very near to him. He laid himself
down with his head upon the grass, putting under him his horn and his
sword, with his face turned towards the heathen foe. Ask you why he did
so? To show, forsooth, to Charlemagne and the men of France that he
died in the midst of victory. This done, he made a loud confession of
his sins, stretching his hand to heaven, "Forgive me, Lord," he cried,
"my sins, little and great, all that I have committed since the day of
my birth to this hour in which I am stricken to death." So he prayed;
and, as he lay, he thought of many things, of the countries which he had
conquered, and of his dear fatherland France, and of his kinsfolk, and
of the good King Charles. Nor, as he thought, could he keep himself from
sighs and tears; yet one thing he remembered beyond all others--to pray
for forgiveness of his sins. "O Lord," he said, "who art the God of
truth, and didst save Daniel Thy prophet from the lions, do Thou save my
soul and defend it against all perils!" So speaking he raised his right
hand, with the gauntlet yet upon it, to the sky, and his head fell back
upon his arm and the angels carried him to heaven. So died the great
Count Roland.