His sight was failing him. A cold chill seized him. He sank down beside a granite peak, stretched upon his invincible sword, that people might know well that he died a conqueror.
Roland had just ceased to breathe when Charlemagne arrived on the field.
You will imagine, my young friends, that the Emperor made the Saracens pay dearly for the loss of his knights. It was not until he had utterly destroyed the infidel army that Charles would consent to dismount from his horse on the plains of Roncesvalles. Alas! the butchery of Saracens could not restore life to Roland or his companions.
Poor Charlemagne! he tore his grey hair and long beard, and having ordered the bodies of the Count of Mans, Turpin, Oliver, Miton, and Mitaine to be placed in coffins of black marble, he had them borne back to France with every mark of honour.
As he approached Aix-la-Chapelle the Emperor saw a long, long line of weeping women, all attired in black, coming out to meet him. It was the fair Aude, supported by her widowed sister Mita, and followed by a suite of three hundred ladies.
Charlemagne, deeply affected by the sight of such affliction, dismounted, and pressed the fair Aude to his heart.
“My poor child!” said he, “you are a widow or ever you were a bride.”
The fair Aude opened her lips to reply, but she had not the strength to speak.
The Emperor felt her sink back in his arms, and, turning to the attendants, he asked—
“Is there a place for her in the coffin by the side of Roland?”