"Farewell for a little while, brother," he said. "We are fated; the valkyries call us."
But Roland smiled grimly, and reined back his black stallion for the leap.
"Saint Michael!" he cried. "Life, not death, is before us! We 'll cut our way through the midst of the pagans. Heu! heu! Christ and king! Follow me, men!"
Already Olvir's courser was leaping the barrier, clean and light as a gazehound. No less gallantly the stallion sprang forward and leaped in turn. But the feat was beyond his power. Borne down by the weight of his rider, he failed to clear the wall. His forelegs struck against the crest, and he fell headlong on the farther side. Roland, though hurled violently to the ground, sprang up at once; but the stallion lay where he fell.
"'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'" (Page [163])
Olvir wheeled his horse before the count, to shield him from the flights of Saracen darts and arrows which came whistling about them.
"Forward, men! forward, and wedge!" he cried; and the Franks, with a wild shout, came swarming over the wall.
"Wedge, men! wedge!" shouted Roland, as he sprang out in the lead. But the dismounted horsemen, unused to the movement, were slow in forming. Before their ranks could lock shields, the Saracens charged upon them. Line after line, the Moslem horse came leaping along the gorge in close order, three hundred swift coursers, three hundred turbaned riders shrieking their war-cries.
Before the fierce attack the half-formed line of Franks wavered, and more than one warrior glanced about at the wall. But Roland clashed Ironbiter against his shield and cried cheerily: "Stand fast, my Rhine wolves,--stand, and strike for Christ and king!"