Then berserk rage seized upon the Northman. He wrenched his horse about, and turned straight across the fore of the Saracens, his eyes glaring and the froth dripping from his lips. For the moment he was a madman, and had all the madman's strength. Al-hatif no longer thrust out, but glittered in wide strokes that slashed through the firmest mail. The viking's attack was so terrible that the bravest of the Moslems sought to avoid him; and though he fought utterly heedless of guard, fear so weakened their arms that their blows fell without harm on his helmet and mail-serk.
Striking down all in his path, Olvir cut his way without check to the spot where Roland, shieldless and utterly spent, reeled back under the blows of the enemy. Warned by the shrieks of their fellows, the count's assailants turned to meet the raving Northman. But already Olvir was upon them, and Al-hatif whistled in vengeful strokes.
Then the blood-mist cleared from the Northman's eyes, and he wheeled his horse around beside Roland.
"Close, men! close!" he cried. "One more rally, and we die together! Ho, brother; I come! stand back!"
But the dying Frank glared past his sword-brother. With a terrible cry he swung up Ironbiter and hurled the blade into the midst of the Saracens. It was the last deed of the hero. As the great sword whirled from his grasp, he reeled and would have fallen, had not Olvir bent to catch him.
Putting out all his strength, the Northman drew the great Frank up before him on the saddle. Then the black courser leaped with his double burden to the barrier, while behind him the bare score of Franks yet standing formed in shieldburg to guard their dying count.
Tenderly Olvir laid his friend on the crest of the wall, and drew the broken helmet from the tawny hair, already clotted with blood. The hero's eyes were fast dimming; but his cold hand closed on Olvir's fingers, and he murmured brokenly: "Ha, brother--Christ and king!--We 've fought--a good fight!"
"We have fought!" cried Olvir. "Now we die. Wait here for me, brother; I will soon join you!"
But Roland clutched at the turning Northman, and his voice rang out clear and strong above the Saracen yells and the clash of weapons: "Stay, Olvir! Not death to you, but life,--life and vengeance! To the king, brother! You alone may scale the cliff!"
"Go--go, lord count!" shouted the horsemen. "We die; but the king shall avenge! Go, tell him of the traitors!"