The day wears on and vesper draweth nigh. Christians and Pagans, sword in hand, engage; And valiant are their chiefs, nor mindless they Of battle cries:—"Precieuse!" the Emir shouts, And Carle:—"Montjoie!" the glorious sign. Each knows The other by the clear sonorous voice, And 'mid the field encountering, gives and takes Fierce blows. Each massy shield receives the shock, And each beneath the boss is cloven in twain By the strong lance; each hauberk's sides are rent, But the keen steel in neither reached the flesh; The horse-girths burst and let the saddles fall. Dropped to the earth both kings, both to their feet Quick springing, dauntlessly unsheathed their swords. And now the mortal combat will not cease Till Carle or Baligant has fallen in death. Aoi.
[CCLXI.]
Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feels Before him neither fear nor dread. Both wield Their naked swords and mighty thrusts exchange. The shields, of wood and leather multifold, Are rent, the nails torn out, the bosses split; Each at the other's hauberk aims his blows. Both combat breast to breast; the showering sparks Wrap both their helms in fire: no end can be Till one or other, vanquished, owns his wrong. Aoi.
[CCLXII.]
The Emir said: "King Carle, bethink thee yet; Take better counsel with thy heart, and show Remorse. Full well I know, by thee my son Was slain, thou broughtest ruin through my land. Become my man, I will restore [in fief] This land [to thee], and to the East, but serve Me well." And Carle: "Great shame were that to me! To Heathens I can give no peace nor love.... Receive the law our God revealed; accept The faith of Christ.... For e'er my love is thine, If thou believe in God, the Almighty King." Said Baligant: "Ill words are these of thine: [Far better die by the keen edge of sword.">[ Aoi.
[CCLXIII.]
The mighty Emir with a giant's strength Smites Carle upon the helm of burnished steel, Which splits in twain beneath the ponderous blow, Cuts through the silky hair, shears from the scalp Fully the breadth of a man's palm and more, Baring the skull. Carle staggers, nearly falls, But God willed not that he should die or yield. Saint Gabriel, with eager flight once more Descends, demanding:—"What ails thee, great King?" Aoi.
[CCLXIV.]
When Carle the Angel's heavenly accent hears, All thought or dread of death forsakes his soul, And in him springs again his former strength. The Emir by the royal sword of France Is struck, his helm all bright with gems is rent, His cloven skull pours out the brain, his face Is cleft to the very roots of his white beard: Dead falls the Pagan past recovery. Then shouts the King his rallying cry, "Montjoie!" Hearing his shout, Duke Naimes hastes up, and brings The charger Tecendur for Carle the great To mount. The Pagans turn their backs—God wills They should not stay. The Franks have their desires. Aoi.