'Now God forbid,' said Roland, 'that through me my parents should be shamed, or that I should bring dishonour on the fair land of France. No; but my sword Durendal knows how to strike. The Unbelievers have come to their death, and they will find it.'
'I see no dishonour,' said Oliver. 'With my own eyes have I beheld the Saracens of Spain; the mountains and the valleys alike are full of them. And how few are we!'
'Then we shall have the more fighting,' answered Roland. 'God forbid that I should turn my Franks into cowards! Rather death than dishonour. The more we kill, the better the Emperor will love us.'
Roland was brave, but Oliver was wise also, and the souls of both were as high as their words. 'Look round you, and think for a moment,' said Oliver; 'they are close to us, and Charles is far. Ah! if you would only have sounded your horn, the King would have been here, and our troops would not have been in danger. The poor rear-guard will never more be again such as it is to-day.'
'You speak foolishly,' answered Roland. 'Cursed be he whose heart is afraid. We will be strong to hold our ground. From us will come the blows, from us the battle.'
When Roland saw that he must give battle to the Infidels, he called his Franks and bade Oliver stand beside him. 'Do not say these things, my friend and comrade,' said he. 'The Emperor has left us twenty thousand picked men, with not one craven heart amongst them. For our liege lord, one must be ready to suffer cold and heat, hunger and thirst, and cheerfully shed his blood and endure every ill. Strike with your lance, Oliver, as I shall strike with Durendal, the sword which was given me by the King himself. And if I am slain, the man who wins it may say, "it was the sword of a noble vassal."'
Then from a little hill Turpin the Archbishop spoke to them. 'Charles has left us here; he is our King, and it is our duty to die for him. Christianity is in danger, and you must defend it. You cannot escape a battle; then fight, and ask God's pardon for your sins. In His Name, I will give you absolution, and already they wait for you in Paradise.' The Franks got off their horses and knelt on the ground, and the Archbishop blessed them. After this they mounted again, and placed themselves in order of battle.
Like lightning Roland on his horse Veillantif swept along the defiles, his face bright and smiling, his lance in rest. Oliver his friend was close behind him, and the Franks said to each other, 'Look at our champion!' He glanced proudly at the Infidels, but when his eyes fell upon the Franks they were soft and gentle. 'Go slowly, noble barons,' said he; 'the Unbelievers to-day are seeking their martyrdom, and you will find richer booty than ever King of France did before.'
'Words of mine are useless,' said Oliver; 'you would not let Charles know of our peril, so you cannot blame him for our danger. Ride as hard as you can, and think only of two things, how best to give and receive blows. And do not forget the battle cry of King Charles.'
'Montjoie! Montjoie!' shouted the Franks, as the two armies came together with a crash.