“Be silent,” answered Roland, “till you shall know; say no more about him.”

Oliver looked again from the hilltop, and saw how the Saracens came on.  So many there were that he could not count their battalions.  He descended to the plain with all speed, and came to the array of the French, and said, “I have seen more heathen than man ever yet saw together upon the earth.  There are a hundred thousand at the least.  We shall have such a battle with them as has never before been fought.  My brethren of France, quit you like men, be strong; stand firm that you be not conquered.”  And all the army shouted with one voice, “Cursed be he that shall fly.”

Then Oliver turned to Roland, and said, “Sound your horn; my friend, Charles will hear it, and will return.”  “I were a fool,” answered Roland, “so to do.  Not so; but I will deal these heathen some mighty blows with Durendal my sword.  They have been ill-advised to venture into these passes.  I swear that they are condemned to death, one and all.”

After a while, Oliver said again, “Friend Roland sound your horn of ivory.  Then will the King returns and bring his army with him, to our help.”  But Roland answered again, “I will not do dishonour to my kinsmen, or to the fair land of France.  I have my sword; that shall suffice for me.  These evil-minded heathen are gathered together against us to their own hurt.  Surely not one of them shall escape from death.”  “As for me,” said Oliver, “I see not where the dishonour would be.  I saw the valleys and the mountains covered with the great multitude of Saracens.  Theirs is, in truth, a mighty array, and we are but few.”  “So much the better,” answered Roland.  “It makes my courage grow.  ’Tis better to die than to be disgraced.  And remember, the harder our blows the more the King will love us.”

Roland was brave, but Oliver was wise.  “Consider,” he said, “comrade.  These enemies are over-near to us, and the King over-far.  Were he here, we should not be in danger; but there are some here to-day who will never fight in another battle.”

Then Turpin the Archbishop struck spurs into his horse, and rode to a hilltop.  Then he turned to the men of France, and spake:  “Lords of France, King Charles has left us here; our King he is, and it is our duty to die for him.  To-day our Christian Faith is in peril:  do ye fight for it.  Fight ye must; be sure of that, for there under your eyes are the Saracens.  Confess, therefore, your sins, and pray to God that He have mercy upon you.  And now for your soul’s health I will give you all absolution.  If you die, you will be God’s martyrs, every one of you, and your places are ready for you in His Paradise.”

Thereupon the men of France dismounted, and knelt upon the ground, and the Archbishop blessed them in God’s name.  “But look,” said he, “I set you a penance—­smite these pagans.”  Then the men of France rose to their feet.  They had received absolution, and were set free from all their sins, and the Archbishop had blessed them in the name of God.  After this they mounted their swift steeds, and clad themselves in armour, and made themselves ready for the battle.