this counsel, you scorned it.  Now I myself like it not.  ’Tis true that had the King been here, we had not suffered this loss.  But the blame is not his.  ’Tis your folly, Count Roland, that has done to death all these men of France.  But for that we should have conquered in this battle, and have taken and slain King Marsilas.  But now we can do nothing for France and the King.  We can but die.  Woe is me for our country, aye, and for our friendship, which will come to a grievous end this day.”

The Archbishop perceived that the two friends were at variance, and spurred his horse till he came where they stood.  “Listen to me,” he said, “Sir Roland and Sir Oliver.  I implore you not to fall out with each other in this fashion.  We, sons of France, that are in this place, are of a truth condemned to death, neither will the sounding of your horn save us, for the King is far away, and cannot come in time.  Nevertheless, I hold it to be well that you should sound it.  When the King and his army shall come, they will find us dead—­that I know full well.  But they will avenge us, so that our enemies shall not go away rejoicing.  And they will also recover our bodies, and will carry them away for burial in holy places, so that the dogs and wolves shall not devour them.”

“You say well,” cried Roland, and he put his horn to his lips, and gave so mighty a blast upon it, that the sound was heard thirty leagues away.  King Charles and his men heard it, and the King said, “Our countrymen are fighting with the enemy.”  But Ganelon answered, “Sire, had any but you so spoken, I had said that he spoke falsely.”

Then Roland blew his horn a second time; with great pain and anguish of body he blew it, and the red blood gushed from his lips; but the sound was heard yet further than at first.  Again the King heard it, and all his nobles, and all his men.  “That,” said he, “is Roland’s horn; he never had sounded it were he not in battle with the enemy.”  But Ganelon answered again:  “Believe me, Sire, there is no battle.  You are an old man, and you have the fancies of a child.  You know what a mighty man of valour is this Roland.  Think you that any one would dare to attack him?  No one, of a truth.  Ride on, Sire, why halt you here?  The fair land of France is yet far away.”

Roland blew his horn a third time, and when the King heard it he said, “He that blew that horn drew a deep breath.”  And Duke Naymes cried out, “Roland is in trouble; on my conscience he is fighting with the enemy.  Some one has betrayed him; ’tis he, I doubt not, that would deceive you now.  To arms, Sire! utter your war-cry, and help your own house and your country.  You have heard the cry of the noble Roland.”

Then King Charles bade all the trumpets sound, and forthwith all the men of France armed themselves, with helmets, and hauberks, and swords with pummels of gold.  Mighty were their shields, and their lances strong, and the flags that they carried were white and red and blue.  And when they made an end of their arming they rode back with all haste.  There was not one of them but said to his comrade, “If we find Roland yet alive, what mighty strokes will we strike for him!”