“I blame you not,” said Roland, “only as long as you live help me against the heathen.”  And as he spake he took his cloak and rent it into strips and bound up Walter’s wounds therewith.  This done he and Walter and the Archbishop set fiercely on the enemy.  Five-and-twenty did Roland slay, and Walter slew six, and the Archbishop five.  Three valiant men of war they were; fast and firm they stood one by the other; hundreds there were of the heathen, but they dared not come near to these three valiant champions of France.  They stood far off, and cast at the three spears and darts and javelins and weapons of every kind.  Walter of Hum was slain forthwith; and the Archbishop’s armour was broken, and he wounded, and his horse slain under him.  Nevertheless he lifted himself from the ground, still keeping a good heart in his breast.  “They have not overcome me yet”; said he, “as long as a good soldier lives, he does not yield.”

Roland took his horn once more and sounded it, for he would know whether King Charles were coming.  Ah me! it was a feeble blast that he blew.  But the King heard it, and he halted and listened.  “My lords!” said he, “things go ill for us, I doubt not.  To-day we shall lose, I fear me much, my brave nephew Roland.  I know by the sound of his horn that he has but a short time to live.  Put your horses to their full speed, if you would come in time to help him, and let a blast be sounded by every trumpet that there is in the army.”  So all the trumpets in the host sounded a blast; all the valleys and hills re-echoed with the sound; sore discouraged were the heathen when they heard it.  “King Charles has come again,” they cried; “we are all as dead men.  When he comes he shall not find Roland alive.”  Then four hundred of them, the strongest and most valiant knights that were in the army of the heathen, gathered themselves into one company, and made a yet fiercer assault on Roland.

Roland saw them coming, and waited for them without fear.  So long as he lived he would not yield himself to the enemy or give place to them.  “Better death than flight,” said he, as he mounted his good steed Veillantif, and rode towards the enemy.  And by his side went Turpin the Archbishop on foot.  Then said Roland to Turpin, “I am on horseback and you are on foot.  But let us keep together; never will I leave you; we two will stand against these heathen dogs.  They have not, I warrant, among them such a sword as Durendal.”  “Good,” answered the Archbishop.  “Shame to the man who does not smite his hardest.  And though this be our last battle, I know well that King Charles will take ample vengeance for us.”

When the heathen saw these two stand together they fell back in fear and hurled at them spears and darts and javelins without number.  Roland’s shield they broke and his hauberk; but him they hurt not; nevertheless they did him a grievous injury, for they killed his good steed Veillantif.  Thirty wounds did Veillantif receive, and he fell dead under his master.  At last the Archbishop was stricken and Roland stood alone, for the heathen had fled from his presence.