to his host, and said, "Blow loud your trumpets, that the hero may know
that succor comes."

At once sixty thousand bugles were blown so loudly that the valley and
the caves resounded, and the rocks themselves trembled. Roland heard
it and thanked God. The Pagans heard it and knew that it boded no good
to them. They rushed in a body upon Roland and the archbishop.
Roland's horse was slain beneath him; his shield was split in twain;
his hauberk was broken. The archbishop was mortally wounded, and
stretched upon the ground. Again the trumpets of Charlemagne's host
were heard, and the Pagans fled in great haste toward Spain.

Then Roland knelt by the side of the dying archbishop. "Kind friend,
so good and true," said he, "now the end has come. Our comrades whom
we held so dear are all dead. Give me leave to bring them and lay them
in order by thee, that we may all have thy blessing."

"It is well," answered the good Turpin. "Do as thou wilt. The field
is thine and mine."

So Roland, weak and faint, went all alone through that field of blood,
seeking his friends. He found Berenger and Otho and Anseis and Samson,
and proud Gerard of Roussillon; and one by one he brought them and laid
them on the grass before the archbishop. And lastly he brought back
Oliver, pressed gently against his bosom, and placed him on a shield by
the others. The archbishop wept; and he lifted up his feeble hands and
blessed them: "Sad has it been with you, comrades. May God, the
glorious King, receive your souls in His paradise!"

Then Roland, faint with loss of blood, and overcome with grief, swooned