Part 4

When the Franks see so many there, pagans, On every side covering all the land, Often they call Olivier and Rollant, The dozen peers, to be their safe warrant. And the Archbishop speaks to them, as he can: "My lords barons, go thinking nothing bad! For God I pray you fly not hence but stand, Lest evil songs of our valour men chant! Far better t'were to perish in the van. Certain it is, our end is near at hand, Beyond this day shall no more live one man; But of one thing I give you good warrant: Blest Paradise to you now open stands, By the Innocents your thrones you there shall have." Upon these words grow bold again the Franks; There is not one but he "Monjoie" demands. AOI.

CXIV

A Sarrazin was there, of Sarraguce, Of that city one half was his by use, 'Twas Climborins, a man was nothing proof; By Guenelun the count an oath he took, And kissed his mouth in amity and truth, Gave him his sword and his carbuncle too. Terra Major, he said, to shame he'ld put, From the Emperour his crown he would remove. He sate his horse, which he called Barbamusche, Never so swift sparrow nor swallow flew, He spurred him well, and down the reins he threw, Going to strike Engelier of Gascune; Nor shield nor sark him any warrant proved, The pagan spear's point did his body wound, He pinned him well, and all the steel sent through, From the hilt flung him dead beneath his foot. After he said: "Good are they to confuse. Pagans, strike on, and so this press set loose!" "God!" say the Franks, "Grief, such a man to lose!" AOI.

CXV

The count Rollanz called upon Oliver: "Sir companion, dead now is Engeler; Than whom we'd no more valiant chevalier." Answered that count: "God, let me him avenge!" Spurs of fine gold into his horse drove then, Held Halteclere, with blood its steel was red, By virtue great to strike that pagan went, Brandished his blade, the Sarrazin upset; The Adversaries of God his soul bare thence. Next he has slain the duke Alphaien, And sliced away Escababi his head, And has unhorsed some seven Arabs else; No good for those to go to war again. Then said Rollanz: "My comrade shews anger, So in my sight he makes me prize him well; More dear by Charles for such blows are we held." Aloud he's cried: "Strike on, the chevaliers!" AOI.

CXVI

From the other part a pagan Valdabron. Warden he'd been to king Marsilion, And lord, by sea, of four hundred dromonds; No sailor was but called his name upon; Jerusalem he'd taken by treason, Violated the Temple of Salomon, The Partiarch had slain before the fonts. He'd pledged his oath by county Guenelon, Gave him his sword, a thousand coins thereon. He sate his horse, which he called Gramimond, Never so swift flew in the air falcon; He's pricked him well, with sharp spurs he had on, Going to strike e'en that rich Duke, Sanson; His shield has split, his hauberk has undone, The ensign's folds have through his body gone, Dead from the hilt out of his seat he's dropt: "Pagans, strike on, for well we'll overcome!" "God!" say the Franks, "Grief for a brave baron!" AOI.

CXVII

The count Rollanz, when Sansun dead he saw, You may believe, great grief he had therefor. His horse he spurs, gallops with great effort, Wields Durendal, was worth fine gold and more, Goes as he may to strike that baron bold Above the helm, that was embossed with gold, Slices the head, the sark, and all the corse, The good saddle, that was embossed with gold, And cuts deep through the backbone of his horse; He's slain them both, blame him for that or laud. The pagans say: "'Twas hard on us, that blow." Answers Rollanz: "Nay, love you I can not, For on your side is arrogance and wrong." AOI.

CXVIII

Out of Affrike an Affrican was come, 'Twas Malquiant, the son of king Malcud; With beaten gold was all his armour done, Fore all men's else it shone beneath the sun. He sate his horse, which he called Salt-Perdut, Never so swift was any beast could run. And Anseis upon the shield he struck, The scarlat with the blue he sliced it up, Of his hauberk he's torn the folds and cut, The steel and stock has through his body thrust. Dead is that count, he's no more time to run. Then say the Franks: "Baron, an evil luck!"

CXIX

Swift through the field Turpin the Archbishop passed; Such shaven-crown has never else sung Mass Who with his limbs such prowess might compass; To th'pagan said "God send thee all that's bad! One thou hast slain for whom my heart is sad." So his good horse forth at his bidding ran, He's struck him then on his shield Toledan, Until he flings him dead on the green grass.

CXX

From the other part was a pagan Grandones, Son of Capuel, the king of Capadoce. He sate his horse, the which he called Marmore, Never so swift was any bird in course; He's loosed the reins, and spurring on that horse He's gone to strike Gerin with all his force; The scarlat shield from's neck he's broken off, And all his sark thereafter has he torn, The ensign blue clean through his body's gone, Until he flings him dead, on a high rock; His companion Gerer he's slain also, And Berenger, and Guiun of Santone; Next a rich duke he's gone to strike, Austore, That held Valence and the Honour of the Rhone; He's flung him dead; great joy the pagans shew. Then say the Franks: "Of ours how many fall."

CXXI

The count Rollanz, his sword with blood is stained, Well has he heard what way the Franks complained; Such grief he has, his heart would split in twain: To the pagan says: "God send thee every shame! One hast thou slain that dearly thou'lt repay." He spurs his horse, that on with speed doth strain; Which should forfeit, they both together came.

CXXII

Grandonie was both proof and valiant, And virtuous, a vassal combatant. Upon the way there, he has met Rollant; He'd never seen, yet knew him at a glance, By the proud face and those fine limbs he had, By his regard, and by his contenance; He could not help but he grew faint thereat, He would escape, nothing avail he can. Struck him the count, with so great virtue, that To the nose-plate he's all the helmet cracked, Sliced through the nose and mouth and teeth he has, Hauberk close-mailed, and all the whole carcass, Saddle of gold, with plates of silver flanked, And of his horse has deeply scarred the back; He's slain them both, they'll make no more attack: The Spanish men in sorrow cry, "Alack!" Then say the Franks: "He strikes well, our warrant."

CXXIII

Marvellous is the battle in its speed, The Franks there strike with vigour and with heat, Cutting through wrists and ribs and chines in-deed, Through garments to the lively flesh beneath; On the green grass the clear blood runs in streams. The pagans say: "No more we'll suffer, we. Terra Major, Mahummet's curse on thee! Beyond all men thy people are hardy!" There was not one but cried then: "Marsilie, Canter, O king, thy succour now we need!"

CXXIV

Marvellous is the battle now and grand, The Franks there strike, their good brown spears in hand. Then had you seen such sorrowing of clans, So many a slain, shattered and bleeding man! Biting the earth, or piled there on their backs! The Sarrazins cannot such loss withstand. Will they or nill, from off the field draw back; By lively force chase them away the Franks. AOI.

CXXV

Their martyrdom, his men's, Marsile has seen, So he bids sound his horns and his buccines; Then canters forth with all his great army. Canters before a Sarrazin, Abisme, More felon none was in that company; Cankered with guile and every felony, He fears not God, the Son of Saint Mary; Black is that man as molten pitch that seethes; Better he loves murder and treachery Than to have all the gold of Galicie; Never has man beheld him sport for glee; Yet vassalage he's shown, and great folly, So is he dear to th' felon king Marsile; Dragon he bears, to which his tribe rally. That Archbishop could never love him, he; Seeing him there, to strike he's very keen, Within himself he says all quietly: "This Sarrazin great heretick meseems, Rather I'ld die, than not slay him clean, Neer did I love coward nor cowardice." AOI.

CXXVI

That Archbishop begins the fight again, Sitting the horse which he took from Grossaille --That was a king he had in Denmark slain;-- That charger is swift and of noble race; Fine are his hooves, his legs are smooth and straight, Short are his thighs, broad crupper he displays, Long are his ribs, aloft his spine is raised, White is his tail and yellow is his mane, Little his ears, and tawny all his face; No beast is there, can match him in a race. That Archbishop spurs on by vassalage, He will not pause ere Abisme he assail; So strikes that shield, is wonderfully arrayed, Whereon are stones, amethyst and topaze, Esterminals and carbuncles that blaze; A devil's gift it was, in Val Metase, Who handed it to the admiral Galafes; So Turpin strikes, spares him not anyway; After that blow, he's worth no penny wage; The carcass he's sliced, rib from rib away, So flings him down dead in an empty place. Then say the Franks: "He has great vassalage, With the Archbishop, surely the Cross is safe."

CXXVII

The count Rollanz calls upon Oliver: "Sir companion, witness you'll freely bear, The Archbishop is a right good chevalier, None better is neath Heaven anywhere; Well can he strike with lance and well with spear." Answers that count: "Support to him we'll bear!" Upon that word the Franks again make yare; Hard are the blows, slaughter and suffering there, For Christians too, most bitter grief and care. Who could had seen Rollanz and Oliver With their good swords to strike and to slaughter! And the Archbishop lays on there with his spear. Those that are dead, men well may hold them dear. In charters and in briefs is written clear, Four thousand fell, and more, the tales declare. Gainst four assaults easily did they fare, But then the fifth brought heavy griefs to bear. They all are slain, those Frankish chevaliers; Only three-score, whom God was pleased to spare, Before these die, they'll sell them very dear. AOI.

CXXVIII

The count Rollant great loss of his men sees, His companion Olivier calls, and speaks: "Sir and comrade, in God's Name, That you keeps, Such good vassals you see lie here in heaps; For France the Douce, fair country, may we weep, Of such barons long desolate she'll be. Ah! King and friend, wherefore are you not here? How, Oliver, brother, can we achieve? And by what means our news to him repeat?" Says Oliver: "I know not how to seek; Rather I'ld die than shame come of this feat." AOI.

CXXIX

Then says Rollanz: "I'll wind this olifant, If Charles hear, where in the pass he stands, I pledge you now they will return, the Franks." Says Oliver: "Great shame would come of that And a reproach on every one, your clan, That shall endure while each lives in the land, When I implored, you would not do this act; Doing it now, no raise from me you'll have: So wind your horn but not by courage rash, Seeing that both your arms with blood are splashed." Answers that count: "Fine blows I've struck them back." AOI.

CXXX

Then says Rollant: "Strong it is now, our battle; I'll wind my horn, so the King hears it, Charles." Says Oliver: "That act were not a vassal's. When I implored you, comrade, you were wrathful. Were the King here, we had not borne such damage. Nor should we blame those with him there, his army." Says Oliver: "Now by my beard, hereafter If I may see my gentle sister Alde, She in her arms, I swear, shall never clasp you." AOI.

CXXXI

Then says Rollanz: "Wherefore so wroth with me?" He answers him: "Comrade, it was your deed: Vassalage comes by sense, and not folly; Prudence more worth is than stupidity. Here are Franks dead, all for your trickery; No more service to Carlun may we yield. My lord were here now, had you trusted me, And fought and won this battle then had we, Taken or slain were the king Marsilie. In your prowess, Rollanz, no good we've seen! Charles the great in vain your aid will seek-- None such as he till God His Judgement speak;-- Here must you die, and France in shame be steeped; Here perishes our loyal company, Before this night great severance and grief." AOI.

CXXXII

That Archbishop has heard them, how they spoke, His horse he pricks with his fine spurs of gold, Coming to them he takes up his reproach: "Sir Oliver, and you, Sir Rollant, both, For God I pray, do not each other scold! No help it were to us, the horn to blow, But, none the less, it may be better so; The King will come, with vengeance that he owes; These Spanish men never away shall go. Our Franks here, each descending from his horse, Will find us dead, and limb from body torn; They'll take us hence, on biers and litters borne; With pity and with grief for us they'll mourn; They'll bury each in some old minster-close; No wolf nor swine nor dog shall gnaw our bones." Answers Rollant: "Sir, very well you spoke." AOI.

CXXXIII

Rollant hath set the olifant to his mouth, He grasps it well, and with great virtue sounds. High are those peaks, afar it rings and loud, Thirty great leagues they hear its echoes mount. So Charles heard, and all his comrades round; Then said that King: "Battle they do, our counts!" And Guenelun answered, contrarious: "That were a lie, in any other mouth." AOI.

CXXIV

The Count Rollanz, with sorrow and with pangs, And with great pain sounded his olifant: Out of his mouth the clear blood leaped and ran, About his brain the very temples cracked. Loud is its voice, that horn he holds in hand; Charles hath heard, where in the pass he stands, And Neimes hears, and listen all the Franks. Then says the King: "I hear his horn, Rollant's; He'ld never sound, but he were in combat." Answers him Guenes "It is no battle, that. Now are you old, blossoming white and blanched, Yet by such words you still appear infant. You know full well the great pride of Rollant Marvel it is, God stays so tolerant. Noples he took, not waiting your command; Thence issued forth the Sarrazins, a band With vassalage had fought against Rollant; A He slew them first, with Durendal his brand, Then washed their blood with water from the land; So what he'd done might not be seen of man. He for a hare goes all day, horn in hand; Before his peers in foolish jest he brags. No race neath heav'n in field him dare attack. So canter on! Nay, wherefore hold we back? Terra Major is far away, our land." AOI.

CXXXV

The count Rollanz, though blood his mouth doth stain, And burst are both the temples of his brain, His olifant he sounds with grief and pain; Charles hath heard, listen the Franks again. "That horn," the King says, "hath a mighty strain!" Answers Duke Neimes: "A baron blows with pain! Battle is there, indeed I see it plain, He is betrayed, by one that still doth feign. Equip you, sir, cry out your old refrain, That noble band, go succour them amain! Enough you've heard how Rollant doth complain."

CXXVI

That Emperour hath bid them sound their horns. The Franks dismount, and dress themselves for war, Put hauberks on, helmets and golden swords; Fine shields they have, and spears of length and force Scarlat and blue and white their ensigns float. His charger mounts each baron of the host; They spur with haste as through the pass they go. Nor was there one but thus to 's neighbour spoke: "Now, ere he die, may we see Rollant, so Ranged by his side we'll give some goodly blows." But what avail? They've stayed too long below.

CCXXXVII

That even-tide is light as was the day; Their armour shines beneath the sun's clear ray, Hauberks and helms throw off a dazzling flame, And blazoned shields, flowered in bright array, Also their spears, with golden ensigns gay. That Emperour, he canters on with rage, And all the Franks with wonder and dismay; There is not one can bitter tears restrain, And for Rollant they're very sore afraid. The King has bid them seize that county Guene, And charged with him the scullions of his train; The master-cook he's called, Besgun by name: "Guard me him well, his felony is plain, Who in my house vile treachery has made." He holds him, and a hundred others takes From the kitchen, both good and evil knaves; Then Guenes beard and both his cheeks they shaved, And four blows each with their closed fists they gave, They trounced him well with cudgels and with staves, And on his neck they clasped an iron chain; So like a bear enchained they held him safe, On a pack-mule they set him in his shame: Kept him till Charles should call for him again. AOI.

CXXXVIII

High were the peaks and shadowy and grand, The valleys deep, the rivers swiftly ran. Trumpets they blew in rear and in the van, Till all again answered that olifant. That Emperour canters with fury mad, And all the Franks dismay and wonder have; There is not one but weeps and waxes sad And all pray God that He will guard Rollant Till in the field together they may stand; There by his side they'll strike as well they can. But what avail? No good there is in that; They're not in time; too long have they held back. AOI.

CXXXIX

In his great rage on canters Charlemagne; Over his sark his beard is flowing plain. Barons of France, in haste they spur and strain; There is not one that can his wrath contain That they are not with Rollant the Captain, Whereas he fights the Sarrazins of Spain. If he be struck, will not one soul remain. --God! Sixty men are all now in his train! Never a king had better Capitains. AOI.

CXL

Rollant regards the barren mountain-sides; Dead men of France, he sees so many lie, And weeps for them as fits a gentle knight: "Lords and barons, may God to you be kind! And all your souls redeem for Paradise! And let you there mid holy flowers lie! Better vassals than you saw never I. Ever you've served me, and so long a time, By you Carlon hath conquered kingdoms wide; That Emperour reared you for evil plight! Douce land of France, o very precious clime, Laid desolate by such a sour exile! Barons of France, for me I've seen you die, And no support, no warrant could I find; God be your aid, Who never yet hath lied! I must not fail now, brother, by your side; Save I be slain, for sorrow shall I die. Sir companion, let us again go strike!"

CXLI

The count Rollanz, back to the field then hieing Holds Durendal, and like a vassal striking Faldrun of Pui has through the middle sliced, With twenty-four of all they rated highest; Was never man, for vengeance shewed such liking. Even as a stag before the hounds goes flying, Before Rollanz the pagans scatter, frightened. Says the Archbishop: "You deal now very wisely! Such valour should he shew that is bred knightly, And beareth arms, and a good charger rideth; In battle should be strong and proud and sprightly; Or otherwise he is not worth a shilling, Should be a monk in one of those old minsters, Where, day, by day, he'ld pray for us poor sinners." Answers Rollant: "Strike on; no quarter give them!" Upon these words Franks are again beginning; Very great loss they suffer then, the Christians.

CXLII

The man who knows, for him there's no prison, In such a fight with keen defence lays on; Wherefore the Franks are fiercer than lions. Marsile you'd seen go as a brave baron, Sitting his horse, the which he calls Gaignon; He spurs it well, going to strike Bevon, That was the lord of Beaune and of Dijon, His shield he breaks, his hauberk has undone, So flings him dead, without condition; Next he hath slain Yvoerie and Ivon, Also with them Gerard of Russillon. The count Rollanz, being not far him from, To th'pagan says: "Confound thee our Lord God! So wrongfully you've slain my companions, A blow you'll take, ere we apart be gone, And of my sword the name I'll bid you con." He goes to strike him, as a brave baron, And his right hand the count clean slices off; Then takes the head of Jursaleu the blond; That was the son of king Marsilion. Pagans cry out "Assist us now, Mahom! God of our race, avenge us on Carlon! Into this land he's sent us such felons That will not leave the fight before they drop." Says each to each: "Nay let us fly!" Upon That word, they're fled, an hundred thousand gone; Call them who may, they'll never more come on. AOI.

CXLIII

But what avail? Though fled be Marsilies, He's left behind his uncle, the alcaliph Who holds Alferne, Kartagene, Garmalie, And Ethiope, a cursed land indeed; The blackamoors from there are in his keep, Broad in the nose they are and flat in the ear, Fifty thousand and more in company. These canter forth with arrogance and heat, Then they cry out the pagans' rallying-cheer; And Rollant says: "Martyrdom we'll receive; Not long to live, I know it well, have we; Felon he's named that sells his body cheap! Strike on, my lords, with burnished swords and keen; Contest each inch your life and death between, That neer by us Douce France in shame be steeped. When Charles my lord shall come into this field, Such discipline of Sarrazins he'll see, For one of ours he'll find them dead fifteen; He will not fail, but bless us all in peace." AOI.

CXLIV

When Rollant sees those misbegotten men, Who are more black than ink is on the pen With no part white, only their teeth except, Then says that count: "I know now very well That here to die we're bound, as I can tell. Strike on, the Franks! For so I recommend." Says Oliver: "Who holds back, is condemned!" Upon those words, the Franks to strike again.

CXLV

Franks are but few; which, when the pagans know, Among themselves comfort and pride they shew; Says each to each: "Wrong was that Emperor." Their alcaliph upon a sorrel rode, And pricked it well with both his spurs of gold; Struck Oliver, behind, on the back-bone, His hauberk white into his body broke, Clean through his breast the thrusting spear he drove; After he said: "You've borne a mighty blow. Charles the great should not have left you so; He's done us wrong, small thanks to him we owe; I've well avenged all ours on you alone."

CXLVI