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.
