The Song of Roland Part 9

Then Oliver has drawn his mighty sword As his comrade had bidden and implored, In knightly wise the blade to him has shewed; Justin he strikes, that Iron Valley's lord, All of his head has down the middle shorn, The carca.s.s sliced, the broidered sark has torn, The good saddle that was with old adorned, And through the spine has sliced that pagan's horse; Dead in the field before his feet they fall.

Says Rollant: "Now my brother I you call; He'll love us for such blows, our Emperor."

On every side "Monjoie" you'ld hear them roar.

AOI.

CVIII

That count Gerins sate on his horse Sorel, On Pa.s.se-Cerf was Gerers there, his friend; They've loosed their reins, together spurred and sped, And go to strike a pagan Timozel; One on the shield, on hauberk the other fell; And their two spears went through the carca.s.s well, A fallow field amidst they've thrown him dead.

I do not know, I never heard it said Which of the two was nimbler as they went.

Esperveris was there, son of Borel, And him there slew Engelers of Burdel.

And the Archbishop, he slew them Siglorel, The enchanter, who before had been in h.e.l.l, Where Jupiter bore him by a magic spell.

Then Turpin says "To us he's forfeited."

Answers Rollanz: "The culvert is bested.

Such blows, brother Olivier, I like well."

CIX

The battle grows more hard and harder yet, Franks and pagans, with marvellous onset, Each other strike and each himself defends.

So many shafts bloodstained and shattered, So many flags and ensigns tattered; So many Franks lose their young l.u.s.tihead, Who'll see no more their mothers nor their friends, Nor hosts of France, that in the pa.s.s attend.

Charles the Great weeps therefor with regret.

What profits that? No succour shall they get.

Evil service, that day, Guenes rendered them, To Sarraguce going, his own to sell.

After he lost his members and his head, In court, at Aix, to gallows-tree condemned; And thirty more with him, of his kindred, Were hanged, a thing they never did expect.

AOI.

CX

Now marvellous and weighty the combat, Right well they strike, Olivier and Rollant, A thousand blows come from the Archbishop's hand, The dozen peers are nothing short of that, With one accord join battle all the Franks.

Pagans are slain by hundred, by thousand, Who flies not then, from death has no warrant, Will he or nill, foregoes the allotted span.

The Franks have lost the foremost of their band, They'll see no more their fathers nor their clans, Nor Charlemagne, where in the pa.s.s he stands.

Torment arose, right marvellous, in France, Tempest there was, of wind and thunder black, With rain and hail, so much could not be spanned; Fell thunderbolts often on every hand, And verily the earth quaked in answer back From Saint Michael of Peril unto Sanz, From Besencun to the harbour of Guitsand; No house stood there but straight its walls must crack: In full mid-day the darkness was so grand, Save the sky split, no light was in the land.

Beheld these things with terror every man, And many said: "We in the Judgement stand; The end of time is presently at hand."

They spake no truth; they did not understand; 'Twas the great day of mourning for Rollant.

CXI

The Franks strike on; their hearts are good and stout.

Pagans are slain, a thousandfold, in crowds, Left of five score are not two thousands now.

Says the Archbishop: "Our men are very proud, No man on earth has more nor better found.

In Chronicles of Franks is written down, What va.s.salage he had, our Emperour."

Then through the field they go, their friends seek out, And their eyes weep with grief and pain profound For kinsmen dear, by hearty friendship bound.

King Marsilies and his great host draw round.

AOI.

CXII

King Marsilies along a valley led The mighty host that he had gathered.

Twenty columns that king had numbered.

With gleaminag gold their helms were jewelled.

Shone too their shields and sarks embroidered.

Sounded the charge seven thousand trumpets, Great was the noise through all that country went.

Then said Rollanz: "Olivier, brother, friend, That felon Guenes hath sworn to achieve our death; For his treason no longer is secret.

Right great vengeance our Emperour will get.

Battle we'll have, both long and keenly set, Never has man beheld such armies met.

With Durendal my sword I'll strike again, And, comrade, you shall strike with Halteclere.

These swords in lands so many have we held, Battles with them so many brought to end, No evil song shall e'er be sung or said."

AOI.

CXIII

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 G.o.d 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!"

"G.o.d!" 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: "G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 p.r.i.c.ked 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!"

"G.o.d!" say the Franks, "Grief for a brave baron!"

AOI.

CXVII