Turold

La Chanson de Roland (The Song of Roland)

Part V: Battle is Renewed

Death Of Ganelon from the Grandes Chroniques de France, Paris, BNF, Fr. 2813, fol. 124r.

Death of Ganelon from the Grandes Chroniques de France, Paris, BNF, Fr. 2813, fol. 124r
Picryl

Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2024, All Rights Reserved.

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Contents

Verses 204-206: Charlemagne returns to Roncesvalles

Charlemagne came again to Roncesvalles,

And wept for the dead that he viewed there.

He said to the Franks: ‘My lords, hold back,

For I myself should now set forth, alone,

To find my nephew, whom I’d see again.

At Aix, it was, upon the feast of Noel,

When my brave knights all were boasting,

Of mighty battles, ones fought most fiercely,

That I heard our Count Roland say a thing:

That, ere he died in some foreign country,

To his enemies’ land he’d turn his head,

And make thus, bravely, a victorious end.’

Then Charlemagne advanced before them,

Mounting the slope, a stone’s throw or more.

As the emperor went to seek for his nephew

He found the flowers, the grass, of the field

Turned to crimson, with our barons’ blood.

Pity he felt, and pity moved the king to tears.

He approached the slope between two trees

Upon three terraces saw the marks of blows

And found his nephew’s body on the grass;

Small wonder that Charlemagne waxed angry.

He dismounted there, for his heart was full

And clasped his nephew’s body in his arms;

And fainted o’er him, such was his anguish.

When the emperor recovered from his swoon

Neimes the duke, and the Count Aceline

Gefrei of Anjou, and his brother Henri

Raised him, and bore him beneath a pine.

Gazing towards his nephew on the ground

The king began to lament most sweetly:

‘Roland, my friend, God have mercy on you!

Ne’er did any man behold so fair a knight

For jousting and defence upon the field.

Now I fear the decline of all my honour!’

Charlemagne could scarcely stand upright.

Verses 207-210: His lament for Roland

When Charlemagne recovered from his swoon.

Three of his barons raised the king, gently.

He looked at his nephew lying on the ground;

All colour had drained from the king’s face

His gaze was shadowed, his eyes troubled.

Charlemagne’s lament was filled with love:

‘Roland, may God set you midst the flowers

In Paradise, there, among the glorious!

Ill-fated was your coming here to Spain!

Ne’er a day in which I’ll not mourn you.

My power, my strength, has diminished!

None have I now to maintain my honour

No friend such as you, neath the heavens.

Kin have I, but none of them so stalwart.’

And, with both hands, he tore at his hair.

A hundred thousand Franks grieved so

That not a one could hold back his tears.

‘Roland, my friend, I shall away to France.

And when I am at Laon, in my chamber,

Many a knight will come from other realms,

And ask: “Where is your captain, the Count?”

I shall answer that he lies dead in Spain.

In deepest sorrow I shall reign henceforth.

Ne’er a day where I weep not and lament.

Roland, my friend, so young, so fair, so brave

When I am there, at Aix, in my chapel

Many will arrive there seeking tidings;

I’ll say to them, in my wondrous sorrow:

‘My nephew’s dead, he who conquered all!

The Saxons will now rise up against me

Hungarians, Bulgars, the hostile peoples

Rumanians, Poles, those in Pannonia

And in Africa, and those in Califerne;

Then my pain and suffering will deepen.

For who will lead my forces with such skill

Now he is slain, that guided them always?

Ah! France the fair, now are you widowed!

My grief is such, that I would live no more!’

He then began to tear at his white beard

And, with both hands, the hair on his head.

A hundred thousand Franks slumped low.

‘Roland, my friend, God show you mercy!

May your soul now dwell in Paradise.

He that slew you, has slain France also.

My grief for those who have died for me

Is such, I say, that I would live no more!

May God, the Son of Mary, grant me this:

Ere I am come to the grand pass of Size

Let my soul depart from this, my body!

Set my soul among their glorious souls

And let my corpse be set down by theirs.’

His eyes filled with tears; he tore his beard.

Duke Neimes said: ‘Indeed, his woe is great.’

Verses 211-213: The corpses of the dead are recovered

‘My emperor,’ Gefrei d’Anjou exclaimed

‘Let not your sorrow overcome you so.

Let us search the battlefield for our dead

Those the men of Spain slew in the fight

And bear them to where we’ll bury them.’

Said the King: ‘Sound your war-horn, then!’

Gefrei d’Anjou then did as was requested

The men dismounted, at the king’s command.

The bodies of their friends, dead in battle

They bore to where they would bury them.

The bishops that were there, many an abbot

Canons, vicars, monks with shaven crowns

Gave absolution, made the sign of the cross,

And swung their heavy censers all around

Burning incense and myrrh, to fill the air

Then they interred them, with great honour.

And left them there; what more did men do?

The king had Roland laid to one side

With Oliver too, and Archbishop Turpin.

He had their corpses opened before him

Their hearts bound up in silken cloth

And placed in coffers of white marble.

Next they took up the warriors’ bodies

And washed them clean, in spiced wine,

Then wrapped the three in soft deer-hide.

The King summoned Tedbalt and Gebuin

With the marquis Otes, and Count Milun:

‘Set them in three carts, and guard them well.’

They covered them in fabrics from Galata.

Verses 214-226: The Franks prepare to renew the campaign

Charlemagne was all ready to ride forth

When the pagan vanguard suddenly appeared.

Two heralds soon issued from their ranks

In the admiral’s name, challenging him to fight.

‘Proud king, here’s not the time for departure!

Admiral Baligant advances soon upon you

Great the host he has led here from Arabia;

Now, let us view the courage that you claim.’

King Charlemagne grasped at his white beard

Recalling all his sorrow, and the slaughter

And fiercely he looked towards his people

Calling out, in a voice both loud and clear:

‘Lords of the Franks, to horse, to battle, now!’

The emperor was the first to arm himself.

He donned his fine hauberk in a moment

Laced his helm, seized his sword, Joyeuse

Whose brightness matched that of the sun

Hung a shield, from Biterne, round his neck

Grasped his lance, holding the shaft on high

Mounted his fine steed, named Tencendur

Whom he’d won at the ford below Marsune

Where he sent to death Malpalin of Nerbone

And loosed the reins, spurring on his mount

A hundred thousand sped forth behind him

Calling on God, and the Apostle of Rome.

O’er all the field the Franks had dismounted

A hundred thousand men had armed as one

Their garments and armour most befitting.

Their horses were swift, their weapons fine;

Mounted, they were ready, should knowledge

Come to them of the foe, to render battle.

Their pennants fluttered above their helms.

When Charles saw that pleasing display

He summoned to him Jozeran of Provençe

Duke Neimes, and Antelme of Maience:

‘A man may place his trust in such as these

While he is but a fool that lacks such faith.

Unless the Arabians come here to repent

They’ll pay dearly for Count Roland’s life!’

Duke Neimes replied: ‘May God so consent!’

Charlemagne called Rabels and Guinemán.

Said the King: ‘My lords, I command you

To embrace the roles of Oliver and Roland.

One take the sword, the other the war-horn.

Ride on, before all, and head the vanguard

Together with some fifteen thousand Franks

Young fledgling knights, the most valiant.

And as many more shall follow on behind

Whom Antelme shall lead, with Gibuins.’

Duke Neimes, and Count Jozeran departed

To assemble their troops in proper ranks.

Find the foe and great would be the fight.

The first columns were composed of Franks.

After these two, they assembled a third

Wherein were ranked the Bavarian knights;

Some twenty thousand strong that force.

Where they fought, ne’er a battle was lost.

Charlemagne held no vassals of his dearer

Save those of France, who’d conquered realms.

The Danish chief, Oger, the warrior-count

Lead those men; full of pride, their bearing.

Three fine columns, now, had Charlemagne

And Duke Neimes, he established a fourth

Composed of noble and courageous barons.

Germans were they, come out of Germany

Twenty thousand, as other tales have said

Well-equipped, with fine steeds and weapons;

Men that had rather fall than quit a fight.

They were led by Herman, Duke of Trace

Who’d have died ere he be thought a coward.

After that, Duke Neimes and Count Jozeran

Selected a fifth column; all were Normans

Twenty thousand, or so say all the Franks

With splendid weapons, and swift chargers;

Men that would rather die than quit a fight

None neath the sky as stubborn in the field.

Richard, called the Old, lead them to battle

Who struck hard with his powerful lance.

The sixth column was composed of Bretons

Thirty thousand knights were they in sum;

They rode in the manner of great barons

Their lances raised, with pennants fluttering.

The lord that led them forth was Oedun

And he appointed, then, Count Nevelun

Tedbald of Reims, and Oton, the marquis:

‘Lead forth my men, for such is in my gift.’

The emperor had six columns now at hand.

Duke Neimes then assembled the seventh

Of Poitevins, and barons from Auvergne.

Forty thousand knights were chosen there;

Their steeds were fine, their weapons good.

In a vale, beneath a cliff, they were ranked.

Charlemagne raised his hand to bless them.

They were led by Jozeran and Godselmes.

Duke Neimes then swiftly formed an eighth,

Made up of Flemings, and Frisian barons

The column forty thousand strong or more

And not one of them had e’er lost a battle.

The King said: ‘These will serve me well.’

Between Rembalt and Hamon de Galice

Lay the leadership, two lords of chivalry.

Duke Neimes and Count Jozeran then chose

A ninth column, formed of valiant fighters,

Lotharingians, and men from Burgundy,

Full fifty thousand knights, by all accounts,

All clad in hauberks, their helmets laced;

Strong were their spears, the shafts cut short.

Should the Arabians choose to come forth,

And meet with them, they’d cut them down.

Tierris led them, the bold Duke of Argonne.

The tenth column were all barons of France

A hundred thousand of our bravest captains;

Strong of limb, their faces filled with pride.

Pale were those heads and pale those beards.

They were dressed in doublets and hauberks

At their sides Frankish and Spanish swords

Clasping noble shields, with varied emblems.

Once mounted, the troops demanded battle

‘Montjoie’ the cry; with them rode Charlemagne.

Gefreid d’Anjou bore forth the Oriflamme;

Saint Peter’s it was, and bore a Roman name

Which was altered on that day of ‘Montjoie’.

The emperor dismounted from his horse

Knelt, and bowed his head towards the turf

Turning his gaze towards the rising sun

And called upon God in heartfelt speech:

‘True Father above, defend me on this day

You who rescued Jonah, for such is true

Out of the whale that had swallowed him

You that once spared the king of Nineveh

Saved Daniel from most dreadful torment

When he was prisoned in the lions’ den,

And those three lads from the fiery furnace

May your gracious love be present here;

May it please you, in your mercy, to consent

To my avenging, here, my nephew Roland.’

Once the king had prayed, he rose to his feet

Making the sign of the cross before his face.

He mounted his swift charger, once again

As Jozeran and Duke Neimes held the stirrup

Grasping his shield, gripping his sharp lance.

Firm was his body, and noble, and well-set

Clear was his face, and fine his countenance

As he cantered forth in vigorous manner.

Before, behind him, the trumpets sounded

Above them all, rang out the ivory horn.

There, the Franks wept in pity for Roland.

Verses 227-229: Baligant, in turn, prepares to fight

The emperor rode forth in noble manner

His beard flowing down o’er his hauberk.

For love of him, the rest came on behind

A hundred thousand Franks in fair array.

They went, by the cliffs, the peaks on high

Through deep valleys, and narrow ways

Issuing from the pass, and the wasteland

Into the Spanish Marches spread below

Halting then in the midst of a wide plain.

Meanwhile his guards came to Baligant.

One Sulians had brought him fresh news:

‘We’ve seen the proud king Charlemagne;

His men are fierce, intending not to fail.

Arm yourself, for battle you shall have!’

Said Baligant: ‘Many brave men are mine.

Sound the war-horns, let my pagans hear!’

Throughout the host the drums were sounded

And the bugles and trumpets, loud and clear.

The pagans dismounted, to arm themselves.

The admiral would stay but short time there

Donned his doublet, with embroidered hem

Laced his helmet, studded o’er with gold

And girded his sword then, to his left side.

Out of sheer pride, he had named the blade

As Charlemagne had done, so he had heard

And, therefore, called his own Précieuse.

It was his war-cry, when he went to fight

And all his men called out the name again.

His broad shield was hung about his neck

Whose boss was gold and set midst crystal

Its strap a twisted rope of silken strands.

He gripped his lance he’d named Maltet

With a shaft that was thick as a cudgel’s

Its steel enough to bow a strong mule’s back.

On his charger, Baligant had mounted

Marcules the Outlander held his stirrup.

The mighty admiral was long in the leg

Slender his thighs, his ribs were broad

Wide was his chest, and nobly-formed

His shoulders broad, and clear his gaze;

His look was proud, his hair ringleted

Beard blanched like hawthorn in summer.

His courage had many a time been proved.

Lord, what a knight, were he a Christian!

He spurred his steed, the blood spurted;

He galloped on, and o’er a ditch he leapt

Full fifty feet broad, if it were measured.

The pagans cried: ‘We’ll hold the Marches!

There’s ne’er a Frank can joust with him

Without his life be lost, despite his will.

Charlemagne’s a fool not to quit the field.’

The admiral looked fine as any baron

Beard white as a hawthorn in summer.

Wise he was in the laws of his creed

While in battle he was fierce and proud.

His son Malpramis was most chivalrous

Big and strong, traits of his noble line.

Said he to his sire: ‘Let us gallop forth!

Wondrous twill be to see this Charlemagne.’

Said Baligant: ‘Yes, he is famed indeed;

Of the honour he’s won, many a tale tells.

Yet he’s without Roland his nephew now

And so will lack the strength to counter us.’

Verses 230-231: Malpramis, Baligant’s son, seeks to strike the first blow

‘For, Malpramis, fair son,’ said Baligant

‘Roland the valiant, died but yesterday

And Oliver, that brave and skilful knight.

The Twelve Peers, dear to Charlemagne

Lie dead midst twenty thousand Franks.

I’d not unglove my hand for those he has

Yet the emperor, has returned in strength

So Sulians my man but now informed me;

Ten echelons comprise his mighty army.

The proud man, who sounds that war-horn

With a clear call, rallies their companies.

Those of the vanguard gallop in advance

And with them are fifteen thousand Franks

Young knights, the king calls his “children”

And many another follows on behind

Men who will fight with every show of pride.’

Said Malpramis: ‘Allow me the first blow!’

‘My fair son, Malpramis,’ said Baligant

‘I grant the boon that you request of me.

Strike the Franks, and strike them hard.

Take the Persian king, Torleu, with you

And Dapamort, the Lutician monarch.

If you can humble the Frankish pride

I’ll grant you a slice of my kingdom

From Cheriant as far as Val Marquis.’

‘I thank you, Sire!’ Malpramis replied.

He rode on, in acceptance of that gift

Of the lands once held by king Flurit

Yet, he ne’er had the chance to see them

Was ne’er invested, nor held that realm.

Verses 232-236: Baligant arrays his troops for battle

The admiral rode forth amidst his host

His son, large of frame, followed after.

The two kings Torleu and Dapamort

Swiftly assembled some thirty columns

Comprising a wondrous knightly host;

For the least echelon held fifty thousand.

The first comprised men from Butentrot

The next large-headed men of Micenes

Along their backs, centred on the spine

They bristled with hair like wild boars.

The third was raised from Nubles and Blos;

The fourth from Bruns and from Esclavoz;

The fifth held men from Sorbres and Sorz;

The sixth troops from Ermines and Mors;

The seventh held warriors from Jericho;

The eighth from Niger; the ninth from Gros;

And the tenth from Balide the mighty

Whose tribes were devoid of all goodwill.

The admiral swore, as was his custom:

‘By the body of Mahomet, and his virtue

Charlemagne of France acts foolishly;

Battle he’ll have, unless he now departs;

No more shall he wear his crown of gold.’

Ten further echelons Baligant arrayed.

Of the ugly tribes of Canelius, the first

Who had crossed the land from Val-Fuit;

The next was of Turks, the third Persians;

The fourth was of those from Pinceneis

The fifth raised from Solteras and Avers;

The sixth from Ormaleus and Eugiez;

The seventh were of the tribe of Samuel;

The eighth from Bruise; the ninth from Clavers;

And the tenth from Occiant, the desert waste.

They were a tribe, that served no god at all

Such villains as ne’er were known elsewhere

Hard was their hide, as though made of iron

Such that they needed nor helm nor hauberk;

Slaughterous monsters were they in battle.

Ten more echelons the admiral reviewed.

The first was of giants from Malprese;

The next of Huns, the third Hungarians;

The fourth of men from distant Baldise.

The fifth of warriors from Val-Penuse;

The sixth of tribesmen from Maruse;

The seventh from Leus and Astrimónies;

The eighth Argoilles; the ninth Clarbone;

The tenth of bearded folk from Val-Frunde

Another tribe, that ne’er new love divine.

The tale of the Franks tells of thirty columns.

Great the host, loud the war-horns brayed.

The pagans rode forth like men of valour.

That admiral was rich in his wealth of men

He had his dragon emblem borne before him

The banners of Termagant and Mahound

And the image of Apollo the villainous.

Ten men of Canelius rode at his side

And they called aloud his proclamation:

‘Let those who’d win our gods’ protection.

Serve and worship them with devotion.’

The pagans bowed their heads full low

Doffing the helmets from their heads.

The Franks cried: ‘Villains, now you die!

This day shall bring you all to confusion!

God grant his aid to King Charlemagne

And the battle we shall gain in his name!’

Great the war-knowledge of the admiral.

He summoned his son and the two kings:

‘My lord barons, gallop on in advance

Form the vanguard to all the columns;

But of the best of them I’ll keep three:

The ranks of Turks; those of Ormaleus;

And the third of the Giants of Malprese.

Those of Occiant will ride beside me

Till we meet the Franks and Charlemagne.

If the emperor will seek to joust with me

He must lose the head from his shoulders;

It must be so; he’s earned no other fate.’

Verses 237-239: The two armies engage

Vast were the armies, and the columns fair

Not a peak, or cliff, or vale between them

Nor a wood, nor grove to set an ambush;

They viewed each other clearly o’er the plain.

Cried Baligant: ‘Now, my fighting pagans

Ride on; seek the battle that awaits you!’

Amborres of Oluferne, he bore their ensign.

The Pagans shouted its name: ‘Precieuse!’

Cried the Franks: ‘Great loss be yours this day!’

And gave their war-cry, loudly: ‘Montjoie!’

The emperor had them sound the trumpets

While the ivory horn rang out above all.

The pagans said: ‘Fine is Charlemagne’s host.

A battle we shall have, one fierce and harsh!’

Great was that plain, and broad the field;

The helms gleamed, studded o’er with gold

As did the embossed hauberks, the shields

And the lances, all with fluttering pennants.

The trumpets sounded, clear, their call.

While the ivory-horn rang out on high.

Now the admiral, called to his brother

Canabeus, that was king of Floredee

He that held land as far as Val-Sevree

And pointed to Charlemagne’s vast host:

‘Behold the pride of France the famed!

Haughtily now the emperor rides forth

His bearded warriors follow on behind;

O’er the hauberks their full beards flow

That are as white as the freezing snow.

They will strike us with lance and spear:

Harsh, bitter the battle we shall have;

Ne’er has a man seen such a gathering.’

No further than one might hurl a stick

Baligant passed before his companies.

He showed them his intent, and shouted:

‘Come my pagans; now, I take the field.’

He grasped his spear, and brandished it

Turning its point towards Charlemagne.

Charlemagne, viewed the admiral there

And the dragon, his ensign and standard

And all that mighty army, from Arabia

That clothed every part of that broad plain

Save that which the emperor now held.

Then the King of France called, loudly:

‘Barons of France, brave men are you all.

Many a battle you’ve fought in the field.

Behold these pagans, cowardly villains

Whose laws and creed are not worth a sou.

What matter that their host seems so vast?

He that would fail me, let him vanish now!’

He dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks;

Tencendor made four great leaps ahead.

Cried the Franks: ‘Brave is our monarch!

Ride on my lords; none here seek to fail!’

Verses 240-242: The counts Rabels and Guinemán slay Torleu and Dapamort

Clear was the day, and the sun was bright.

The hosts in fine array, their columns grand.

The leading echelons were soon engaged.

Now Count Rabels and Count Guinemán

Loosed the reins, and let their chargers run,

As, spurring hard, the Franks rode swiftly,

All set to strike home with their sharp lances.

Count Rabel was a battle-hardened knight.

He pricked his horse, his spurs of pure gold

And went to strike the Persian king, Torleu.

Nor shield nor hauberk could stay the blow.

The gilded lance passed through his body

And, hurled upon the thorny ground, he died.

The Franks cried aloud: ‘The Lord aid us!

Fail not, for Charlemagne’s cause is right!’

Then Guinemán fought the Lutician king

Broke his shield embossed with flowers

Shattered his hauberk, pierced the doublet

Drove his lance’s pennant through the flesh

And slew him, no matter who might weep.

At that great blow, the Franks cried aloud:

‘Strike on, my lord, wait for no man here.

Charlemagne is right to slay these pagans.

God sent us here to drive his justice home.’

Verses 243-246: Baligant and Charlemagne rally their troops

Malpramis, mounted on a pure white steed,

Forged his way among the press of Franks,

Dealing great blows at one and then another,

Often sending one dead to join his brothers.

Baligant, called out, loudly, o’er them all:

‘My barons, have I not long nourished you.

Behold my son, who seeks out Charlemagne,

Attacking many a man with his weapons.

I can ask for no braver service than is his.

Aid him now with your sharpened lances!’

At his words, the pagan echelons advanced.

Harsh blows they struck, great the slaughter,

For wondrous heavy was the fighting there.

Before nor since ne’er was so fierce a battle.

Vast were the hosts, and proud the echelons

Fighting their foes all over that wide field.

The pagans were most wondrously fierce.

Lord, the many lance-shafts split in pieces

Shattered shields, hauberks shorn of mail!

So stained was the ground that could be seen

That o’er the field the grass, fresh and green

Was now all dyed crimson with men’s blood.

The admiral rallied his kith and kin, crying:

‘Barons, strike hard, break the Christian line.’

Now, most harsh and keen was the fighting

That ne’er before or since was e’er as fierce.

And not till nightfall came was end in sight.

The admiral called aloud to all his people:

‘Strike, pagans; are you not here for this?

I promise you women, noble and most fair

I promise you honours, lands, and realms.’

The pagans answered: ‘We shall earn them,’

Shattering their lances, dealing great blows

A hundred thousand blades, or so, unsheathed.

Heavy and dolorous was the slaughter there.

Battle he saw, that viewed those two armies.

The emperor, Charlemagne, called to his Franks:

‘Lord barons, I love you, as I trust you, well;

Full many are the wars you’ve fought for me,

Conquering kingdoms, toppling their kings!

And well I know how much I owe to you,

Of land, and wealth, and my bodily efforts.

Avenge now your brothers, sons, and heirs,

Who were slain at Roncesvalles that day!

My cause is just against these pagan foes.’

The Franks replied: ‘Sire, you speak true!’

King Charlemagne led twenty thousand,

Who, one and all, were sworn to loyalty;

They’d not fail at the very gates of death.

Not one of them now employed his lance,

But, with their swords, they struck en masse.

The battle now grew wondrously fierce.

Verses 247-252: Duke Neimes attacks, and is attacked in turn

O’er that field, galloped Malpramis the bold

Who’d wrought much damage on the Franks.

Duke Neimes now gazed upon him fiercely

And went to strike him, like a man of valour.

He broke the upper rim of his foe’s shield

Pierced the double folds of the strong hauberk,

Thrust his yellow pennant through the flesh

And left him dead midst seven hundred others.

King Canabeus, the admiral’s own brother

Pricked his horse fiercely with his spurs

Drew his sword, its hilt set with crystal

And struck Duke Neimes hard on his helm.

He sheared one half of the covering away

Through five plates the steel blade cleft

Leaving the helmet barely worth a sou

Slicing to the flesh right through the cap

And sending a piece flying to the ground.

Fierce was the blow, and stunned the duke

Who’d have fallen had God not sent aid.

His charger’s neck he embraced, tightly.

Had the pagan his attack then renewed

That noble servant had indeed been slain

But Charlemagne of France brought succour.

Fierce was the pain Duke Neimes endured,

While the pagan soon turned to strike again.

Charlemagne cried: ‘Villain, ill you’ve earned!

And, courageously, he moved to deal a blow.

He drove the broken shield gainst the chest,

And tore the ventail from the other’s helm,

Then toppled him, dead, the saddle emptied.

Great was the grief of Charlemagne, the king

On seeing Duke Neimes, there, on the ground

Shedding his bright blood o’er the green grass.

Yet the emperor shouted his encouragement:

‘Good Sir Neimes, mount, and ride with me.

The villain’s dead that had you in such straits;

I drove my lance straight through his body.’

The Duke replied: ‘Sire, that I do believe.

You have here living-proof, should I survive.’

Then both rode forth, swearing love and loyalty;

Full twenty thousand Franks rode about them

And not one but fought hard, and slaughtered.

Through the field there came the admiral

Who moved to strike at Count Guinemán;

He drove the white shield against his chest

And split the hauberk and doublet apart.

He hacked two of his ribs from his side

And flung him dead from his swift steed.

And then he slew, with Gebuin and Lorain

Richard the Old, the lord of the Normans.

The pagans cried: ‘Precieuse shall prevail!

Strike, barons; for therein lies our defence!’

Who then had seen those men from Araby

From Occiant, and Argoillie, and Bascle

Had seen how well they plied their lances!

Nor had the Frankish knights a mind to flee!

Many there were that died on either side

For fierce war was waged till evening fell.

The barons of France incurred much damage.

Grief would there be, ere the armies parted.

The End of ‘La Chanson de Roland: Part V’