Meanwhile King Marsile, with his countless Saracens, had pursued so quickly that the van of the heathen army soon saw waving the banners of the Frankish rear. Then as they halted before the strife began, one by one the nobles of Saragossa, the champions of the Moors, advanced and claimed the right to measure themselves against the Twelve Peers of France. Marsile's nephew received the royal glove as chief champion, and eleven Saracen chiefs took a vow to slay Roland and spread the faith of Mahomet. "Death to the rearguard! Roland shall die! Death to the Peers! Woe to France and Charlemagne! We will bring the Emperor to your feet! You shall sleep at St. Denis! Down with fair France!" Such were their confident cries as they armed for the conflict; and on their side no less eager were the Franks. "Fair Sir Comrade," said Oliver to Roland, "methinks we shall have a fray with the heathen." "God grant it," returned Roland. "Our duty is to hold this pass for our king. A vassal must endure for his lord grief and pain, heat and cold, torment and death; and a knight's duty is to strike mighty blows, that men may sing of him, in time to come, no evil songs. Never shall such be sung of me." Oliver Descries the Saracens Hearing a great tumult, Oliver ascended a hill and looked towards Spain, where he perceived the great pagan army, like a gleaming sea, with shining hauberks and helms flashing in the sun. "Alas! we are betrayed! This treason is plotted by Ganelon, who put us in the rear," he cried. "Say no more," said Roland; "blame him not in this: he is my stepfather." Now Oliver alone had seen the might of the pagan array, and he was appalled by the countless multitudes of the heathens. He descended from the hill and appealed to Roland. Roland will not Blow his Horn "'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn, Your great Olifant, far-sounding: Charles will hear it and return here.' 'Cowardice were that,' quoth Roland; 'In fair France my fame were tarnished. No, these Pagans all shall perish When I brandish Durendala.' "'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn: Charles will hear it and return here.' 'God forbid it,' Roland answered, 'That it e'er be sung by minstrels I was asking help in battle From my King against these Pagans. I will ne'er do such dishonour To my kinsmen and my nation. No, these heathen all shall perish When I brandish Durendala.' "'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn Charles will hear it and return here. See how countless are the heathen And how small our Frankish troop is!' 'God forbid it,' answered Roland, 'That our fair France be dishonoured Or by me or by my comrades-- Death we choose, but not dishonour!'" Roland was a valiant hero, but Oliver had prudence as well as valour, and his advice was that of a good and careful general. Now he spoke reproachfully. It is Too Late