Then Archbishop Turpin gathered the warriors about him, and while the Franks kneeled on the ground he shrived them clean and blessed them in the name of God, saying, "It is a right good thing to die for king and faith, but fear not death, though it certainly now faces you. To-night shall we meet in Paradise wearing the crowns of the martyrs. Arise from your knees and in penance for your sins scourge ye the pagans." Upon his great battle horse, Veillantif, Roland rode to and fro brandishing his good sword, Durendal, putting his warriors in battle array. Little need had he to urge faith and constancy, for there was not a man but loved his commander to the utmost, and cheerfully would follow him even unto death. When Roland looked upon the pagan host his face grew fierce and terrible, but as he turned it upon his men a mild and gentle expression stole over it, and he said, "My lords and barons, good comrades all, let no man spare his life to-day, but see only that he sells it dear. The lives of twenty pagans is a poor price for one of yours. I have promised to give a good account of you, and tonight the battlefield will tell how I have kept my word. God alone knows the issue of the combat, but I have no fear. Of a certainty, much praise and honor await us on earth and a martyr's crown in Paradise." So saying, he pricked the noble Veillantif with his golden spurs and set off at the head of the rear guard through the pass and down into the valley of death called Roncesvalles. Next following came Oliver, then Archbishop Turpin followed by the Twelve, and behind pushed forward the rear guard bearing aloft the snow-white banner of their king and shouting fiercely their battle cry, "Montjoy! Montjoy!" [Footnote: Montjoy was the name given during the Middle Ages to any little rise of ground which lay on the line between two territorial divisions. As such a spot was a common meeting place of hostile armies, the term Montjoy came to be used as a war cry.] Savage and bloody was the battle, beyond the words of man to describe. Roland's ashen spear crashed through the brazen armor, skin, and bone of fifteen pagans before it shivered in his hands and he was compelled to draw the fair Durendal from its sheath. Roland saw Oliver fighting with only the lesser half of his spear, and riding to him exclaimed, "Draw thy sword, comrade, and slay the enemy." But Oliver replied, "Not so long as a handful of the stump remains. To-day are weapons precious." All Twelve and the whole rear guard fought like men possessed, and before each lay a tale of pagan slain. No man sought to protect himself except by the slaughter of his enemies. "Thank God," said Archbishop Turpin, as he rested for a moment, "thank God that I live to see the rear guard fight to-day."