The sun climbed the heavens, and it was noon, and not a Christian gave way. Wheresoever he planted his foot there he stayed until he could advance or until he died. The noble guard hewed down the pagans by the hundreds until the earth was heaped with the slain. Where Roland stood wielding Durendal, dripping with blood from point to hilt, lay a circle of dead Moslems, for from every side the multitude came to compass the death of Roland. [Illustration: WHERESOEVER HE PLANTED HIS FOOT, THERE HE STAYED] Though two hundred thousand of the pagans lay dead, many thousand Christians mingled with them. Of the Twelve but two remained, when the hosts of Marsilius began to flee and he looked with dismay upon the slain. Then would Roland have won his battle in spite of numbers but that from the mountainside came the sound of trumpets, and down into the valley came twenty fresh battalions of Saracens, eager for the fray. Yet Roland and the remainder of his scattered force kept even these new legions long at bay, laughing in scorn at the Saracen warriors and calling out grim jests at them as though the deadly battle were a friendly game. So marvelously did the Christians fight that the pagans almost yielded, for it seemed to them as though God and his angels must be fighting for the Christians. Yet slowly and surely was the rear guard dwindling away. Dead were the noble Twelve and dead all the brave knights that were the immediate companions and guard of Roland, the flower of the rear guard. "Comrade," said Roland to Oliver, "now will I blow my horn, which perchance Charles may hear and come to us." "Thou art now too late," said the angry Oliver. "Hadst thou but taken my advice thou hadst saved much weeping among the women and children of France. Charles would not have lost his rear guard nor France her valiant Roland." "Blow thy horn," said the Archbishop Turpin, "and talk not of what might have been. It is now too late for Charles to save our lives, but he may avenge them." Then Roland put his horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rose up against the sides of the mountains and was echoed across the valleys over hill and dale till it reached the king among his courtiers in his great hall. "What is that I hear?" he said; "surely our men are fighting to-day." Said Ganelon, "What you hear is but the sighing of the wind in the trees." Still more weary grew Roland, and he took the horn again and winded it with all his strength. [Illustration: ROLAND FEEBLY WINDED HIS HORN] So loud, so long and so mighty was the blast that the veins stood out like whipcords on his brow; and even then he stopped not, but blew until his temples broke and the blood streamed down his face. Charles heard the mighty blast in his palace and cried, "That is the horn of Roland; I know it. He is hard pressed in battle or he would not sound it."