Then Roland heard a feeble voice, and turning, saw the Archbishop Turpin dying on the ground, a piteous sight, his face all marred with wounds and his body well-nigh cut in twain. Yet Turpin raised his hand and blessed the dead about him, saying, "Thank God, dear Roland, the field is thine and mine. We have fought a good fight." Then he joined his hands as though in prayer, but his strength failed him and he fell back fainting. Roland crawled away towards a little rill where water was flowing, but his own weakness was so great that when he came feebly to where the Archbishop lay he found him with his hands still clasped, but now at rest; for neither thirst nor pain would trouble him again. All alone in that field of death Roland wept with his slaughtered friends. When Roland found death was drawing near he took Durendal in one hand and his good horn in the other and crept away to a green hillock, where he lay down in his armor. While he lay there in agony a Saracen appeared plundering the dead and as he stole by Roland he saw the glitter of Durendal's hilt and put out his hand and snatched the sword. Roland opened his eyes and saw the thief before him with the sword in his hands, and turning suddenly he raised his horn and dealt the fellow so heavy a blow upon the skull that he stretched him dead upon the ground. Then, recovering Durendal, he clasped it in his hands and said, "Oh Durendal, keen of edge and bright of blade, God sent thee by his angels to Charles to be his captain's sword. Charles girt thee at my side, and many a country hast thou helped to conquer in my hands. Though it grieveth me sore to part with thee, yet would I rather break thee asunder than that thou shouldst fall into the hands of an enemy of France." So, praying God to give him strength, he struck the sword so mightily upon a gray stone of granite that the stone was chipped and splintered, but the good sword broke not nor was its good edge turned in the least. A second time he struck the stone, and though under the blow it was cleft in twain, the blade leaped back unharmed. On the third blow he powdered the stone, but failed to turn the blade of polished steel. Then Roland knew that the sword was indeed holy, and holding the cross upon its hilt before his eyes, he said, "Oh Durendal, I am to blame. The angels brought thee and they will keep thee safe for Charles and France." Now indeed Roland felt the throes of death approach, and turning his face toward Spain and toward his enemies he placed his sword and horn beneath him, and lifting his weary hands to heaven he closed his eyes. Death and silence brooded o'er the valley; the mists of night came up, and darkness hid the scene.