But what avail? Though fled be Marsilies, He's left behind his uncle, the alcaliph Who holds Alferne, Kartagene, Garmalie, And Ethiope, a cursed land indeed; The blackamoors from there are in his keep, Broad in the nose they are and flat in the ear, Fifty thousand and more in company. These canter forth with arrogance and heat, Then they cry out the pagans' rallying-cheer; And Rollant says: "Martyrdom we'll receive; Not long to live, I know it well, have we; Felon he's named that sells his body cheap! Strike on, my lords, with burnished swords and keen; Contest each inch your life and death between, That neer by us Douce France in shame be steeped. When Charles my lord shall come into this field, Such discipline of Sarrazins he'll see, For one of ours he'll find them dead fifteen; He will not fail, but bless us all in peace." AOI. CXLIV When Rollant sees those misbegotten men, Who are more black than ink is on the pen With no part white, only their teeth except, Then says that count: "I know now very well That here to die we're bound, as I can tell. Strike on, the Franks! For so I recommend." Says Oliver: "Who holds back, is condemned!" Upon those words, the Franks to strike again. CXLV Franks are but few; which, when the pagans know, Among themselves comfort and pride they shew; Says each to each: "Wrong was that Emperor." Their alcaliph upon a sorrel rode, And pricked it well with both his spurs of gold; Struck Oliver, behind, on the back-bone, His hauberk white into his body broke, Clean through his breast the thrusting spear he drove; After he said: "You've borne a mighty blow. Charles the great should not have left you so; He's done us wrong, small thanks to him we owe; I've well avenged all ours on you alone." CXLVI Oliver feels that he to die is bound, Holds Halteclere, whose steel is rough and brown, Strikes the alcaliph on his helm's golden mount; Flowers and stones fall clattering to the ground, Slices his head, to th'small teeth in his mouth; So brandishes his blade and flings him down; After he says: "Pagan, accurst be thou! Thou'lt never say that Charles forsakes me now; Nor to thy wife, nor any dame thou'st found, Thou'lt never boast, in lands where thou wast crowned, One pennyworth from me thou'st taken out, Nor damage wrought on me nor any around." After, for aid, "Rollant!" he cries aloud. AOI. CXLVII