La Chanson de Roland, CCXXXIX–CCXLIX

Both armies are immense; their squadrons bright. Between the combatants nor height, nor hill, Nor vale, nor wood that shelter could afford; Foe looks on foe across the open field.— Said Baligant: "My Saracens, to horse! Ride forward to the fight!" The battle flag Is borne on high by Amboire d'Oliferne, And all shout "Precieuse!" The French exclaim: "May ye confounded be this day!" Aloud Rises their cry "Montjoie!" The Emperor Carle His trumpets bid resound, and the olifant Whose blast 'whelms all. The Pagans say: "Carle's host Is fair! Fierce battle shall we have and dire." Aoi.

Vast is the plain and broad the field. Behold Those dazzling helms inlaid with gold and gems, Those shields, those coats of mail with saffron edged, Those spears and pennons rolled; hearken ye the voice Of trumpets blowing clear and strong, and hark The olifant's shrill blast, which sounds the charge. The Emir calls his brother, Canabeu, The King of Floredee, who rules the land As far as Val-Sevree, and points to Carle's Ten must'ring legions: "See the pride of France The praised; amid his bearded knights how proud The Emperor rides! O'er their hauberks stream Their beards as white as snow upon the frost. Forsooth! These valiant warriors will strike hard With lance and sword, and such a fight be ours As never man has fought." Then Baligant, Urging his courser further than a man Can hurl a staff, gave reasons and their proof: "Come forward, Pagans; follow where I go!" Brandishing high the shaft of his own lance, At Carle he levels fair its trenchant steel. Aoi.

When Carle the Emir sees, and with him borne The dragon-standard, all the land o'erswarmed By Arab warriors, save that space alone Held by his host, he cries with loudest voice: "Barons of France, in valor great, we know, Upon how many fields ye battled! See The Pagans! Traitors vile and cowards all; Yea, all their law I count no denier worth. What care ye, lords, how vast their numbers are? Let those who wish to combat follow me!" With pointed spurs he pricks his courser's flanks And Tecendur four times leaped in the air. Cry out the French:—"A valiant King is this! Ride forward, Sire, not one will fail you here." Aoi.

Clear was the day and bright the sun. Both hosts Resplendent, their battalions numberless; The legions in the van already meet In fight. Both Counts Rabel and Guineman On their fleet coursers' necks have loosed the rein! Sharply they spur, and all the Franks dash on To deal with trenchant lance their valiant blows. Aoi.

A daring Knight is Count Rabel. With spurs Of purest gold he pricks his courser's flanks, Rushing to smite Torleu the Persian King. No shield, no hauberk can such blow withstand. The golden spear went through the Pagan's heart And mid the brambles of the road has struck Him dead. The French cry out: "Aid us, O God! With Carle the right; ne'er shall we fail our King!" Aoi.

Guineman 'gainst the King of Leutice tilts; The Pagan's shield with painted flowers bedecked Is shattered and his hauberk torn away. Through his heart's core the pennon of the Knight Is driven, bearing death,—or laugh or weep Who may. At such a blow the French exclaim: "Barons, strike ever! Strike and be not slack Against the Pagan hordes; to Carle belongs The right. With us the justice true of God!" Aoi.

Malprime upon a steed of purest white Leads 'gainst the serried legions of the Franks His men. Abating not his mighty blows, Corse over corse he heaps. Cries Baligant In front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long, Barons of mine, see how my son seeks Carle And with so many knights he measured arms; A better vassal I shall never claim; Give him the succor of your trenchant spears." On rush the Pagans at these words, and deal Their mortal blows around. Rude is the fight! The battle marvelous and stern. None such Was ever seen before or since that hour. Aoi.

The hosts are numberless, the warriors fierce— The encount'ring legions fighting hand to hand Noblest exploits achieved. How many a lance Asunder broken; God! How many shields In pieces split, how many hauberks wrenched! Splinters of shivered armor you might see Strew all the field, and verdant tender grass Vermillioned o'er by streams of human gore! The Emir to his people calls anew: "Barons strike down these Christian people!"—Hard And long the fight embittered by revenge And rage. Ne'er seen before nor will be seen Again such combat.—To the death they fight. Aoi.

The Emir to his men:—"Strike, Pagans, ye For this alone have come. Dames sweet and fair Shall be your guerdon; honors, and domains I promise all."—The Saracens respond: "To serve you all we ought."—So hard they fight That in the hot affray they lose their spears: Anon a thousand flashing swords and more, Are drawn, a bloody slaughter to achieve. He who stood on that field, true battle saw. Aoi.

The King exhorts his French: "Beloved Seigneurs And trusty Knights, ye many battles fought For me, won many a realm, defeated Kings! Full well I know, rich guerdons have ye earned; My wealth, lands, blood I owe you. Now to-day Your sons, your brothers and your kin avenge Who fell in Ronceval but yesternight! Well know ye mine the right, with them the wrong." The French reply:—"Yea, sire, you speak the truth." The twenty thousand knights who march with Carle Pledge with one soul their fealty. Dire distress, E'en death, shall cause not one of these to fail The Emperor; not on lances they rely, But with the sword in hand wage doughty strife. Wondrous the raging battle. Stern the fight. Aoi.

The brave Malprime has pressed his steed across The field, and carried death among the French. Duke Naimes glanced proudly toward him, and as knight In battle fearless met him in career; He strikes ... tears off his buckler's leathern top, The hauberk cuts in twain, drives through the heart The yellow pennon of the spear, and strikes Him dead mid seven hundred other knights. Aoi.