Then Roland called on his men to give thanks to God, and Bishop Turpin, whose stout arm had fought well on that bloody day, offered up thanks for the army, though in sorry plight were they, almost none unwounded, their swords and lances broken, and their hauberks rent and blood-stained. Gladly they laid themselves down to rest beside the comrades whose eyes never more would open on the fair land of France, but even as Roland was about to take his rest he saw descending upon him and his little band a host of Saracens, led by Marsile himself.
A hundred thousand men, untired, and fiercely thirsting for revenge, came against the handful of wearied, wounded heroes. Yet with unwavering courage the Franks responded to their leaders' call.
The war-cry of the soldiers of France—"Montjoie! Montjoie!"—rang clear above the fierce sound of the trumpets of the Saracen army.
"'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
"'Be ye valiant and steadfast.
"For this day shall crowns be given you
"Midst the flowers of Paradise.
"In the name of God our Saviour,
"Be ye not dismayed nor frighted.
"Lest of you be shameful legends
"Chanted by the tongues of minstrels.
"Rather let us die victorious.
"Since this eve shall see us lifeless!—
"Heaven has no room for cowards!
"Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly.
"Ye shall sit among the holy
"In the blessed fields of Heaven.
"On then. Friends of God, to glory!'"
