Stories of Charlemagne and the Twelve Peers of France by Alfred John Church

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The first that rode forth from the array of the heathen was Ælroth, / nephew to King Marsilas. Good were his arms, and his horse was both / swift and strong. Grievous were the reproaches that he uttered / against the men of France. "Are you come," said he, "ye robbers of / France, to fight with us to-day? Know ye not that he who should have / helped you has betrayed you? Verily, a fool was your Emperor to / leave you in these passes, for the honour of fair France has perished / to-day, and the great Charles has lost, as it were, the right arm / from his body. So shall Spain have peace at last."

Roland heard these words with great grief in his heart. He spurred / his steed with spurs of gold, and smote the heathen warrior with all / his might. He brake his shield in twain, and severed the mail of his / hauberk, and clave his body into two parts. A mighty stroke it was, / and Roland cried aloud as he dealt it, "Learn now, thou wretch, that / King Charles knows well what he does. He loves not treason or / traitors. It was well done of him to leave us in these passes. / France shall have no loss of honour this day. Strike, men of France, / strike! The first blood is for us; these dogs of heathen shall / suffer for their misdeeds."

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