Ganelon was ever to be seen. By and by the army came to the Pyrenees, and the great land of France lay just beyond the mountains. "To whom now," said the king to his peers, "shall we intrust our rear-guard while we pass safely through the mountain gates?" "Give It to Roland, your nephew," said Ganelon. "There is none more worthy than he." "And who shall lead the vanguard?" "Ogier, the Dane. Next to Roland, he is the bravest of your barons." Right willingly did Roland accept the dangerous trust. "I will see to it," said he, "that no harm come to the French while passing through the gates. Neither pack-horse, nor mule, nor palfrey, nor charger, nor man shall we lose, that shall not be paid for by the blood of our foes." Then he mounted his steed, and rode back to the rear. And with him went Oliver and Turpin the archbishop, and twenty thousand valiant fighting-men. High were the mountains, and gloomy the valleys; dark were the rocks, and fearful were the glens. But the day was fair, and the sky was clear; and the bright shields of the warriors glittered in the sunlight like flashes of fire. All at once a sound, as of a thousand trumpets blowing, was heard in the valley below them. The French knights hearkened. "Comrades," said Oliver, "methinks that we are followed by the Moors." "And may God grant us battle and victory!" said Roland earnestly. "Well is it that we are here to defend the king. For one should never murmur that he suffers distress for his friends: for them, he should lose, if need be, both blood and flesh and even life itself." Then Oliver climbed a high pine tree, and looked down into the grassy valley behind them. There he beheld such troops of Pagan folk as he had never seen before. "Comrades," cried he, "we shall have such a battle as no man has known. The passes are full of armed Moors: their hauberks and glittering helmets fill the lower valleys. Great mischief is in store for us, but may we stand to the field like men!" "Shame be to him that flees!" said the warriors who heard him.