Cân Rolant

And in the meantime, Rolant was not resting from killing his enemies. And whomever he would strike, there was no need to attack him a second time in order that he might die. And as long as his lance held out, he did not use another weapon. It lasted for fifteen attacks; and with as many attacks, so many men did he slaughter. And when his lance wore out, he went on, using the might of Durendard, his sword. And when he unsheathed it, he made a rush at Cherub and gave him a blow on the top of his head, through the helmet - both the mail-cap and the steel bands - and the coat of mail and his shield and his linen garment, on each side; and through him himself, and through his head and his brains and the neck and the chest and the belly and through the saddle and the armor of the horse and through the horse so that there was a part of the man and the armored horse on each side, on the ground, on each side of the sword. And that blow was bitter to them. "Take that," he said, "as recompense for your wickedness! And it is such help as that which Mahumet is used to giving to him who serves him."

And then Rolant followed the rest. And the number he killed is not easy to relate, but let it suffice to say this now - that he rode among the pagans so swiftly that they fell by his sword as the ripe corn would fall before a swift reaper in harvest. And the other Franks were not resting from killing those of the false infidels that they would encounter, each one of them - as he was able - emulating Rolant. [...]

[...] And Rolant, looking at him [Oliuer], rebuked him: "O good companion," he said, "it is not by means of staffs that we need to fight in this battle. And where is Hawtykylyr, your sword, now?" "It was not necessary," he said, "for me to unsheathe it; while there was fury in me and a clear path to hunt the dogs and to kill them, I did not remember my sword."

And without delay he drew his sword and showed it to Rolant, striking one of the pagans with it on the helmet so that it split through it and through his mail-cap and through the man and the horse and all their armor, with the result that part of them fell, severed, on each side of the sword. "By such a blow as that," said Rolant, "I recognize that you are a companion to me. Because of such blows as those, you merit Chiarlymaen's love and will keep faith with him." And then they shouted together on the Mountain of Joy, and after them everyone in their host, on their part.

The most battle-oriented of all the retellings of the French Song of Roland, this is the part of Cân Rolant depicting Rolant and Oliuer's excellent fighting ability during the heathen ambush at Roncesvalles. Note the name that the Welsh give to the place of battle: Mountain of Joy. This name does not occur elsewhere in the canon, and is probably the result of a misreading of the Franks' battle cry Monjoie, referenced in other works.

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One can just see Roland brandishing his sword as if it were a sickle, corn falling in green heaps. Things look much more grim when nature is evoked in the French Song of Roland, wind howling and trees bending to the ground. The ferocious healthy energy in Cân Rolant becomes a desperate, faceless wail of grief in the next passage.

[...]

Companions they are: almost every work in the corpus demonstrates the camaraderie between these two. The French Roland loses his best friend at Roncevaux, and grieves for him–this is one of the episodes in the poem which flesh out Roland's character most vividly.

[...]