“Enough said! By my beard, nephew mine, you will provoke me too far presently. Be seated, and wait until I bid you speak.”
“Sire,” said Ganelon, “from such a mission one does not always return. I recommend to your care my son Baldwin, who will one day be a brave warrior.”
Charlemagne handed the gauntlet to the Count of Mayence, who let it fall on the ground. “A bad omen!” said the Franks, seeing it. “Roland may be right after all!”
“You will hear of me before long, gentlemen,” said Ganelon, with an ill-favoured smile.
Then, furnished with truncheon and letter, he made ready to set out on his mission.
Ganelon and Blancandrin, followed by the Saracen body-guard, journeyed for three days side by side. The Pagan was not slow to perceive in a moment the hatred entertained by the Count of Mayence for Roland, and he rejoiced to see it. Let us hear what they are talking about.
“Whence comes it,” said Blancandrin, “that your sovereign, instead of seeking an alliance with us, made war on us so fiercely?”
“It is Roland who is always egging him on. But for him, we should long since have returned to France.”
They reached the camp of Marsillus. Fifty thousand Saracens surrounded the King of Saragossa, but they maintained perfect silence, for fear of losing a syllable of what was going to be said.
“May Allah and Mahomet preserve you, beloved sovereign! We have borne your message, and we bring back to you one of the noblest peers of the Court of France, to decide with you on peace or war.”