“There’s nothing there,” said Pinabel.
“What did you think there would be? Don’t you know that a good horse never eats much in the morning?” And with that the worthy couple quitted the stable.
Mitaine had great difficulty in crawling back to Miton’s tent. She dressed her wound with a celebrated ointment, which is still in great use—the “Balm of Miton-Mitaine”—and was able to present herself the same evening before Roland.
The Count of Mans listened to what his squire had to tell.
“This is good news you bring me, little one; and, with the aid of Heaven, I will find a way thereby to rid the world of this traitor Ganelon.”
“What!” said Mitaine; “will you not alter your line of march?”
“Remember this: he who finds a snake in his path has two alternatives to choose between. He can either make a détour, and continue his route, by doing which he leaves an enemy in his rear; or he can go straight to the monster and kill it, which is the safer course. There is, by the way, a third solution of the matter—flight; but, of course, no one would dream of that. I shall take care not to neglect the opportunity which is offered me. In the meantime, swear to keep strict silence on this point!”
The trumpets resounded through the camp of Marsillus. The unbelievers placed themselves in ambush beside the French line of march, and waited for the next morning.
The clarions rang out through the camp of Charlemagne. The hour of departure had come. Charles rode proudly amid his gallant knights.
“Who will lead the rear-guard through the passes of Cisaire?” asked the Emperor of his nobles.