The Count of Mayence trembled, but he answered, “‘Tis some goatherd calling together his flock.”
“Do you think I’ve grown childish, that I should mistake a horn for a pipe? It was Roland’s horn, past a doubt.”
“Well, sire, he sounds his bugle for nothing often; perchance he is chasing some wild animal.”
“By your leave, sire, the horn has a mournful sound,” said Naymes of Bavaria, “and it is but due to your peers to go and see what has befallen them.”
“You are right, friend. Ganelon, you will remain here;” and Charles called for Besgue, his head cook, and entrusted to him the custody of the Count of Mayence.
“It is the duty of your scullions to guard this criminal. Have you any stout rope to put him to the question with?”
“I have, sire, the rope, saving your presence, with which I tie up the pigs when I stick them.”
“That will do well! And now, my comrades, let us hasten to Roland.”
“There is no need to hurry,” said Ganelon, with a grin; “Roland does not ring the bell until mass is over.”
“Even so, renegade,” said the Emperor, “we may arrive in time for vespers, and so much the worse for the Pagans.”