“Nay, His Majesty must not misunderstand us thus,” said Wolf. “Our recent submission to his commands should place our loyalty beyond suspicion of that sort.”
“What, then, is the reason of this unwholesome pleasantry? When the wolf is pleased, the shepherd should be on his guard.”
“An awkward blow of Oliver’s made us laugh,” said Ganelon, scowling at the combatants.
“Oho! so that Gallant knight must serve you for a laughing-stock? In truth, you would have done better to laugh at me. Am I no longer Charlemagne? Did that miscreant say true? Because a giant dares look me in the face, these dwarfs must snap at my heels! One of my bravest knights undertakes, out of regard for me, an enterprise, the very thought of which is enough to turn one’s head; he is in danger of his life, and people dare laugh at him under my very eyes! You have done ill, let me tell you; and, since the venture which Oliver undertakes is such good sport, you shall, both of you, take part in it at once. Now, raven!—now, wolf! to your prayers for this hero; for I swear by Heaven you shall take his place in the field!”
Then, leaving Ganelon and Wolf dumb with confusion, Charlemagne resumed his place. Angoulaffre and Oliver, who only awaited the monarch’s return, ran another course. This time Ferrant d’ Espagne arrived alone at the end of the lists. The giant had adopted surer measures.
He had couched so low in the saddle that his face had touched his horse’s neck. Oliver, taking advantage of this, had thrust his lance into his left eye, whereon Angoulaffre had seized him in his mighty grasp, and had gripped him so hard, that his armour, bent and bruised, forced itself into his flesh. Then the giant was seen to rise in his saddle, and hurl the luckless knight to the ground, where he lay without stirring, his armour broken, and bathed in blood.
