The Saracens had left off laughing now. Their music was silenced. Garlan the Bearded, who commanded them, foamed with rage; he tore out a good tenth of his beard by the roots. The Alcalde of Valentia foresaw the fate of Angoulaffre, and was asking himself whether he and his men should ever see Spain again.
Roland was loudly cheered; but, without taking any heed of it, he dismounted, and, approaching the colossus, who had not yet regained his feet, he said—-
“Keep your seat, governor, and while you rest yourself, send some of your warriors to me; there will then be no time lost.”
“May I be struck by a thousand thunderbolts, if I give you a moment’s respite! Mount, and defend yourself!”
“I am not in the habit of taking any advantage in a combat. Since you are dismounted, I will continue the contest on foot.”
During this conversation ten horses had drawn from the lists the remains of Angoulaffre’s steed.
