“His death shall become a tradition,” added Abysm, the favourite of Marsillus. “I swear to you, people shall speak of it when the recollection of this petty Charles shall be extinct.”
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“You had better implore the aid and protection of the Prophet in your undertaking, for he who has vanquished me is not to be lightly overcome,” said Angoulaffre.
“If we have to unpeople Nubia, Persia, Egypt, the Atlas, the Caucasus, Scythia, and Spain, to swell our forces,” said Ecremis of Vauterne, “as sure as Mahomet is greater than St. Peter, Charles and his knights shall perish ere long.”
“Before a year elapses we will sleep at Cologne,” said another.
“Enough, babblers and boasters!” said Angoulaffre, who felt the chills of death approaching; “do your best to carry back your carcasses whole to Spain, and if Mahomet grants you that favour, renew there these promises. In the meantime, take care of your precious hides in to-morrow’s tourney. Death grasps me by the throat—farewell! Ah, dog of a Roland!”
These were the last words of the Governor of Jerusalem.