Gradually he draws nearer to the king, and resumes his discourse: "You are in the wrong to be angry. Our king bestows upon you the half of Spain; the other half being for his nephew Roland, an insolent companion I admit; but if you do not agree to this, you will be besieged in Saragossa, taken, bound, judged, and beheaded. Thus says the emperor himself in his message to you." So saying, he places the letter in the pagan's hands.
Marsilion, in a fresh access of rage, breaks the seal, and rapidly glances over the contents. "Charles talks to me of his resentment! He calls to mind this Basan, this Basil, whose heads flew off at my bidding! To save my life, I am to send him my uncle, the caliph; otherwise he listens to no terms!"
Upon this the king's son exclaims: "Deliver Ganelon to me, that I may do justice upon him." Ganelon hears him, and brandishes his sword, setting his back against a pine.
The scene suddenly changes. The king has descended into his garden; he is calm, and walks with his son and heir, Jurfalen, in the midst of his vassals. He sends for Ganelon, who is brought to him by Blancandrin.
"Fair Sire Ganelon," says the king, "it may be that I received you somewhat hastily, and made as if I would have stricken you just now. To make amends for this mistake, I present you with these sable furs. Their value is more than five hundred pounds of gold. Before to-morrow, still more costly ones shall also be yours."
"Sire, it is impossible that I should refuse, and may it please Heaven to recompense you!"
Marsilion continues: "Hold it for certain, Sir Count, that it is my desire to be your friend. I would speak with you of Charlemagne. He is very old, it appears to me. I give him at least two hundred years; how worn out, therefore, he needs must be! He has spent his strength in so many lands, when will he be weary of warfare?"
"Never," said Ganelon, "so long as his nephew lives. Roland has not his equal in bravery from hence to the far East. He is a most valiant man, and so, likewise, is Oliver, his companion, and these twelve peers, so dear to the emperor, who march at the head of twenty thousand knights. Can you expect that Charles should know fear? He is more powerful than any man here below!"
"Fair sire," replies Marsilion, "I, also, have my army, than which a finer cannot be found. I have four hundred thousand knights wherewith to give battle to Charles and his French."
"Trust it not at all," the other answers; "it will cost you dear, as well as your men. Lay aside this rash boldness, and try a little management instead. Give the emperor riches so great that our French will be dazzled by them, and give him twenty hostages. He will then return into the sweet land of France, leaving the rear-guard to follow, in which, I trust, may be Count Roland and the valiant Oliver. Only listen to my counsel, and, believe me, they are dead."