les will allow you
to do homage for half of Spain. The other half he gives to Roland, his
nephew, and a proud neighbour you will find him. If these terms do not
please you, he will lay siege to Saragossa, and will seize your
person, and carry you to Aix, the capital of the Empire, where you
will die a shameful death.' When he heard this, Marsile trembled with
rage, and drawing a dart he would have thrown it at Ganelon had not
someone held him from behind. Ganelon looked on, his hand on his
sword, which he drew a little from its scabbard. 'Sword,' said he,
'you are sharp and bright. While I wear you at the Court of this
King, the Emperor can never say that I have died alone in a foreign
land. But before I die you shall drink the blood of the best in his
army.'

The Infidels who were standing by prayed Marsile to go back to his
seat in order that the matter might be decided, 'You put yourself in
the wrong,' said the old Caliph, 'when you wish to strike this Frank.'

'Sire,' answered Ganelon, 'I will suffer this insult patiently, but
not all the treasure of your kingdom should hinder my delivering the
message of my master.' With that he threw from his shoulders his
mantle of zibeline, but kept light hold of his sword. 'See,' said the
Saracens, 'did you ever behold a prouder warrior?' Ganelon drew near
the King and repeated the message that Charles had given him. When he
had finished he held out the letter, and Marsile, who had studied in
the best schools of learning, broke the seal and read it to himself.
'Listen to this, my lords,' he cried, 'and say if ever you heard such
madness! Charles bids me think of Basil and Bazan, whose heads I cut
off, up there in the mountains. And if I wish my own life to be
spared, I am to send him my uncle, the Caliph, to deal with as he
thinks fit.' The Saracens heard the message in grim silence, which was
broken by the voice of the King's son. 'Ganelon must be mad indeed to
give such a message as that,' said he, 'and he deserves death for his
boldness. Deliver him to me, and I will do justice on him.' Ganelon
understood his words but said nothing, only he quietly placed his back
against a pine tree, and played with the hilt of his sword.

King Marsile rose and went into his orchard, followed by his best
councillors, Jorfalon his son, his uncle the Caliph, and others whom
he most trusted. 'Summon the Frank also,' Blancandrin whispered in his
ear, 'for he has promised to throw in his lot