A stool was there of ivory wrought. 
     King Marsil bade a book be brought,
     Wherein was all the law contained
     Mahound and Termagaunt ordained. 
     The Saracen hath sworn thereby,
     If Roland in the rear-guard lie,
     With all his men-at-arms to go,
     And combat till the count lay low. 
     Sir Gan repeated, “Be it so.”

     XLIX

     King Marsil’s foster-father came,
     A heathen, Valdabrun by name. 
     He spake to Gan with laughter clear. 
     “My sword, that never found its peer,—­
     A thousand pieces would not buy
     The riches in the hilt that lie,—­
     To you I give in guerdon free;
     Your aid in Roland’s fall to see,
     Let but the rear-guard be his place.” 
     “I trust,” said Gan, “to do you grace.” 
     Then each kissed other on the face.

     L

     Next broke with jocund laughter in,
     Another heathen, Climorin. 
     To Gan he said, “Accept my helm,
     The best and trustiest in the realm,
     Conditioned that your aid we claim
     To bring the marchman unto shame.” 
     “Be it,” said Ganelon, “as you list.” 
     And then on cheek and mouth they kissed.

     LI

     Now Bramimonde, King Marsil’s queen,
     To Ganelon came with gentle mien. 
     “I love thee well, Sir Count,” she spake,
     “For my lord the king and his nobles’ sake. 
     See these clasps for a lady’s wrist,
     Of gold, and jacinth, and amethyst,
     That all the jewels of Rome outshine;
     Never your Emperor owned so fine;
     These by the queen to your spouse are sent.” 
     The gems within his boot he pent.

     LII

     Then did the king on his treasurer call,
     “My gifts for Karl, are they ready all?”
     “Yea, sire, seven hundred camels’ load
     Of gold and silver well bestowed,
     And twenty hostages thereby,
     The noblest underneath the sky.”

     LIII

     On Ganelon’s shoulder King Marsil leant. 
     “Thou art sage,” he said, “and of gallant bent;
     But by all thy holiest law deems dear,
     Let not thy thought from our purpose veer. 
     Ten mules’ burthen I give to thee
     Of gold, the finest of Araby;
     Nor ever year henceforth shall pass
     But it brings thee riches in equal mass. 
     Take the keys of my city gates,
     Take the treasure that Karl awaits—­
     Render them all; but oh, decide
     That Roland in the rear-guard bide;
     So may I find him by pass or height,
     As I swear to meet him in mortal fight.” 
     Cried Gan, “Meseemeth too long we stay,”
     Sprang on his charger and rode away.

     LIV