At length the journey was over, and Ganelon lighted down before King Marsil, who awaited him beneath the shadow of his orchard-trees, seated upon a marble throne covered with rich silken rugs.  Around him crowded his nobles, silent and eager to learn how Blancandrin had fared upon his errand.

Bowing low, Blancandrin approached the throne, leading Ganelon by the hand.  “Greeting,” he said, “in the name of Mahomet.  Well, O Marsil, have I done thy behest to the mighty Christian King.  But save that he raised his hands to heaven and gave thanks to his God, no answer did he render to me.  But unto thee he sendeth one of his nobles, a very powerful man in France.  From him shalt thou learn if thou shalt have peace or war.”

“Let him speak,” said King Marsil.  “We will listen.”

“Greeting,” said Ganelon, “in the name of God—­the God of glory whom we ought all to adore.  Listen ye to the command of Charlemagne:  Thou, O King, shalt receive the Christian faith, then half of Spain will he leave to thee to hold in fief.  The other half shall be given to Count Roland—­a haughty companion thou wilt have there.  If thou wilt not agree to this, Charlemagne will besiege Saragossa, and thou shalt be led captive to Aix, there to die a vile and shameful death.”

King Marsil shook with anger and turned pale.  In his hand he held an arrow fledged with gold.  Now, springing from his throne, he raised his arm as if he would strike Ganelon.  But the knight laid his hand upon his sword and drew it half out of the scabbard.  “Sword,” he cried, “thou art bright and beautiful; oft have I carried thee at the court of my King.  It shall never be said of me that I died alone in a foreign land, among fierce foes, ere thou wert dipped in the blood of their bravest and best.”

For a few moments the heathen King and the Christian knight eyed each other in deep silence.  Then the air was filled with shouts.  “Part them, part them!” cried the Saracens.

The noblest of the Saracens rushed between their King and Ganelon.  “It was a foolish trick to raise thy hand against the Christian knight,” said Marsil’s calif, seating him once more upon his throne. “’Twere well to listen to what he hath to say.”

“Sir,” said Ganelon proudly, “thinkest thou for all the threats in the wide world I will be silent and not speak the message which the mighty Charlemagne sendeth to his mortal enemy?  Nay, I would speak, if ye were all against me.”  And keeping his right hand still upon the golden pommel of his sword, with his left he unclasped his cloak of fur and silk and cast it upon the steps of the throne.  There, in his strength and splendor, he stood defying them all.

“’Tis a noble knight!” cried the heathen in admiration.

Then once more turning to King Marsil, Ganelon gave him the Emperor’s letter.  As he broke the seal and read, Marsil’s brow grew black with anger.  “Listen, my lords,” he cried; “because I slew yonder insolent Christian knights, the Emperor Charlemagne bids me beware his wrath.  He commands that I shall send unto him as hostage mine uncle the calif.”