“This is some madness of Ganelon!” cried a heathen knight.  “He is only worthy of death.  Give him unto me, and I will see that justice is done upon him.”  So saying, he laid his hand upon his sword.

Like a flash of lightning Ganelon’s good blade Murglies sprang from its sheath, and with his back against a tree, the Christian knight prepared to defend himself to the last.  But once again the fight was stopped, and this time Blancandrin led Ganelon away.

Then, walking alone with the King, Blancandrin told of all that he had done, and of how even upon the way hither, Ganelon had promised to betray Roland, who was Charlemagne’s greatest warrior.  “And if he die,” said Blancandrin, “then is our peace sure.”

“Bring hither the Christian knight to me,” cried King Marsil.

So Blancandrin went, and once more leading Ganelon by the hand, brought him before the King.

“Fair Sir Ganelon,” said the wily heathen, “I did a rash and foolish thing when in anger I raised my hand to strike at thee.  As a token that thou wilt forget it, accept this cloak of sable.  It is worth five hundred pieces of gold.”  And lifting a rich cloak, he clasped it about the neck of Ganelon.

“I may not refuse it,” said the knight, looking down.  “May Heaven reward thee!”

“Trust me, Sir Ganelon,” said King Marsil, “I love thee well.  But keep thou our counsels secret.  I would hear thee talk of Charlemagne.  He is very old, is he not?—­more than two hundred years old.  He must be worn out and weary, for he hath fought so many battles and humbled so many kings in the dust.  He ought to rest now from his labors in his city of Aix.”

Ganelon shook his head.  “Nay,” he said, “such is not Charlemagne.  All those who have seen him know that our Emperor is a true warrior.  I know not how to praise him enough before you, for there is nowhere a man so full of valor and of goodness.  I would rather die than leave his service.”

“In truth,” said Marsil, “I marvel greatly.  I had thought that Charlemagne had been old and worn.  Then if it is not so, when will he cease his wars?”

“Ah,” said Ganelon, “that he will never do so long as his nephew Roland lives.  Under the arch of heaven there bides no baron so splendid or so proud.  Oliver, his friend, also is full of prowess and of valor.  With them and his peers beside him, Charlemagne feareth no man.”

“Fair Sir Ganelon,” said King Marsil boldly, knowing his hatred, “tell me, how shall I slay Roland?”

“That I can tell thee,” said Ganelon.  “Promise thou the Emperor all that he asketh of thee.  Send hostages and presents to him.  He will then return to France.  His army will pass through the valley of Roncesvalles.  I will see to it that Roland and his friend Oliver lead the rear-guard.  They will lag behind the rest of the army, then there shalt thou fall upon them with all thy mighty men.  I say not but that thou shalt lose many a knight, for Roland and his peers will fight right manfully.  But in the end, being so many more than they, thou shalt conquer.  Roland shall lie dead, and slaying him thou wilt cut off the right arm of Charlemagne.  Then farewell to the wondrous army of France.  Never again shall Charlemagne gather such a company, and within the borders of Spain there shall be peace for evermore.”