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"Fair Lord Ganelon," spoke Charlemagne, "bear this message to Marsile.
He must become my vassal and receive holy baptism. Half of Spain shall
be his fief; the other half is for Count Roland. If Marsile does not
accept these terms I will besiege Saragossa, capture the town, and
lead Marsile prisoner to Aix, where he shall die in shame and torment.
Take this letter, sealed with my seal, and deliver it into the king's
own right hand."

Thereupon Charlemagne held out his right-hand glove to Ganelon, who
would fain have refused it. So reluctant was he to grasp it that the
glove fell to the ground. "Ah, God!" cried the Franks, "what an evil
omen! What woes will come to us from this embassy!" "You shall hear
full tidings," quoth Ganelon. "Now, sire, dismiss me, for I have no
time to lose." Very solemnly Charlemagne raised his hand and made the
sign of the Cross over Ganelon, and gave him his blessing, saying,
"Go, for the honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor." So
Ganelon took his leave, and returned to his lodging, where he prepared
for his journey, and bade farewell to the weeping retainers whom he
left behind, though they begged to accompany him. "God forbid," cried
he, "that so many brave knights should die! Rather will I die alone.
You, sirs, return to our fair France, greet well my wife, guard my son
Baldwin, and defend his fief!"

He Plots with Marsile's Messengers

Then Ganelon rode away, and shortly overtook the ambassadors of the
Moorish king, for Blancandrin had delayed their journey to accompany
him, and the two envoys began a crafty conversation, for both were
wary and skilful, and each was trying to read the other's mind. The
wily Saracen began:

"'Ah! what a wondrous king is Charles!
How far and wide his conquests range!
The salt sea is no bar to him:
From Poland to far England's shores
He stretches his unquestioned sway;
But why seeks he to win bright Spain?'
'Such is his will,' quoth Ganelon;
'None can withstand his mighty power!'

"'How valiant are the Frankish lords
But how their counsel wrongs their king
To urge him to this long-drawn strife--
They ruin both themselves and him!'
'I blame not them,' quoth Ganelon,
'But Roland, swollen with fatal pride.
Near Carcassonne he brought the King
An apple, crimson streaked with gold:
"Fair sire," quoth he, "here at your feet
I lay the crowns of all the kings."
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