summon aid that might be superfluous;
neither would he do any thing but what his liege lord had desired. And
yet he could not wholly repress a misgiving. A shadow had fallen on his
heart, great and cheerful as it was. The anticipations of his friends
disturbed him, in spite of the face with which he met them. I am not
sure that he did not, by a certain instinctive foresight, expect death
itself; but he felt bound not to encourage the impression. Besides, time
pressed; the moment of the looked-for tribute was at hand; and little
combinations of circumstances determine often the greatest events.

King Blanchardin had brought Orlando's people a luxurious supper; King
Marsilius was to arrive early next day with the tribute; and Uliviero
accordingly, with the morning sun, rode forth to reconnoitre, and see
if he could discover the peaceful pomp of the Spanish court in the
distance. Guottibuoffi was with him, a warrior who had expected the very
worst, and repeatedly implored Orlando to believe it possible. Uliviero
and he rode up the mountain nearest them, and from the top of it beheld
the first army of Marsilius already forming in the passes.

"O Guottibuoffi!" exclaimed he, "behold thy prophecies come true! behold
the last day of the glory of Charles! Every where I see the arms of the
traitors around us. I feel Paris tremble all the way through France, to
the ground beneath my feet. O Malagigi, too much in the right wert thou!
O devil Gan, this then is the consummation of thy good offices!"

Uliviero put spurs to his horse, and galloped back down the mountain to
Orlando.

"Well," cried the hero, "what news?"

"Bad news," said his cousin; "such as you would not hear of yesterday.
Marsilius is here in arms, and all the world has come with him."

The Paladins pressed round Orlando, and entreated him to sound his horn,
in token that he needed help. His only answer was, to mount his horse,
and ride up the mountain with Sansonetto.

As soon, however, as he cast forth his eyes and beheld what was round
about him, he turned in sorrow, and looked down into Roncesvalles, and
said, "O valley, miserable indeed! the blood that is shed in thee this
day will colour thy name for ever."

Many of the Paladins had ridden after him, and they again pressed him to
sound his horn, if only in pity to his own people. He said, "If Caesar
and Alexander were here, Scipio and Hannibal, and Nebuchadnezzar with
all his flags, and Death stared me