"Barons! to horse!" said Baligant. "Bear thou The glove, and thou the staff." The two reply: "Dear Sire, thus shall we do." So fast they rode They soon reached Sarraguce. Beneath ten gates They pass, four bridges cross, ride through the streets Where stand the burghers. But on drawing near The lofty citadel, they heard great noise About the palace, where were thronging crowds Of Pagans with loud wails and shrieks of woe, Crying out against their gods, on Tervagan, Mahum, Apollo, who avail them naught. Each says to each, "Ah, caitiffs, what shall now Befall us, miserable? for we have lost The King Marsile whose hand Rolland struck off; For aye we are bereft of Turfaleu The Fair, his son. This day the land of Spain Into the Christian hands will fall enslaved!" The message-bearers reach the royal gates. Aoi. CXCVII. Beneath an olive tree they halt, and soon Two Pagans take their curbed steeds in charge. The messengers, each holding by the cloak The other, hasten to the highest tower. Entering the vaulted hall where lay Marsile, An evil greeting offer with good will: "May Tervagan, Apollo, he who holds Us in his service, and our Sire Mahum, Preserve our king and guard the queen!" Whereat cried Bramimunde:--"What folly this! Our gods are false; too well in Ronceval They showed their evil power, and let our knights Be slain--amid the battle-field forsook My lord the king with his right hand struck off By mighty Count Rolland. The realm of Spain Will fall enslaved beneath the sway of Carle. What shall become of me, most miserable? Alas! is there no man to give me death!" Aoi. CXCVIII. Said Clarien:--"Lady, speak not thus--Behold, Messengers we, from Baligant, who swears To free Marsile, and to him sends his glove And staff as tokens--on the Ebro float Four thousand galleys, skiffs and swiftest boats; More sails than can be numbered! Rich and great The Emir.--Carle, pursued to France, shall be Per force, or still, or dead, or penitent." Said Bramimunde:--"Yea, greater ills will come. To meet the Franks you need not go so far; Carle seven years in Spain has tarried. Brave Is he in battle, and a Baron true; Ready to die ere he will quit the field; No king on earth but is to him a child. Carle's spirit yields before no living man." Aoi. CXCIX.