Ganelon remained for a moment undecided. That hesitation was fatal. The Jews and Saracens, to whom pork is a forbidden dish, did not think it worth while to press matters further. They accordingly retreated, taking with them several of their fellows, who thought their chief would retire into ambuscade again. But a Count of Mayence is not the man to despise bacon and sour-crout. So Ganelon, gazing over the ocean of lard which grunted at his feet, began to lick his lips, and think that here was a booty which was quite as well worth having as the other. But the swineherds knew with whom they had to deal, and, indeed, had come in such numbers solely because they expected an attack. They rushed on the count and his lances, and began to hamstring the horses. The horsemen were soon rolling in the dust among the hogs. Two of them, who showed an inclination to resist, were very properly run through on the spot, and mingled their lifeblood with that of two pigs that had been run down by the horses. The others were disarmed, and allowed to escape. As for Ganelon, they tied his hands tightly behind his back. “Now then,” said the head swineherd, “before they pluck up courage to come back in force, suppose we hang their leader?” [Illustration: 038] This idea appeared very agreeable to everybody except Ganelon, who uttered the most furious oaths. But they dragged him, armed as he was, under an oak, and then, having chosen a stout bough worthy of such fine fruit, they adjusted the cord round his neck. Then they brought the two slaughtered pigs--the only victims of the Count of Mayence--and having fitted each with a strong hempen cravat, suspended them one at each end of the bough, reserving the post of honour for the knight. These preparations concluded, Ganelon was dragged, bound hand and foot, to the place of execution. He writhed about in the madness of his rage, foaming at the mouth, calling on his companions in villany, and cursing them for their desertion. In vain did he struggle--a score of sturdy arms speedily hoisted him up between his two companions. “Pull down his visor,” said the head swineherd to the man who was on the bough adjusting the noose, “the monster is hideous enough at the best of times--what will he look like presently?” Ganelon continued to struggle at the end of the cord, to the great delight of the spectators, who, though they found him tenacious of life, did not complain on that account. Meanwhile, the count began to find that death was rather slow in coming. He had hanged too many not to know something about it, and in this instance it was so personally interesting to him that it could not fail to arrest his attention. “These knaves,” said he to himself, “have made a sad bungle of the job. I ought to have been dead some time.” And then it dawned on him that he was only suspended, not hanged. His executioners had put the noose round the gorget of his helmet.