Six months after, he was at the court of Charlemagne, seated at the same table as Roland. Pork was placed on the table, but the Count of Mayence refused it. “You bear malice, count,” said Roland; “that is wrong. Who knows? perhaps you are refusing an old brother in misfortune.” Ganelon turned livid, but he did not stir. After the feast was over Roland came to him. “Have you forgotten,” he asked, “the threats you uttered and the offer I made to you in your domain on the Hartz?” “I never forget,” said the Count of Mayence. Here, then, was the prime cause of Ganelon’s hatred of Roland. CHAPTER V. ANGOULAFFRE OF THE BRAZEN TEETH, GOVERNOR OF JERUSALEM. WHILE I have been wandering with you, my friends, on the Blocksberg, Charlemagne, followed by his brilliant retinue, has been making a tour of the list upon his prancing charger. He had just regained the royal tent when a shout was heard from the crowd. All eyes were turned towards the Southern gate, whence proceed strains of wild music and strange cries. Charlemagne halted, and sent to inquire who ventured to disturb the ceremony. A squire rode off at full galop, and promptly returned to make the following report:-- “Sire, certain miscreant Saracens from Spain have come to challenge your peers in the name of King Marsillus, who holds his court at Saragossa. Their appearance is frightful. They come in procession, preceded by a band of unearthly music truly worthy of pagans, and demand admittance to your presence.” “Let them enter,” said Charlemagne, motioning to the heralds who guarded the gate. “See,” he added, turning to his barons, “what a lucky to try your hands 011 the Spanish hounds in anticipation of the time when we shall pay them a visit at Saragossa--ay, and even at Granada, for we must compel then to be baptised for the glory of God and the safety of their souls.” “Have they lost all shame that they dare look a Christian in the face?” said Miton of Rennes. “Why, the earth has barely yet had time to drink up all the blood that was shed on the plains of Poitiers.” “No doubt they are bent upon a pilgrimage thither,” remarked Turpin, “to pray for the repose of their sires--that is, if such miscreants have fathers, and do not spring fully grown and ready armed from the jaws of hell!” “How could they blush?” said Aude, pointing to the first of the Saracens who had passed the barriers; “their complexion is of the colour of our horses’ harness.” “Oh, the hideous brutes!” said Himiltrude, shutting her eyes. “It is impossible they can be men.” “Let none forget that these are our guests,” said Charlemagne. “We must be courteous even to Pagans.” Curiosity was at its height. Every one rose to catch a glimpse of the emissaries of Marsillus; even the knights of Charlemagne’s escort raised themselves in their stirrups to obtain a view of the strangers.