“Are you, then, he whom they call the king? What sort of people are these French, who are satisfied with such a sovereign? Is it an emperor I see before me, dressed in silk like a woman? You call us dogs, accursed Christians, and you dwell in burrows, as if you knew you shamed the sun, that deigns to touch you with a few unimportant beams. In my land the king is king not only by birth. If he were disguised amid a multitude, you would say, on beholding him, “This is the king!” He clothes his limbs in steel, and would blush to be seen in soft attire when his faithful knights are going to do battle. Coward and effeminate! You have allowed a hero, the son of a king, to be slain before your eyes without attempting to rescue him. You have had more regard for yourself and your knights than for your guest; and indeed you, all of you, have reason to rejoice at his fall. Mahomet has summoned him to his presence, ashamed to see that there were two of us to defend his name against such wretched adversaries. I alone am sufficient for such a task. Send, therefore, your peers and knights against me, either in a body or singly; and if they dare undertake the adventure, believe me, you had better give each a farewell embrace before you part.” Then pointing to Oliver, Angoulaffre continued--“This pigmy here has dared to challenge me. Give him a guard worthy, if possible, of my attention, and I consent to waste a few seconds upon him!” Charlemagne was not accustomed to hear such language. His blood boiled with rage, and, coursing wildly through his veins, made him at one moment red as fire and the next pale as death. It must be held a final proof that a man cannot expire of rage that Charlemagne continued to live. His nobles were not a whit less moved than he. As for Angoulaffre, he continued to smile savagely. “It is by sword-stroke and lance-thrust that such words are answered,” said Charles, “and you will receive a hundred blows for every syllable you have dared utter.” “Ill-said, paltry kingling!” replied the giant. “_Our_ warriors never need two blows at a foeman.” “Enough of parley, sir,” said Roland. “Do you not see how you are delaying us?” and then he added, aside, to Oliver, “My brother and dear friend, you admire, I know, my castle on the banks of the Seine. Take it, and let _me_ fight him first.” “No,” said Oliver, “not for the crown would I resign this chance of earning my passport to heaven.” “Take my horse, and give me up your place,” said Ogirr the Dane. “You know that Tachebrune is a horse without peer.” “You are mad to persist in asking me. You do me a wrong. Neither of you would do what you ask of me.” And saying this, Oliver, having kissed the king’s hand, assumed his arms, and ran to take his post at the extremity of the lists, opposite to Angoulaffre, who continued to grin horribly. [Illustration: 067] CHAPTER IX. WHEREIN THE EAGLE STOOPS, THE RAVEN CROAKS, THE WOLF HOWLS, AND THE LION ROARS.