When Karl saw all forsake him now, Dark grew his face and drooped his brow. He said, "Of men most wretched I!" Stepped forth Thierry speedily, Duke Geoffrey's brother, a noble knight, Spare of body, and lithe and light, Dark his hair and his hue withal, Nor low of stature, nor over tall: To Karl, in courteous wise, he said, "Fair Sire, be not disheartenèd. I have served you truly, and, in the name Of my lineage, I this quarrel claim. If Roland wronged Sir Gan in aught, Your service had his safeguard wrought. Ganelon bore him like caitiff base, A perjured traitor before your face. I adjudge him to die on the gallows tree; Flung to the hounds let his carcase be, The doom of treason and felony. Let kin of his but say I lie, And with this girded sword will I My plighted word in fight maintain." "Well spoken," cry the Franks amain. CCXXXV Sir Pinabel stood before Karl in place, Vast of body and swift of pace,-- Small hope hath he whom his sword may smite. "Sire, it is yours to decide the right, Bid this clamor around to pause. Thierry hath dared to adjudge the cause; He lieth. Battle thereon I do." And forth his right-hand glove he drew. But the Emperor said, "In bail to me Shall thirty of his kinsmen be; I yield him pledges on my side: Be they guarded well till the right be tried." When Thierry saw the fight shall be, To Karl his right glove reacheth he; The Emperor gave his pledges o'er. And set in place were benches four-- Thereon the champions take their seat, And all is ranged in order meet,-- The preparations Ogier speeds,-- And both demand their arms and steeds. CCXXXVI But yet, ere lay they lance in rest, They make their shrift, are sained and blessed; They hear the Mass, the Host receive, Great gifts to church and cloister leave. They stand before the Emperor's face; The spurs upon their feet they lace; Gird on their corselets, strong and light; Close on their heads the helmets bright. The golden hilts at belt are hung; Their quartered shields from shoulder swung. In hand the mighty spears they lift, Then spring they on their chargers swift. A hundred thousand cavaliers The while for Thierry drop their tears; They pity him for Roland's sake. God knows what end the strife will take. CCXXXVII At Aix is a wide and grassy plain, Where met in battle the barons twain. Both of valorous knighthood are, Their chargers swift and apt for war. They prick them hard with slackened rein; Drive each at other with might and main. Their bucklers are in fragments flung, Their hauberks rent, their girths unstrung; With saddles turned, they earthward rolled. A hundred thousand in tears behold.