"Then send Ganelon of Mayence," said Roland. "He is in favor of this
peace, and he is most fit to carry the message."

"Yes, send Ganelon of Mayence!" cried all the peers.

Ganelon rose from his seat in rage. Fire flashed from his hazel eyes;
his lips quivered; he tore the sable border from his crimson tunic, and
stood proudly before Roland. "Fool!" cried he. "Who art thou who
wouldst send me to Marsilius? If I but live to come again from
Saragossa, I will deal thee such a blow as thou shalt never forget."

"Speak softly, Sir Ganelon," said Roland. "Men know that I care not
for threats. If thou art afraid of the danger, mayhap the king will
allow me to go in thy place."

Hotter than before was Ganelon's wrath; but he held his tongue, and
turned humbly toward the king.

"My lord," said he, "since you will that I bear this message to
Marsilius, I go. But I know too well the false-hearted Moor to hope
that I shall ever return. I pray you, care for my fair son Baldwin, to
whom I leave my lands and all my fiefs. Keep him well, for these eyes
of mine shall never see him again."

"Thou art too fearful, and too tender of heart," said the king, as he
offered to Ganelon the staff and the glove which messengers were wont
to carry as signs of their office. "Go now, and doubt not the issue of
thine errand."