blow the horn would now no more avail us. But, should the king hear
it, he will come back through the passes. He will find us dead: his
men will lift us in biers and carry us home to be buried in minsters,
and we shall not be left as food for wolves and dogs."

"Thou sayest well," said Roland. And he placed the horn to his lips.
High were the hills, deep and dark were the gorges, narrow were the
ways among the mountains. Yet the sound of that horn was heard for
thirty leagues. Charlemagne and Duke Namon heard it while yet they
were between the gates.

"Hark!" said the king. "I hear Roland's horn. The felon Moors have
attacked him: he is hard pressed in battle."

"You are foolishly mistaken," said Ganelon. "There is no battle. You
are old, your beard is white, your head is flowery, you are growing
childish. You love your silly nephew, Roland, too well. He is only
hunting among the mountains. He would blow his horn all day for a
single hare, and then he would boast before you of his valor. Ride on.
Your own France is not far ahead."

But the king was not to be deceived. He ordered Ganelon to be seized
and bound and given in charge of his cooks, who were to hold him a
close prisoner. They bound him with a great chain, and laid him across
the back of a sumter horse; they pulled his beard; they struck him with
their fists; they beat him with sticks. Sorry indeed was the traitor's
plight, but his punishment was just. As for Charlemagne, he turned and
with all his host hastened back to the succor of Roland and the valiant
rear-guard. High were the mountain walls, and darkly did they overhang
the way; deep were the mountain gorges; swift and strong were the