  THUS ended this brilliant passage of arms. Was I not right, my children, when I told you that its equal was never seen? The wounded Saracens were conveyed to hospital, and I need hardly add, they were as well cared for as if they had been duly-baptised Christians. The dead were buried; they were sixty-three in number, neither more nor less. There were, after this tournament, a great many thrones to let in the East. The surgeons declared that the wounded would not be fit to move for a month at the very least. Charlemagne loaded the survivors with rich gifts, and then, after four or five days of rejoicing, he prepared to depart, leaving Fronsac strongly garrisoned. He wished to spend Advent Sunday at a town anciently called Durie, in the diocese of Julliers, and the Feast of the Resurrection at the Cathedral of St. Lambert, in Liege. When the Saracens were left alone, they determined, after a long consultation, to inform King Marsillus without delay of the melancholy fate of his envoys, and to bear to him the mortal remains of his son. Nobody, however, cared to be the bearer of such tidings, and one and all professed to suffer horribly from their wounds. In short, of all that brilliant expedition, there were none left to perform this duty except the band. The solemn procession set out for Spain. The drums, covered with mourning, preceded the hearse about twenty paces. Thus it was that Murad Henakyeh Meimoumovassi re-entered his father’s dominions!
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