Episode 15: Agrrican and Arrchilor Princess Angelica of Cathay was one of the most beautiful women of her time. She was courted by kings, princes and emporers. Many of Charlemagne's Paladins, and even the emperor himself, had fallen in love with her. Not only was she beautiful, she was powerful, being the only living child of King Galafron of Cathay. Moreover, she was learned in many strange magic arts. Her father, Galafron, had agreed to a marriage between Angelica and the mighty king Agrrican of Tartary. Angelica, however, did *not* agree, and fled to the fortified city of Albraka. There she, with the help of other suitors, hoped to resist king Agrrican's armies. As expected, King Agrrican raised a vast army, not only from Tartary, but from several allied kingdoms as well, their kings fighting along side him. That battle was bloody, and the advantage went back and forth several times. At last, Agrrican's superior numbers forced the few surviving defenders to retreat into the nearly impregnable fortress, while the city Albraka was sacked. Of the seven kings who had initially come to Angelica's aid, only three now remained alive: one of whom was the cowardly and treacherous Trufaldino of Baghdad. Angelica, realizing that the fortress hadn't enough food to withstand a long siege, decided to leave, and seek aid herself. With the aid of a magic ring, she escaped from the beseiged fortress, and eventually enlisted the aid of nine doughty knights, whom she had rescued from the spells of an evil sorceress. Chief among these was the strongest of Charlemagne's Paladins, Count Orlando himself, who was in love with Angelica. Meanwhile, back at the castle, the treacherous King Trufaldino has taken the other two kings there captive, and offered to betray them to King Agrrican. Aggrican scorns his offer: "I want to win by force or courage, to gather glory openly!" Angelica and the nine knights whom she has enlisted to her cause arrive at Albraka and begin to fight their way through the ranks of the beseigers, hoping to reach the safety of the castle. One of the knights falls behind, and is taken captive. But Angelica and the other eight quite soon have reached the castle gate. But Trufaldino's in the tower watching them, and he will _not_ open. He menaces the knights and screams he'll flout and plague them till they leave. He hurls stones and spears at them to drive them back upon their foes. Angelica wants to die from grief: she trembles, terrified, dismayed to find herself - poor girl! - betrayed. Between the Tartar and the Traitor, Angelica sees no escape The enemy's dense ranks arrive, with Agrrican riding out in front. That great mass blanketed the earth, and covered up the countryside. Who will describe Orlando's plight? He puffs in rage, he groans with fright, afraid not for himself, but for his lady, fair Angelica. Trufaldin drives him from the wall, the others pin him to the castle. The hard assault grows more intense, as from the field a steady stream of spears and arrows fills the sky: it seems the sun and daylight hide. Below the castle, Count Orlando stood humbly begging Trufaldin to have compassion for the girl, caught up in such a circumstance. But sweet words don't make Trufaldino - empty of mercy - bend his soul, since no one ever was so cruel or treacherous beneath the moon. Orlando begs in vain, and soon his anger grows and his eyes flame. Orlando rarely threatened men, for that bold knight would sooner swing, but now he roared with so much force that heaven and Trufaldin both quake. He gritted his teeth. He shouted, "Traitor! There is no way you can escape! Four hours from now, or less, these walls will fall before my sword, and I will seize this citadel and scatter it across the plain, and then destroy *all* of these men-- and *you* are condemned to die with them!" Orlando shouts with voice so gruff, it does not seem a human speaks. Trufaldin had a timid soul-- as every traitor surely does-- and he had seen the valiant force with which Orlando'd fought today, when he had slaughtered seven kings, severing them with seven swings. And now, that tricky Trufaldino thinks that he sees the castle fall with all of its stones raining down to crush King Agrricane's troops. He watches anger heat Orlando, sees his eyes burn, sees his face fire. He peeks out through a loophole, says, "Sire, please hear my short reply. I don't deny, I can't deny, that I deceived Angelica-- But heaven and God are witnesses that I was *forced* to take that course by my two comrade's foolishness (though they think they're betrayed by me). Because they disagreed with me, I seized them and I locked them up. The two of them have done me wrong-- I'll never live with them in peace, and if they're freed, they'll murder me, because their strength is more than mine. "I'm telling this to you because you will not ever enter here unless you promise and you *swear* to use your force for *my* defense. I say the same to all the others here with you who want to enter; before you get in, you must swear to battle as my *champion* with anyone who wants to fight. All of you *must* promise now to be my defense against the world." Orlando tells him he won't swear. Instead he menaces, and glares. But Angelica begs him to give in and finally that fierce heart bends, and he pledged, as the lady wished. Similarly, the other knights endorse this pact without reserve. Trufaldin, skilled at making terms, has everything he asks affirmed. He opens portals, drops the bridge. All enter that strong citadel. There wasn't much food left within, just half of a dried and salted horse. Orlando, who felt faint from hunger, ate a full quarter and still wanted more. The rest ate the remaining quarter. They must now hunt for other food. Four knights set out with Count Orlando, boasting they'd bring back stores in plenty. The other three remained behind to keep watch on the battlements. They ordered that new men be stationed along the lofty walls as sentries, because no cavalier could trust that evil creature Trufaldino. Already, a clear morning shone. The darkness of the night had gone, but daylight was not full yet when Orlando armed and blew his horn. That shrill blast threatened /death/ to *all* the people on the plain who heard- and they were terrified, those cowards! Everyone's face was drained of color. Every man weeps and beats his hands. Some flee, and others rush to hide, because the day before they'd felt the fury of Orlando's ire. The army (or its major part) hunkered in thickets and hid in ditches. But Agrrican and each great lord used threats to reunite their hordes. No greater noise was *ever* heard, then when that number armed. What furor! Crude Agrrican has no staff of command, but orders his troops with a naked sword. And when he sees a man unarmed, or someone straying from the others, he quickly knocks him dead to earth. This headstrong ruler looks around and sees his many men united, massed from the mountain to the river over a plain that's four leagues square completely covered by his army. Fearsome King Agrricane marvels that such a boundless multitude is frightened by *one* cavalier, as everybody shakes with fear. Alone upon his charger, he assures himself that he will meet the Count Orlando and those knights, whom he rates less than one small boy. He boasts that he, alone, will battle whoever leaves that citadel. Challenging all, he shows great courage, trumpeting loudly on *his* horn. Now, at the citadel, the bridge drops, and bold Orlando comes. Four other knights accompanied him, each unimpressed by all those men. Angelica watched from a balcony, where her beauty lent strength to each of them. Now five knights, with their lances ready, rode down the hill to the plain below. Fierce Agrricane stares at them: he almost scorns to fight so few. His face looks like like a burning flame, so swelled was his proud soul with rage. He turned back to his craven troops, in whom no good or virtue reigns. He scanned all of those coward ranks and threatened, as he gave commands: "Don't let a *man* of you - vile scum! - attempt to help me! If there come all of the world who've lived or live, a thousand time a thousand, with Achilles, Samson, Hercules, and Hector, each one I'll defeat. "After I've killed these five bold knights, you'd better watch your guard against /me/. Before the sun has set tonight, I'll chop you with my sword to pieces. I'll scatter you along the field so Tartary will never see your progeny assemble to disgrace the motherland, as here in battle, all *you* cowards do!" The trembling masses quiver like a light leaf in a gentle breeze; they do not breathe a single word, so greatly do they fear the king. Then Agrrican rides forth, alone, and boldly blows on his great horn. Echoing within that sound, one can hear blood and flesh and death. Orlando, who already knows the great strength of King Agrrican, asks Jesus Christ if, by His grace, he might /convert/ this pagan king. He makes a cross and prays to God and, when he sees the Tartar come, he moves tow'rds him courageously. His steed's speed seems like wind and flame. Like two dark clouds, one from the east, one west, that in the heavens meet, those two knights *crashed* together. Each was flung back on his horse's rear as they destroyed their massive spears, colliding with such mighty force, that everyone around to witness thought heaven must have fallen in. Each one recalls his God to mind, and, in great need, each asks His aid. Orlando's horse almost falls down- Orlando strains to keep him standing. Agrricane's horse turns round and gallops now at Count Orlando. The bold count had already wheeled around to face his enemy Neither ducks, and they never dodge. They double strokes, they never stop. And as swift-falling hail will beat and strip a tree of every leaf, so these two knights with vehement force, wrought havoc on each other's arms, wrecking their shields, and splitting plates, and robbing each their helms of crests. Annoyed that they had played so long, Orlando sought a final stroke, two-handed, for to end this duel, upon King Agrricane's helm, not knowing that that helm was charmed; it had been made by Solomon. His sword bounds skyward and sparks fly. King Agrricane says to him "I'll offer you clear evidence in a moment, who has the better helm." And saying so, he swings a blow, believing Orlando would be sliced in two, down to his saddlebow. But Orlando's helm is magic, too, and Agrrican's sword-blade bounces off. Nonetheless, that blow's so strong, Orlando sweats from head to toe. He'll surely seek revenge, for slowly, gradually, his anger grows. He swings both hands with all his power. His sword hits Agrricane's shield and hacks a third of it away, then cuts through armor and his clothes, leaving his left side quite exposed. The sword-blade missed his flesh and skin, but, in descending to his hip, disarmed him, for his hauberk *ripped*. This blow King Agrricane feels. He tells himself, "He'll make me bleed! If I don't hurry, I believe I will not live until this evening. But all his prowess will not help, since I am sending him to Hell. There is no plate so thick, no mail that can, against *this* swing, prevail." With his strong blade the pagan flails, and cuts away Orlando's shield, and then he hits Orlando's side, tearing his hauberk from his trunk, knocking off plates and mail at once, but, does not penetrate his flesh. The four knights who accompanied Orlando stood around to see the fierce strokes of that awesome fight, and each declared, and all agreed no warriors on earth were ever as strong and vigorous as these. Other men, Saracens, who watched, proclaimed "Macon, these men are matched!" Each estimates the two knights' swings (they judge /well/ strokes, who are not /hurt/) while those two fearless cavaliers performed great deeds without a word. After the battle has endured for six hours since the sun came up, neither of them appears fatigued, and both are bolder than before. As when, inside Mount Aetna's forge, the demon Vulcan fashions lightning, hammering thunderbolts and fire, stroke after stroke in quick succession, /so/ sounded the infernal clang as those two sword-blades loudly rang without a pause; /so/ flashed the flames in that unceasing interchange. Backhand, Orlando, double-gripped, struck under Agrricane's crown, and the king's head, inside his helm, rang from the force of the attack. Agrricane, his wits gone, collapsed along his horse's neck. His valiant horse bears him away, but soon that king regains his senses, turns to Orlando, and, filled, with ire, strikes like a snake with his swift sword, hitting Orlando's shining helm. Agrricane strained both hands and hit his visor in the center. Orlando bends and is driven back, since all his prowess has been sapped. He can't tell if it's day or night, and though the sun is out, day bright, Orlando thinks that he sees stars, that the world flickers with small sparks. A final fury mounts in him. His eyes cross, he grips Durindan. But from the field a great sound swells, and in the fortress tolls the bell. The war-cry is the loudest ever: Across the plain an endless horde sweeps with bright pennants and lofty standards. Trumpets sound, huge drums, and horns. *These* are King Galafron's men, in three ranks of increasing size. Albraka, legally, is /his/-- he rides in arms to repossess it. He has reached into every region, put half of India in arms. Some join for money, some in terror; infinite are his wealth and power. All of these troops come from the Sea of Gold, at the edge of India. Galafron holds two armies back, waiting to see how his vanguard fares. Black Arrchilor, a giant, leads the first platoon that charges now. He was a giant of great size who never worshipped anything but cursed Macon and blasphemed God and threatened them perpetually. Merciless Arrchilor now leads the first assault against the field, and, like a devil come from hell, he massacres his enemies. Arrchilor bore a *heavy* hammer (no anvil ever weighed as much) swung frequently, and got results, as each stroke stretched a Tartar flat. King Poliferrn and King Uuldan (two kings who fought for Agrrican) now charge against this giant man, with two platoons that filled the field, almost a hundred thousand each. The kings approached on different paths- neither one saw the other- and lowered their lances at that black giant. Arrchilor now almost fell. He dangled over, he was bent, but their /opposing/ strokes *saved* him: when Poliferrno knocked him down, Uuldano set him straight again. Held upright by their lance's points, the black man never stopped his strokes but took his hammer in his hands and pounded Poliferrno's head, leaving him on the ground, half-dead. He swung another stormy blow, struck the cheek-guard of strong Uuldano, and knocked him clear out of his saddle. Those kings remained stretched out on the field. Arrchilorr moves on, does great deeds. As dragons flame, so he strikes fire, splintering helmets, mail, and shields. No one escapes and none can hide. He fiercely murders every man. Everyone runs, but none can survive, and Agrrican sees his men die. Agrrican asked Orlando, nicely, "Please, cavalier, have courtesy. If you have ever loved a maiden, or if perhaps you love one now, I charge you by her pretty face (and may Love put her in your power!) to let /our/ battle go for now, so I can lend my army aid. "Although I don't know you beyond the fact that you're a worthy knight, I'll give you Moscow's far-flung realm. Its king breathes smoky air in Hell, since yesterday you sent him there. He was the big one, Rradamant, whom your sword severed to his belt. I'll give you as a gift his realm. I'll never find a better lord, because no knight in all the world has virtue that surpasses yours. "What's more, I promise and I swear that, at some other time, I'd like to take the field with you to learn /which/ of us is unmatched on earth. I thought myself more than a man, before encountering *your* strength. I never figured anyone could block my sword, ward off my lance; and hearing talk of one 'Orlando', I scoffed at the stories of his prowess. I thought, of all men, *I* was strongest. "This battle and this fierce assault between us, and these bitter strokes, have helped to change my mind. I know I'm human, made of flesh and bone. At dawn tomorrow, on the road, we'll make one final test of strength. Then you or I will be the flower of earth - the /undisputed/ crown. "But now I have to ask you, please, let me go safely, cavalier. If you have ever loved a girl, by her alone I conjure you. You see my men are massacred by that dark, that enormous giant, and if I save them (thanks to you) I won't forget I'm in your debt." Although Orlando was enraged at being hit, still felt great pain, would willingly have sought revenge, he can't deny the king's request. A gentleman who is in love may /never/ fail at courtesy. And so Orlando let him leave, and also offered him his aid. The king cared nothing for assistance- here was a man of arrogance! He turns his horse and lifts a lance. His troops see him return; his presence gives them new courage, confidence. Yells rise and echo from the bank. They'd been retreating, but now turn back. Agrrican, of the golden crown, assembles every rank once more and gallops out in front of all, riding as swift as an arrow's flight. He turned towards Arrchilor with fury. The giant waits on two firm feet, holding his hammer and his shield, spattered by brains, red with men's blood. That black man's shield is a whole palm thick, elephant hide and solid bone. King Agrricane pierced that shield with one blow of his polished lance. This does not make the giant move- he does not yield a single inch. He *hammered* half-way up the shaft and smashed that lance in many splinters. Agrrican didn't care at all; he'd barely lost his lance before he'd put his hand to his sharp sword. Upon his fine and matchless horse, Agrrican circles round the giant. Now back, now front, he never pauses: He guards himself, but still assaults. Arrchilor stands fast on his feet, like a high turret on a castle. He never moves those rooted soles, just swings the hammer his hand holds. But Arrchilor makes his strokes in vain, so fast and agile is Agrrican's horse. Both of their armies stopped to watch- I mean the Indians and Tartars- as if /they/ were divorced from this, as if it were a two-man duel. Each side attends and concentrates, each cheers /its/ champion's success, and /while/ they watch and talk and joke... Arrchilor gives a *mighty* stroke. He dropped his shield, swung /both/ hands, but missed Agrrican (he /would/ have killed him). His hammer's buried in the sand. The giant was in trouble then- he'd hardly brought his huge arms down when the king, who closely watched his chance, let his sword-blade descend so swiftly one sword-stroke severed both those wrists. His hands remained attached: they gripped the hammer as they had before. The strong lord, Agrricane, left, not deigning to deliver death. Thus, Arrchilor was killed by cowards: I tell you, everyone attacked. as everybody sought revenge, since that day he'd killed countless men. After he left, King Agrrican urges his horse through all the ranks and sends the Indians to rout with ruin I can't tell about. That king, who hacks and chops with scorn, soon reached Uuldan and Poliferrn. These two kings, for a long time, lay half-dead and senseless on the meadow, since each had felt the hammer's force, as you have heard, and both were hurt. The two of them have /now/ returned and boldly charge the Indians to get revenge for the blows they'd taken; with all their strength they hack black men. Those people have no more defense than straw before a fiery blaze. Agrrican watched them and he laughed: that mob was not worth chasing now. But though the /giant's/ troops are scattered, this battle's *still* not over yet. King Galafron had armies three, and only one has met defeat. Besides, Orlando and his friends remain opposed to Agrrican. Orlando and King Agrrican are due to fight again, at dawn; A tale which I'll tell to you /another/ time, for now, adieu.