Orlando in Love, episode 18, the Perils of Fiordiligi A fearsome battle's being fought around the city of Albraca. Marfisa, famous warrior maid, is attacked by countless enemies, but boldy she puts them to flight. The lady Fiordiligi has come here seeking Brandimart, the knight with whom she is in love. Fiordiligi's terrified for fear that Brandimart will try to test himself against Marfisa. She hurries to the battle site, where she finds parted, scattered ranks, fleeing before Marfisa's fury. But she seeks only Brandimart-- the others are not her concern. She circles, searching for him, till she sees him on the plain, alone. He'd moved himself to one side when the mighty battle first began since it seemed shameful to him for so many men to fight one maid. Therefore, he stood aside to watch. His face grew red, for Brandimarte feels ashamed for his companions, but not for himself - he played no part. When he saw Fiordiligi, he ran to her and hugged her hard. He had not seen her for so long, he'd thought that she was lost and gone. He feels such great, such sudden joy, he thinks of nothing else at all, ignoring the fight on the plain below. He tossed aside his helm and shield and kissed the maid a thousand times, holding her closely on that field. Fiordiligi moaned and wailed. That woman, who is very modest, does not like being on display. So Fiordiligi, with sweet words, implores her lover, Brandimart, to come inside the shady forest, spread with fresh grass and violets, where each of them may take delight, far away from the noisome fight. Brandimart takes her offer up, and after riding hard, they reached the lovely bower of a grove. It was enclosed between two hills, where many-colored flowers bloom and shade-trees cool the burbling springs. The ardent baron and the damsel dismount, and stand in fresh green grass. Fiordiligi, smiling sweetly, starts to remove her baron's armor, but he kissed her a thousand times before she could remove one piece. She hadn't all of it unlaced when he enfolds her -- he can't wait -- still in his mail, with armored legs. They lay on the meadow and embraced. No air could circulate between these lovers, they were clasped so close. Each pressed the other one so hard, no force could pry the pair apart. How the one sighed, the other groaned in pleasure -- this I can't discuss. To speak of all their bliss to /them/ belongs, who more than once in one mouth had two tongues. Their first 'game' seemed nothing at all, because it happened much too fast. The /second/ time, they reached a place their first encounter barely touched. Six times they went back to that dance before their passion was extinguished. Sighing with love, they slowed their pace, and both of them relaxed at last. Their gentle faces were pressed tight, since each one's breath gives such delight. Then, talking softly, they began to tell of troubles, torments past. The cool glade beckoned them to rest, as a breeze whispered o'er the meadow, breathing through the leaves that hide these lovers in the grove. A streamlet from a sparkling spring flowed through the meadow, murmuring. Brandimarte, on the bank, exhausted from the day's ordeals, soon fell asleep with thoughts of love. Fiordeli gazed at him with love, until she too slept on the grass. Above them, a malign old man was hidden in a mountain cave, from which he viewed the shadowed glade. That old man is a wizard, full of tricks, and from a wicked brood. A worshipper of false Macon, who hoped to join him in high heaven; versed in the virtue of each herb, the magic powers of different stones. This hermit's art could stop a stream or move a mountain -- easily! While praying to Macon, he saw the lovers sporting on the plain. Their pleasure tempted him to watch, he let his guard-ful prayers drop. And then, he plots the way whereby he'll /snatch/ the girl from that great knight. Deciding this, that dismal man runs down the slope, with root in hand. This root had that raw potency which forces men to fall asleep, but... it must touch the naked flesh which sunlight never sees undressed. Then it would make men's eyelids shut. It can be used no other way, since on the neck, or head, or hand, its power would be employed in vain. After the old man reached the field and saw the face of Brandimart, a sturdy baron, stout of limb, he fell back full three yards from him. Now he regrets his coming down; afraid, unsure what can be done. He did not dare exhale for fear that sleeping Brandimart would hear. But he took heart, approached the maiden, and softly lifted up her gown. And when the maiden's lovely limbs had been exposed by that old man, each seemed like marble, polished, bright, or ivory, sculptured beautifully. He bent down quietly, with root in hand, and pressed it to her... thigh. That villainous old man thus fettered her in a sleep that lasts an hour. Not one to let his passion wait, he picks the damsel up at once, and carries her off through the forest. Though he had been too scared to touch bold Brandimarte with the root, that baron did not waken yet. A clamor woke up Brandimart. When conscious, he was terrified. His maiden was not by his side, and he grieved so, he thought he'd die. He seized his horse and armed at once and headed for the noise's source. It seemed to him he heard the cries of a lady's lamentation. He rode until he saw three giants with many camels on a path. One came before the other two, conducting a disheveled maid. To Brandimart, this luckless lady seems to be his Fiordiligi. Brandimart has no wish to live while she, whom he /thinks/ his, seems lost. He makes an oath to high Macon, he'll rescue her or *perish* trying! If no help comes, he's sure to die, those giants are enormous foes. Two of them turned to face the knight, their words harsh and presumptuous. "Where are you going, rogue?" they cried. "Drop your sword. Give up, or you'll die." The bold knight gives no answer but the anger of his swift attack. One giant raised a monstrous club, iron-bound, ponderous and large, to flail both hands at Brandimart. He's agile, and can fence with art. Like a bird, his horse leaps aside untouched, and lets the swing fly by. The other, with a larger stroke, believes his blow will make him die. Brandimart saw him start his move, and did what he had done before. He jumped from one side to the other. Wings could not carry him so fast. He hit the giant with his sword -- the one who was the first to swing -- and chopped right through his armor plate, leaving a great gash in his thigh. This giant's name was Oridante, fearful and cruel and powerful. The second one was named Ranchiera, uglier than the first, and stronger. With club in hand, giant Ranchiera swung with great speed at Brandimart, but he struck nothing but the grass; Brandimart's horse had leaped aside. Cruel Oridante did not miss. He hit that steed behind the saddle with such great force he broke its back. Brandimart springs to his feet, not ready to concede defeat. His steed lies dead upon the field, but he still wields his sword on foot. Yet surely he'll die in this fight unless God lends him some assistance. These giants are so very strong, a single blow could end his life. Luckily for that valiant baron, Orlando's riding through that wood. He comes from fighting with a king, from whom he took a horse as prize. At once, Orlando recognized good Brandimarte, from his arms, and he decides to give him help. He gallops forward on Baiardo. Ranchiera sees the Count Orlando and he runs forth to meet that knight. Oridant stays with Brandimart. Oridant has a bloody thigh, and all he looks for is revenge. Orlando, meanwhile, never stops in his great struggle with Ranchiera. It seems the air flames, heaven roars, the forest echoes crashing swords. The other giant stood aside, guarding the girl and their gold. Both of which they'd stolen from a lord of the Islands Far Away. Now hear how Brandimarte waged a bloody duel with Oridant. He does not rate him worth a penny, now that Orlando's joined with him. That daring cavalier hit hard. He hammered Oridante's hip, hacking open his hauberk's side, and left a large gash in his flank. The giant screamed and raised his club, but Brandimarte dodged that blow. The cavalier avoids all strokes as on and on the battle goes, while Oridante, pouring blood, grows ever weaker, bit by bit. The giant was so fierce, he takes no mind, and he swings harder still. The knight, who dodges every blow, well demonstrates he has more skill. Beside them is the greater duel of fierce Ranchiera and Orlando: One furiously swings his club, the other answers with his sword. The pair had fought at least four hours, delivering tremedous blows, when, throwing down his shield, Ranchiera lifted his large club with both hands. He made a most amazing swing, and had it struck Orlando, that bold count would surely have been slain. It landed in a nearby tree, and split it till it reached its roots, through trunk and branches, top to ground, never was there so loud a sound. Orlando saw the limitless force exhibited by that huge brute, and quickly left Baiardo's back, fearing his great horse might be slain. After Ranchiera saw this, when he saw him on foot on the grass, he shouted, "Great Macon be praised! Now this man cannot run away. Before you climb back in that saddle, you'll wish you were six leagues from here. Vile bastard, who advised you to get off your horse and fight on foot? Your head does not reach to my hips, you crippled, malformed, ugly dwarf! If I kick your face, you'll fly two hundred yards above the earth!" Swaggering, he addressed the Count, who did not answer that vain beast but swung, and scattered on the field all of the armor he could reach. They press together, front to front -- one swings a club, one Durindan -- so close together, so constrained, that their attacks don't do a thing. The giant's taller than Orlando, but the Count has more audacity. Courage is not sold by the yard. They madly clinch together as each strives to throw the other down. Orlando grabs the giant's haunch and holds him up high in his arms. He held him raised above his chest and squeezed so tightly where he gripped he crumbled many chain-mail links. The Count's eyes seemed like fiery coals, and when he'd spun round several times, he flung that giant on the ground, throwing him with enormous force. The giant, huge Ranchiera, does not know if he's alive or dead. The giant wore a sturdy helm, but it's no good against Orlando, who swung the pommel of his sword and smashed that helmet -- and his skull. His brains poured out his nose and mouth, and two souls journeyed, joined, to hell, since Oridant, at that same time, had lost so much blood, he too fell. Brandimart chopped his head away and left his outsized corpse on earth, then ran to give Orlando praise, to thank him, as was right and just. The other giant quickly moved -- fiercest of all, he's named Marfusto -- and Brandimarte asked the Count to let him battle with this beast. Marfusto hollers, "Even if god Macon wanted you to live, I would *still* slay the two of you. I'll flay your friend's skin off by hand, then trim you like a gelded sheep. Give up your sword to me at once; for /if/ you fight, when you've been caught, I'll roast you on a fire, *alive*." Brandimart offers no response to what the prating giant says, and he accosts him boldly, with his sword and shield in his hands. Marfusto takes a single swing and hits exactly where he aimed-- hits Brandimart's head with his club, two-handed, struck his shield, and destroyed his helm. Brandimart trembled, fell to earth, and blood flowed from his shattered helm. Orlando cried out, since he thought that Brandimart was surely slain. He threatened that cruel giant: "Villain! I'll offer you, in fair exchange for the wrong that you've done here this day, death in this world -- and in hell, flames!" Shouting, he runs across the field, draws Durindan, grips his strong shield. That giant, when he saw his features, his face that seems like sparkling flame, stared at him and was sore afraid. He turned his back and ran away, but soon Orlando caught up with him, and severed his thighs with his blade. In a short while, the giant died; breath and blood left him at one time. Meanwhile, Fiordiligi wakes, and screams within the wizard's grasp. Her Brandimarte was not there, her lover who could rescue her, as he was fighting with the giants. Therefore, unrescued, that poor girl filled up the forest with her screams, and never stopped her cries for help. The old man carried her in haste, always afraid of harm and shame, and his mind never felt assured until he reached a gloomy cave. The false old man went in the cave, and still the damsel loudly screamed, He is sure and certain that he'll vent the lust that heats his heart. But in that cave, there was a lion, enormous, horrible, and fierce, which, hearing screams and great commotion, advances, furious, and roars. After the old man saw the lion, don't wonder if he was afraid. He started running, his face pale, and left behind the lady, who believed that she would die of fright. But as her luck would have it, that lion went past, ignoring her, chasing the fleeing evil wizard. Pouncing upon him in the woods, the lion tore that man to shreds. The lady, between life and death, has no idea what to do but, almost crawling, stealthily, along the mountain's verdant slopes she passed until she reached the plain. She met a savage man, most strange. This man was large, almost a giant, with bushy hair and a long beard, he bristled from his head to toes. No filthier form was ever seen. The cursed thing had no human voice or wit and was completely wild. Meeting Fiordeli in the field, he seized her and ran to a nearby oak, where he tied her tight with willow twigs. He lay not far off in the grass, watching her, as she screamed for death. She wept tears as she sought her end, but that beast did not comprehend. Let's leave the howls of that poor girl, who fell from one fix to the next, whose only comfort was to cry, and talk about Orlando, who finds Brandimarte still alive. Brandimart lay upon the meadow, badly bloodied from his wound. His shield and helmet were in pieces from furious Marfusto's blow. Orlando took him in his arms, (compassion made him weep for him) and from her camel's back, the maiden quickly descended to the plain. The maiden told Orlando that if she could get a certain herb, which she had seen not far from here, then she might bring him back to health. The maiden started searching through the forest that encompassed them. It was not long till she returned, bringing that herb of matchless virtue. By the day's light it looks like gold; it seems to scintillate at night. The flower of this wondrous plant is red, its root like silver, white. The knight's head had been broken by a massive stroke, as you have heard. The maiden placed her magic herb inside the opening of the wound, and with her finger, closed it up. Instantly, that hurt was healed, the gash became invisible. When his spirit had returned, Brandimart asked for Fiordiligi. "Look, here she is!" Orlando cried, "And she alone has saved your life." Thus the Count answered Brandimart, not knowing who the woman was. When Brandimarte looked at her, and saw she was not who he thought, boundless distress gripped at his heart. He thought that death would hurt him less. He turned his tearful eyes to heaven: "Who saved me," said he, "from my fate to torture me with greater pain? Isn't it better if I'm slain? Spirits of grief, and souls who suffer, waiting before the gates of death, take pity on my misery-- I want to join your company! "I do not want to live without her, for she's my only joy, my comfort. I'll die a thousand times from this! Ruthless Fortune, you were wrong to interfere in my affairs. Who will amuse you when I'm gone, when death removes me from your power? What will you do then, faithless one? "You took me from my native land-- you've hated me since I was young! I was snatched from my royal house and sold off as a little slave. Now, I forget my father's name, even my country's. Woe to me! Only my mother's name remains fixed firmly in my memory. "Pitiless, peevish, wicked Fortune! You made me servant to a baron-- the Count of Castle Wild-- and then to make my ruin even /greater/, you made your false face look benign. The Count, who'd been like my own father, freed me, and since he had no heir, left me his castle, his possessions. "To make me welcome you and think that Fortune could be generous, you gave to me a maiden fair. Now cruelly, you take her back, you wish to see me dead from grief. Deceitful one, hear what I say: I cannot wound your vanity, but when in hell, I'll give you blame as I weep for eternity." So he spoke. So strong was his grief, compassion could have split a stone. Orlando loaned to Brandimart his other horse, good Brigliador. The cavaliers and the maiden fair rode seeking Fiordiligi. A strange sight came before their eyes. Upon the field they saw a stag grazing on fresh and verdant grass. I can't describe its handsomeness. It's white, completely white, like snow. No animal was lovelier. The Treasure Fairy owns that deer; It has massive, golden antlers, and sheds its horns six times each day. Nobody ever captures it unless they have the fairy's aid. She is so rich, so beautiful, she loves no man -- she spurns each one, for beauty and prosperity increase a woman's vanity. The stag continued grazing past those cavaliers, who stared at it. Count Orlando, who believed that riches were but trifling things, no more than turned his head to look, though he rode that swift horse, Bayard. Brandimart was on Brigliador, and when he saw that stag, he spurred away at once, and left the Count, determined he would capture it. But its spell was so strong, no man could catch it, even if he flew. So Brandimarte chased in vain for all that day across the plain. When the dark of night arrived, he lost the stag among the trees. Seeing his adventure end, now that day had concealed its light, he lay down on the grass and slept, dressed as he was, his armor on. Then, in the cool air of dawn, he mounted his charger and rode on. Brandimart hears a human voice, greatly distressed, and not far off. He started riding towards its source, and when he'd gone a goodly way, he stopped and listened quietly. Proceeding so, he reached a field, and saw the one whose moans he'd heard. Her arms were bound tight to an oak, and instantly he knew her face. She was his Fiordiligi, his love, all of his life, his heart. Imagine, if you can, the way that Brandimarte's color changed. His soul was all divided up, part was happy, part distressed; He's happy that she has been found, but sad and angry she was bound. No longer waiting, he jumps down and hurries over, baron bold, to free the woman whom he loved; But that inhuman, beastly man who hid while watching Fiordiligi when he saw Brandimart approach, he hefted his shield, and gripped his club. That shield was made of solid bark that could withstand the strongest swing, and it would never bend or twist, since it was over one foot thick. No man had ever been as strong, no cavalier, or mighty giant, as that man, who was stark and wild. He has no skill in fighting, though. Inhabiting the leafy woods, he lives on fruit, he drinks from streams. His nature, it is said, is this: whenever skies are clear, he weeps-- he fears the weather will turn bad, but when rain falls and the wind blows, he's happy, for good weather follows. That man approaches Brandimarte, club in hand, on his arm his shield, not knowing how to duel, unskilled, but spry and very powerful. The baron was not turned his way but faced the maiden, who was tied, and if she had not seen him first, he would have caught them by surprise. Brandimart did not notice him, but seeing him approach, the damsel cried, "Look out, or you'll be killed!" The cavalier is not dismayed. The lady worries more than he, not for her own distress or death, but only his, her heart's true love. The lusty baron turned at once, and he assumed a proper stance, but when he saw that hairy brute, he scorned to fight for long with him. He was uncertain whether this creature was human or a demon. It does not matter what it is; he goes to meet it with no fear. In their first clash, the savage beast lifted his heavy, massive club, and battered Brandimarte's shield. /It/ kept the cavalier from harm, and he, a master of the art, then swung his sword and cleaved that club. After the wild man saw it sliced, he pounced on him and clasped him tight. He held him firmly, and so hard that Brandimart could not help himself. Many times the baron tried to get away with all his might, but he was like a new-born baby wrestling against that savage man, whose strength was so extreme, it far exceeded Brandimarte's force. He carried him as easily as wolves do that steal helpless lambs. Borne away by that savage man, bundled up in his arms, the knight kept struggling to release himself, provoked by anger, shame, and pride, but struggling was not any aid. The wild man was so very tall he held him high above the ground, and never slowed his fast pace down. With that knight in his arms, he raced, reaching a cliff of boundless height, below which ran a river that had worn away a precipice. The distance from the summit was one thousand and six hundred cubits. There that savage brought the knight to throw him down to the rocks below. When he had reached the rocky ledge, he threw him, /but/ he did not watch. The valiant knight was somewhat short of falling from that lofty cliff-- only a single step away-- and he leaped up without delay. Brandimart still possessed his sword. He yelled and charged that savage man. With neither shield nor club (for one was broken, one was left behind), the creature hurried to an elm, intending to tear loose a branch. Before he could replace his club, bold Brandimarte hit his hip and left him with a gaping wound. The savage - furious - turned around and leaped on top of Brandimart, but as he wheeled, the cavalier surprised him with his bloody sword, cutting away one hairy arm, slashing across his massive trunk. The savage man can do no more and, screaming, falls on the hard earth. He babbled, for he had no words -- terrible noises, but obscure. When Brandimarte saw him die, his worry ceased, he let him lie and ran in haste to reach the meadow where his steed and his lady were. He was so happy when he reached that maid he knew not what to do. He hugged her, silent, in his arms, so joyful that he could not speak. Now - not to make this story long - he freed her, put her on his steed, mounted, then turned to talk with her as they rode through the thickset trees. And as they told each other of the perils they had undergone, they kept their eyes out for Orlando. But he had met with new adventure, difficult and dangerous. I'll tell you of it in due course, but now I'll stop, my voice is hoarse.