Orlando in Love, episode 27: Duels & Thefts The fair princess Angelica, most beautiful in all the world and daughter of King Galafron, is now in peril, under siege, within her fortress of Albraka. That siege is now commanded by~Marfisa, Saracen warrior queen. Angelica'd _had_ several knights who'd sworn to serve as her defense, but most of them are dead or gone, now six alone remain to fight. Proud Antifor and King Ballan stay saddled and remain in arms. Oberto and King Adrian, strong Chiaron & King Sacripant often attack Marfisa's men with great destruction on the field. Each day these warriors of my tale go forth to battle, one by one -- but none of them will face Marfisa, though fiercely she pursues them all. Each, in the recent past, has felt her force, except for Sacripant. /He/ has not left the citadel, for in the opening campaign an arrow wounded him so badly it took him till _now_ to recover. Already one whole month has passed since these besiegers first arrived. One morning, all six of these knights assault the queen's camp, by surprise. "Attack!" the cavaliers cry out. Each of those barons seemed a lion. Before them all comes King Ballano, then Sacripant, King Adriano, Oberto, Antifor, Chyaron. They run amok among her men, who are not wrong to be afraid: slaughtered men cover up the plain. Those fierce knights follow one another, coming from all sides, slashing soldiers, with valiant footmen at their back, who with both hands, the foe do hack. Knights and footsoldiers fall to earth~before their ranks -- men quake and flee,~fragmented, routed, in a frenzy, ... until /Marfisa/ intervenes. The lady had not needed time~to dress before she joined the fight -- the maiden *lived* in armor. When~Ballano saw the queen arrive whose prowess he'd experienced, he sought a pretense to attack~elsewhere, preferring any spot to one that's near _her_ flaming heart. As soon as King Ballano swerves, she starts to gallop after him,~shouting, "Turn back, you dirty dog! (R) You will not reach the walls today!" Those knights had earlier agreed that each would lend his fellows aid, because they knew Marfisa's soul~was angry, and she'd seek them all. Alborossia's Antifor~strikes at her from behind, two-handed, but she, oblivious, rides on, intent on capturing Ballan, who flailed his spurs and fled from her. Oberto raced across her path and struck the center of her helm. Marfisa does not notice, since~she chases King Ballan full tilt. And now Chiaron strikes like a serpent, swings with both hands and hits her head. She does not feel or notice as~unrestrained she pursues Ballan. He hears Marfisa at his back, turns round, and gives a vicious whack. He drops his reins to swing both hands, striking the sturdy damsel's shield, severing through it like it's cake: half of it topples to the field. _She_ hits _his_ helmet, and it breaks. She cuts him badly on his head. She lays him low -- he's almost dead. Quickly her soldiers capture him. Marfisa does not linger there. She hunts Chiarone through the field. Each of the others hammers her. She scorns their blows as worthless toys. Soon she has knocked Chiarone down; he's sent to her pavilion, bound. And now she chases Antifor, who flees from her with utmost speed. But she caught up. She _grabbed_ his helmet~and *dragged* him helpless from his horse, then tossed him to her followers @ as if he were a ball of cotton. Now the great war winds down, for soon~King Adrian is captured too. King Sacripante's not nearby: Upon the field's other side~he battles, doing wondrous deeds. Marfisa sees a prominent~lord scatter a squadron, all alone. (His name's Oberto dal Leon.) The savage woman spurs at him. She split his shield from side to side, @ severed each plate beneath his hauberk, sliced through his chain-mail and his jerkin, and with her sword she pierced his skin. That knight, confounded past belief, swings his sword hugely with two hands. @ Marfisa hardly notices. It seems as though she's not been touched. (The reason is, her arms and helm have been constructed by enchantment.) But she lets loose a /vicious/ blow @ that lands upon Oberto's helmet. The swing descends with so much force his helmet cannot slow its course. It splits his forehead, cuts his nose; between his teeth the sharp blade goes, then chops his chest and armor through. She strains her rending, keen-edged sword~down to his saddle, and she sliced~Oberto dal Leon *in half.* Some distance off, King Sacripant, who, with two-handed sword-strokes cleaves~his enemies in constant battle, witnesses that outlandish blow that left Oberto sliced in two. The spectacle does not dismay~the king; he charges rapidly, sword in hand, to confront the queen. Sacripant gave her such a strike, Marfisa'd never felt the like. She almost fainted. She knew pain. But she is strong, and soon strikes back. Her physical conditioning and her immense strength were as nothing, It seems that Sacripant wears wings: So rapid is that baron bold, the lady misses every stroke. That fighter was so very fast, he circled round her like a bird. He dodged her sword-strokes easily but hit _her_ hard and frequently. His horse's name is Frontalatt. It is so quick and nimble that~when Sacripant is riding him, he scorns the world, scorns *everyone*. That good horse had no hidden defects; nothing detracted from perfection. It was a bay, with chestnut coat, but had a white blaze on its brow (/Frontalatt/ means "forehead of milk"). When on him, armored, Sacripant~boasts he can battle anyone. This time he had great need of him -- he'd never in his life had more -- because he faced Marfisa bold. However strong that lady was, the war-horse of the king was such the battle was an even match. Marfisa gnaws her lips in rage; she hurls fierce swings with two-hand grip. But all is vain; she does not hit. Sacripant - Look! - like a falcon rides and whacks her helmet side to side; She answers with a backhand thrust, quick as she can, but it's no use, because that horse with one leap jumps~away from her, as if with wings. Now over there Marfisa swings, and it jumps _back_ where it /had/ been. The king swung at her shoulderblade, and tore her shield away from her. But if Marfisa hits that king, with *one* swing, then his life is lost; she'll stretch him out in two parts, split. She seemed a lighting bolt from heaven when she advanced her keen-edged sword, and she dispatched her swings so fast the air was whistling like the wind. But Sacripante never waits; his charger never /stands/ on earth. From side to side, in front, behind -- almost.all.at.once, he swings his sword. He'd cut away her helmet crest~in that hard fight. Her shield was wrecked. He'd rent to rags her overvest but could not dent her armament. He pounds on her from every angle. His pounding does not bother her. She bides her time and in her heart hopes with _one_ swing to win that war. They ended their initial round, and each one now retired to rest. /A messenger,/ with frightened face, reaches the field, most upset. He goes where Sacripante waits, and kneeling down in front of him he says, while weeping with distress, "I bring bad news about your realm: (C) King Mandricard of Tartary has rounded up his distant men, and they _invade_ *your* country now. He _killed_ your _brother_ with his hands. Your kingdom calls for *you* alone: "King Mandricard would surely flee (C) if he should see _you_ on the field. The reason? Rumors reached our realm that you had been /killed/ in this battle. That wicked king, when he heard this, entered your land with sharked-up troops. "He's captured the Lovasi bridge (C) and burned the town of Samachya; As I have said, he himself killed~your valiant brother, Olibrando. Then -- like a firebrand -- *all* your land he set to flame and ruination! "You battle for _one_ maiden, (C) but~you don't take pity on *your* _people._ They speak of you alone. They wait. They have no hope of other aid. Your gentle country is all smoke; swords tear her, and the fires waste." Sacripant changes his proud looks and cries in anger and distress, his mind revolving, round and round. Contempt and love afflict his heart. One moves him to _revenge_ at once; one /holds/ him as his lady's ward. Turning his heart each way, he sheathes~his sword at last, and seeks Marfisa. He tells the queen the bad report the messenger delivered him, tells of his people's devastation. Sorrowfully, he begs of her, with sweet words, in a well-made speech, that she give up these walls and leave. Marfisa says she'd like to help with all her army and herself, but she will *never* leave the siege until Angelica's _destroyed._ So, more than ever enemies, both climb into a higher rage; and they begin a ghastly bout, fiercer than any yet that day. King Sacripant's upon his horse and flies about her as before. He understood how easily in that duel he might be disgraced, because, if fortune does not aid, she'll end this battle with one swing. He now resolves to /wear her out,/ or else, in his mifortune, die. He hits the maid. His sword _can't_ dent~her arms, though he is violent. The strong queen does not even stir, as if such things don't bother her. With two hands she hurls dreadful swings, but misses. She does _not_ seem tired. Marfisa had such armament that it was useless hitting it~with sword-edge or a lance's point, and Sacripante had a steed~so fast it hardly could be seen, Their swords are flying fast and thick. Their swings are useless -- Sacripant~can't _hurt_ her and she can't _touch_ him. /Meanwhile,/ the servant of the King~of Africa, the wily thief /Brunello,/ who'd crossed many realms, now reached the high walls of Albraka. That king had sent the thief because Brunello'd boasted to the king that he would enter Albraka, the dwelling of Angelica, and from her finger steal that _ring_ produced by such strong artifice that in its presence any spell lost its illusion and its force. This arrogant thief quickly proceeds to clamber up a rampart which a spider hardly could have climbed: The castle's sheer walls had been cut to lie flush with the mountainsides. Only one slope has any stairs, hewn in the stone by swinging picks, and only these lead up or down. There many soldiers stand on guard. Toward the stream the stone is smooth. A garrison would be no use, since no one could ascend that route~by any means, except for wings. But Brunell's so skilled at scaling things, he climbed as if upon a ladder. All of that sheer cliff -- nimble, quick -- he mounted and soon reached the wall. He dangles there, that gallows bird, then strikes out with both feet and arms, @ just like a swimmer in the water: No vows from him, despite the peril. As confident as if he crossed~a meadow, he made his ascent. After he passed the battlement he travelled like a fox; he hid. @ Do not believe that it was night: rather, the day was clear and bright, but he dodged here and there so well, @ that he reached where the damsel dwelled. The fair maid stands above a gate where she had climbed to watch the plain. Her gaze is fixed upon the duel Marfise and Sacripant now wage. A crowd of people hem her in; Some gesture with their hands and say, @ "Look at Marfisa swing her blade! (L) King Sacripant can scarce escape!" Others say, "That stout warrior~will fend off that ungentle wench, (R) as long as he avoids a clinch and makes sure that his horse is safe!" As this was said, the thief appeared -- he's not about to wait till dark. Brunello -- unexpected, quick, slipped through the crowd and nabbed her ring. @ The maid might not have known, but she~had glimpsed his face and felt alarm. @ With the ring taken from her finger he hurries off, he quickly flees~and runs to reach the wall he'd climbed. Now everyone pursues him as~Angelica tore out her hair and cries out, "Catch that thief!" in tears. (R) "Catch him!" she cries, "Ah me! Poor me! I'll be destroyed if he's not caught!" Everyone tried, to please the queen, their best to intercept the thief. He leaves the wall, leaps to the cliff, and climbs suspended from the stone. He moved his feet along the slope as if down steps and reached the stream. Don't you imagine he's distressed because the water's high and swift: He's used to swimming like a fish and plunges in without a care, and really, he looked like a frog, holding his muzzle in the air. @ Those from the castle looked around, lost sight of him, and thought he'd drowned. Angelica despairs at this and beats her face, the wretched girl. Brunello leaves the river, then~strikes out across the countryside. He came upon the angry duel Marfisa fought with Sacripant. And there he paused a while to watch, but they, just then, desired a rest. Their second bout was now complete and both were ready for a break. Brunello said, "I won't stop till (L) /you too/ provide me with some loot: You'll do well if you're not _stripped!_ But since you're valiant warriors, I'll show a /little/ courtesy: Consider what I _leave_ my /gift/!" Thus mused Brunello, studying~King Sacripante and his steed. The king, alone and melancholy, was much concerned about his realm. He pictures it consumed by flames, just as the messenger described. Anguish gives Sacripant such pain, he's blind to what's before his eyes. Brunello said, "Who's this, asleep~_upright,_ and with so fine a steed?" (L) I'll make him keep alert next time!" And saying this, he seized a /stump,/ quickly untied the horse's girth, @ and set the saddle on the trunk. Sacripant never notices. The thief flees, leaving him unhorsed. Wide-eyed, Marfisa watched this pass, and found it so miraculous she laughed until her sides ached sore~and tears were streaming down her eyes. Brunello likes to improvise: when he sees her in such a state, he creeps up very close to her, deftly snatches the sword _from her hand,_ then gallops off on Sacripant's horse. Marfisa followed, screaming threats, yelling, "You knave! You'll pay for this!" (R) He wheels around and gives her the fig! @ He shouts, "Perhaps you'll learn from this!" (L) He flees. The camp, now armed, gives chase, and troops cry, "Catch him! Head him off!" But he, who'd stolen that great horse, was not concerned that he'd be caught. Now Sacripant was stupefied~with wonder, for he could not say~how this affair had come to pass -- he only knew his steed was lost. He said, "Where's he who flouted me? (R) How did he pull this off unseen? This must just be a trick, unless~some spirits did it by a spell! And if /that's/ true, my damsel, with her _ring,_ will get me back my horse. I _am_ ashamed, but who's the man~who could defend against such craft?" That said, he turns towards Albraka, pensive in thought, clearly distraught, but when he was inside the gate, he found Angelica half dead. The damsel's grief is killing her as she dwells on her injury. King Sacripante calls her name. "My soul! Who did you wrong?" he cries. (R) She answers him with tears and sighs, declaring, "I'm defenseless now! (L) I'll soon fall in Marfisa's clutches; She'll torture me until I die. "I've lost what up until now was~my best defense, my last resort. I know I will be captured soon, (L) and I've got little time to live! This loss perplexes me the more because it happened ~ _like a joke._ I don't know -- anguish! misery! -- who took my magic ring from me." King Sacripant was uninformed -- he had been in the field, you know -- and so the people told him how~a robber from her finger _stole_~the ring, then scurried down the bank, and how it was impossible~to follow him, because he'd leaped, and must have perished in the stream. The King said, "By Macon, I think~that this man did not really drown (R) (would that he had) since at the duel~he stole my horse from under me. Although Marfisa followed him, he won't be caught, I'm sure, for I'm familiar with the steed he rides." While they confer among themselves, of one, and then another thing, the guard who mans the turret yells, "To arms!" and sounds the warning bell. To anyone who asks he tells~how a great army fills the plain with standards large and small, so many~he marvels: there's no end to them. Now these men who arrived below -- I say this so that you will know -- have come from /Turkey/ every one. Over two hundred thousand troops make camp and clamor on the plain. A king who Angelica'd betrayed now comes in force against the maid. They were encamped along the plain, to join bold Queen Marfisa's siege, and they resolve -- they take a vow -- never to leave until the fortress~falls from its height and tumbles down. Angelica, trembling in fear, the poor girl, is in desolation. She sees the enemy has grown: no one will come to her salvation. She cursed herself and Fortune, and~foul fate that brought her to this pass. Her strongest knight's already left, because she'd sent him out on quest. With her is only Sacripant, but this good warrior won't go~to battle. He had lost the horse~that helped him fight Marfisa. More,~he was distressed about his realm -- which he had lost -- and melancholy; But he felt worse, his grief increased to see that lady so beseiged. For neither his lost horse nor realm would Sacripante grieve or care, if he could find a way to help~that maiden, who's so full of fear. The castle has just three month's worth~of food inside its lofty walls, so time, for them, will _soon_ run out: they have to make decisions *now.* To council came King Galafron (the father of Angelica), Angelica, and Sacripant. Galafron said, "Here's my advice -- (R) There is no other hope for help. One of my peers rules Serican, the region that's past India. He's named /Gradasso,/ and he has~prowess unequalled in the world! "Seventy-two domains (R) that man~has won himself, and still retains. His name resounds throughout creation. Therefore, to save us from Marfisa this man would be our best redress. "But how am I to find the means (R) to let him _know_ about this siege? I know that he would come right quick -- he'd never leave me in this fix -- but I can't find a way or see~how he can be informed of it!" King Galafron then added this (turning his eyes to Sacripant): "You are, _my son,_ a daring man, (R) and love me, and my daughter, and~many times you've risked your life. Not the army which destroys _your_ land, nor the loss of your dear brother now~inhibits you from helping us! "May God permit that sometime we~reward you fittingly, (R) although~I don't see how we ever can; but what we have, and we ourselves, will always be at your disposal. I swear this on Macone's faith: My daughter and my kingdom stand~ready to do as you command. "Our gratitude will be no use (R) (we and this kingdom will be ruined) if somehow we don't find assistance. I say that we are all undone if King Gradasso will not come! "Therefore, _dear son,_ I conjure you (R) by our love and your sovereign strength that this deed not seem hard to you: In Sericana, find Gradasso! This evening, after it grows dark, slip past the troops camped on the field, since those men are so unconcerned, they keep no sentry standing guard!" King Sacripante spoke few words, like one who only wants to serve. His mind is sad for nothing but~that he can't _instantly_ depart. The minute that the sun had set and heaven started growing dim, unrecognized, in pilgrim's guise, he slipped right past the enemy. Nobody even cast a glance. He wears a hood and bears a staff, but under his coarse robe he's armed~in strong plate, and he wears his sword. Galafron and his daughter stayed, beseiged, inside the mighty walls, while Sacripant, as on he pressed, found high adventure in his quest. But there are other things that must be told about before his deeds. I'll pause my story here a while. Come back again, I'll make you smile!