Orlando in Love, episode 30: The Bridge of Death

For reasons too long to say now,
 Orlando and Rinaldo fought,
  in spite of being friends /and/ kin.

Orlando's love, however,
 had~removed him from the battlefield.
She'd sent Orlando on a quest
 to smash the magic garden of the wicked sorceress, Falerina.
Orlando undertook this task,
 and he departed hastily.


Rinaldo wonders why the Count~Orlando left the battlefield.
He knows the Count would never *flee*,
 for _any_ reason, in disgrace.
So he decides, whatever may~befall, to search and _find_ the Count.

After the daylight disappears,
 he arms, he mounts his charger,
  and~beneath the moonlight rides away.
Astolfo was not far behind:
 he wants to share Rinaldo's fate.
Irold and bold Prasild came too.
Those barons ride across the plain
 at a fast, unrelenting trot.


The dark of night had passed away
 and heaven was a crimson hue.
No sun yet shone,
 but clear firstlight~tinted the sky and made it bright.

Astolfo, riding out in front,
 recites his prayers in the dawn,
 the custom of that sovereign knight.

Before him, on a rock -- Behold! --
 there sits a damsel, and she smites~herself --
  she beats her face, her breast,
   loudly laments, and tears her locks.

"Miserable me!" the damsel cried.                                 (L)
"Miserable, wretched, luckless me!
 My gentle sister, my heart's half,
  would that you never had been born,
  to have that traitor whip you so.

"Poor me! Poor me!                                               (L)
 I'm left alone,  and fortune so abuses me
  that I can't bring my sister help."
 O miserable, grieving maiden!
 I'll kill myself with my own hands
  if I don't find a man who'll aid!"





Astolfo said to her,                                             (R)
"What cause~makes you lament so violently?"
Rinaldo, as he speaks, arrives,
  Iroldo and Prasildo too,
 and all the while the damsel cries.

She faced the barons, and she said,                              (L)
"If you have pity in your hearts,~help me.
 By God, I need help more~than any troubled woman.
 Knights, if you are peerless cavaliers,
  then by God, prove your rightousness
   against a knave who's traitorous,~abusive, craven, mad, and false.

"Not far from here, there is a tower                             (L)
   where that pernicious madman lives,
  beyond a bridge, above a river~that forms a dreadful and deep lake.

"Sister -- no maid is courtlier --                               (L)
   and I were passing by this place,
  when that knave came down from the bridge
   and seized my sister by her hair.
 He dragged her, in a rage,
   across~the bridge and to the other side.
 All I could do was weep and cry --
  I had no way to rescue her.

"He bound my sister's arms                                       (L)
   around~a high and dense-branched cypress tree,
  and then he _tore_ her clothes away~most cruelly, and _whipped_ her back!"


The damsel shed so many tears
 she could not narrate any more.
The cavaliers are as distressed
 as anyone could ever guess.
Each knight agrees that they _must_ go
 and set this damsel's sister free.

Astolfo, now, the English duke,
 takes her upon his horse with him.
Then for perhaps two miles they rode
  until they reached that villain's bridge.

Before the bridge is a tall gate,
 with iron grating blocking it.
A little door may let one pass,
 a /man/ might walk through it with ease,
 but no _horse_ fit through that slim width.

Beyond the bridge there rose a tower
 in a field filled with cypress trees.
The river spreads, beyond that field,
 into an almost mile-wide lake.







There the unlucky girl was bound,
 who filled the cloudless sky with howls.
The wretched damsel's lifeblood flows
 while the cruel man repeats his blows.

The madman, dressed in armor, stood --
 in his left hand a club of iron
  and in his right a bloody whip --
 and beat the damsel past all reason.         @


/Iroldo,/ who's compassionate~by nature
  feels his heartstrings pulled.
He leaves his horse, leaps to the ground,
 and walks along that curs'ed bridge.

The cruel man saw him cross along~the bridge
 and left the damsel, tied.
He seized his cudgel made of iron,
  and those two battled face to face --
 but not for long, because that thug~clobbered Iroldo on the head.
The knight lay prostrate, as if dead,
 so mighty was that evil stroke.

The churlish pagan picked him up,
 and /ran off,/ fast as any arrow.
Then plainly -- right before their eyes --
 he *threw* him, _still armed,_ in the lake.
The armored knight went down headfirst~into those depths,
 and did not rise.


Rinaldo climbed down from his saddle
  to join the giant in a battle,
 but /Prasildo/ begged that /he/ go first.

The cruel man waits in the field
 and holds his heavy club raised high.
This battle ended like the first:
His huge club hit Prasildo's crest.
Prasildo staggers, falls to earth.
The frantic pagan _hauls_ /him/ off,~and,
  just as he had done before,
 he throws him in the deep lake, armed.

Rinaldo feels great grief at heart,
 since he'd just lost that jolly pair,
  those friends who'd died so miserably,~so fast,
   he'd hardly been aware.











Vexed beyond measure, he traversed~the bridge,
 eyes up, his shield gripped close.
As one who's used to dueling, he~goes cautiously;
 his sword held low.

His foe swings furiously,
 but~Rinaldo knows the skills of fencing:
He quickly jumps, and throws himself~aside,
 to dodge that mighty blow.

He lashes at the villain with~a strong swing,              @
  for his soul's enraged;
 but that man's arms are so well-made
  he does not fear a sharpened blade.
He slashes, he thrusts home,                               @
 but his sword-work is ineffectual --
  harmless, not worth a garlic clove.

Their conflict lasted for some time.
Rinaldo knew _one_ stroke would be~enough to do him in,
 so he~was careful to avoid those swings.


That strange man gave a mighty yell
 and sideways, at Rinaldo,                                 @
 _hurled_~his cudgel in a crazy whirl~that devastates Rinaldo's shield.
That stroke was cruel.  Rinaldo fell.

However, he is hardly down~before he jumps up, undeterred,
 but that fierce man, whose strength's so great,
 lifts him and _hauls_ him to the lake.
Rinaldo fights as best he can
 but for the moment has no strength~to match the villain's,
  which exceeds~his so much he /can't/ struggle free.

Down to the lake that strong-man runs
 to toss him, like the others, in.
Rinaldo holds so _tightly_ that~the cruel man /can't/ let him go.
He yelled, "But still, it _must_ be done!"                         (L)
 and, with him in his arms, he _jumps._

The madman, whom Rinaldo held,
 down to the lake's dark bottom fell.
Neither resurfaces, for there~the art of swimming is no help,
 and each one's armor weighed enough
  to sink another thousand men.


Astolfo watched -- he was in shock.
He stood by, helpless, still as death.
He sees Rinaldo drowned and lost
 but can't accept this as the truth.

The knight dismounts, goes through the gate,
 and hurries over to the lake.
He waits for one full hour
 but sees~not one thing beneath those waves.
His cherished cousin lost,
 Astolfo~has no notion what to do.


The woman also crossed the bridge~and went to that tall cypress tree;
She loosed her sister from her bonds
 and then provided her with clothes.

Astolfo pays them no attention.
Seized by an infinite, cruel grief,
 he cries out, weeps, and beats his face.
He asks for death as God's sole grace.

He is so overcome by pain
 _he_ would have tumbled in the lake
 if those two damsels had not come,~gently,
  to comfort him, with love.

They knew wise words, words that consoled.
One, then the other, softly spoke.
They so assuaged Astolfo
 that~they made him leave the lake at last.





Meanwhile, /Orlando,/ on his quest,
 had reached fair Falerina's garden.
Though he had lost his horse and sword,
 his strength sufficed to win the day:
 that garden was completely wrecked.
From Falerina, he had won a sword
 she had enchanted so that it could cut through anything.

The sorceress, who's quite upset
  to see her lovely garden wrecked,
 determines to destroy the Count.

Deceiving him, she tells him
 that she built a magic _bridge_ as well,
 and captured many people there,
  both ladies and bold cavaliers.
She'll lead him to that place,
 so~he may set all of her captives free.

This story has a /grain/ of truth:
 the bridge and captives _do_ exist.
They're owned though, by the Treasure Fay,
 the sorceress Morgana,
  who has~a _strong_ grudge against the Count.
Some time ago, Orlando had~defeated her enchanted trap,
 designed around a magic horn.


Orlando went directly there
 to set those troubled people free.
Still with him, Falerina is~on foot like him,
 not less nor more --
 they have no steed nor saddle-horse.



Now as they both went forth on foot,
 they came, one day, upon a river.
Here, the deceitful Treasure Fay
 plotted an intricate affair,
  the strangest, cruelest thing on earth,
 so that the flower of knights should fall.

Rinaldo'd sunk within her lake --
  as earlier I told you --
 with~Iroldo and his friend Prasild.
Remembering makes me sorry still.


Here, the horrendous /Aridano/
  had brought to many people sorrow,
 because that ghastly fighter
  throws each knight, each lady, in the water.

This Aridano was _bewitched,_
 so any knight who fought him
  faced~a force *six times* that knight's own strength.
In this way, he caught _everyone:_
however strong a knight he met,
  he still had _six times_ that knight's prowess.
 
That hooligan had such great power
 that one could often see him swim~across the lake while fully armed
  and surface from the depths at will.
After he dropped somebody in,
  he fearlessly descended too,
 and searching through that murky pool,
  he brought their armor to the top.

He was so proud, so arrogant
 that he kept hung around himself
 all of the armor he had stripped~from people he had captured there;
And visible above the rest,
 /Rinaldo's/ arms and overvest~hang from a cypress,
  obvious~and high, filched by that pagan lout.


Now, as I said, upon this shore,
 walking on foot, Orlando comes,
  and Falerina's still with him --

 but when the damsel sees the bridge,
  her mood is changed.  She seems upset,
 cursing the pagan god Macon,
 saying, "Knight, we will both be slain~in bitter pain.          (L)
  There's no escape.

"False Macon has determined this,                                (L)
  and may he fall from heaven to hell!
 He guided us along this road,
  to this despondent pass, to die.





"Now, so you'll know,                                               (L)
  a highwayman~lives here and plunders everyone.
 He's cruel and murderous -- inhuman!
 His name was -- and is -- Aridan.
 He wasn't strong, nor was he bold --
   his blood was bad, his family low --
  but now he's _fierce,_ as I'll explain,
   since /nothing/ ever was so strange.


"Inside the lake that you see here                                  (L)
   there lives the fay known as Morgana
  who by her evil art once made~a horn that could destroy all men.
 Whoever blew that splendid horn was destined to encounter death.
 The tale's too long to tell you now
   of all the men she caught or murdered,

"But then, one day, a knight appeared                               (L)
   (I don't recall his land or name):
 He overcame her bull and dragon
  and fought her earth-born men and won.
 That cavalier, a valiant man,
  thus spoiled the spell of black enchantment.

"It made Morgana furious                                            (L)
   that anyone could boast of this,
  so she produced _this_ wondrous work,
  and if all of the world were searched,
   no cavalier -- however bold --
    could overcome her fatal bridge.

"She figures that the champion~who blew her horn will pass along,   (L)
  or, as is proper, he'll _seek_ this~adventure,
   since it's perilous.
 Then she will kill or capture him,
  since here no man on earth can triumph.
 Morgana /made/ the lake and river~and bridge
  to _slay_ this cavalier.


"She searched through every region                                  (L)
   for~a creature cruel and treacherous
  and found cold-hearted Aridan --
   nobody in the world was worse!
 She furnished him with magic arms
  and something much more marvelous:
 No matter what knight faces him,
  he'll always have _six_ times /his/ strength. 

"Therefore I think -- I'm sure of this  -                           (L)
   the truth is, _none_ can win this quest,
  and I foresee myself, with you,
   drowned in that water, wracked and ruined.







Orlando, when he heard her, smiled
 and told the damsel, his voice low,
"Not all the men the sun shines on                               (R)
  could force _me_ to retreat one step.
 Wait here, and don't be frightened:~for
  'strong men proceed who can draw iron!'"

But still she wept, as she declared,
"Baron! By God, run!  Flee from death!                           (L)
 /Orlando/ could not triumph here,
  nor Charles the Great and all his court.
 I weep to think _my_ life is lost,
  but *your* death makes me sadder still.
 /I'm/ good for nothing
  but _you_ are~a daring, noble cavalier."


Her words were gentle,
 and the Count~was yielding to them, bit by bit,
  almost deciding to turn back --
But then he looked across the bridge.
He recognized the arms his _cousin_~/Rinaldo/ wore.  Orlando wept.

"Who's done to me such wrong?" he said,                          (R)
"O flower of knights, who murdered you?
 You were betrayed and *murdered*
   by~that criminal upon the bridge,
  since _no one_ could have beaten you
   if you had battled face to face.

"From heaven -- now your dwelling place --                       (RU)
  listen to me, knight.
 Hear your Count,  who you once loved,
  although he erred~when he was overpowered by passion.

"Who was the evil, greedy wolf                                   (R)
  who kept us from returning to~our gentle peace and harmony,
  our kisses and our gentle tears?
 Jealousy set swords in our hands,
  but I *loved* you, and I still do.
 _I_ wronged you. _I_ assume the blame.

"I ask forgiveness.                                              (R)
 Pardon me,~my cousin, if I've done you wrong,
  for I was _always_ yours -- am now --
  though false suspicion and vain love
   induced us -- recklessly -- to fight.

 The bitter grief that haunts me
  is~that I can't talk to you again~before I die
   to ask your pardon:
  the pain my heart feels most is this!"








That said, the Count, with a loud cry,
 hefts his strong shield and draws his sword,
  that sword that arms and spells can't thwart,
  that carves space anywhere it strikes.

The Count, who flamed with grief and rage,~_leaped_ on the bridge.
He held the blade.
He *cut* the grate,
 ran to the field~where venal Aridano lay.

That highwayman looked somewhat shocked
 to see Orlando charging him --
  the Count had reached him by surprise --
 but up he jumped and seized his club.

Then he cried, 
"If all Paradise~should help you, and the god Macon,             (L)
  they'd not be strong or stout enough.
 You have to die, no matter what!"


Ending his words, he takes a swing --
 the foul dog -- with his iron club.
Orlando's shield is shattered,                 @
 and~the Count collapses to his knees.
The pagan bends and spreads his arms,          @
 thinking to haul Orlando off the way he carried all the rest,
 and then submerge him in the lake.

Orlando did not yield so fast.
Though fallen, he was not afraid.
He swung out with a mighty smash,               @
 sank his sword in the pagan's flank,
  and cut cuirass and metal plates.
Enchantment could not stop _that_ blade.

If Aridan had not been /stooped,/
  saving him from the sword's _full_ force,
 he would have been sliced right in two,
  like milky cheese, not more or less.
Still, Aridan was somewhat hurt,
 and venom mounted in his heart.


He swings his club at once.
The Count~has sampled it, and does not bide.
Orlando threw himself aside
 and aimed /his/ sword at the pagan's legs.
Just then, that awful Saracen
 with great force brought /his/ bludgeon down.










Because they both swung from the left,
 their weapons met in this exchange,
  although the sword, not stopped by spells,
  cut at least two feet off the cudgel.

Goaded by rage, Aridan gives~a beastly scream,
 and *jumps* the Count.
Valiant Orlando can't do much
 against the pagan's _crushing_ clutch.

Aridan runs as if with wings
 and hauls his burden to the bank,
 and thus -- in that embrace -- with him,
  down through the deep pool, armed, he swims.

From the high bank,
  precipitously~they both fell through that murky lake,
 and /Falerina/ does not wait,
  but runs away across the plain.
She trembles like a soul in pain
 and often looks back, full of fear.


Crashing and falling off the bank
 through that dark pool, both fighters sank,
Quite soon they were a _mile_ below,  and rapidly submerging, when --
 the water /cleared,/ its silt was gone,
  and they began to look around.

Here is a new day, and new sun,
 as if a new world had been born.
In a /dry field/ they found themselves,
 and overhead, the _bottom_ of~the lake was lit by sun,
 which made~that new world a more gracious place;

That ambiance was then enclosed~inside a marble cavern,
 all~of fine and brightly shining stone.
This lovely grotto lay /beneath/ the lake
 it was three miles around.


Now, let us go back to Orlando:
He fell here in the brute's embrace,
  still clasped tight to him, face to face,
 and though he tries to struggle free,
   he wriggles and he squirms in vain,
  his force one-sixth of Aridan's.
Neither could separate himself
 until they reached the field of flowers.

Aridan tried to strip his arms,
 and thought he had so stunned Orlando
  that he could now relax his guard.
He fooled himself in thinking so:
He'd barely let Orlando go
 when the Count raised up his shield and sword.




And so the bitter fight resumed,
 a pitiless, a cruel assault.
Fierce Aridan employed that club
 whose _one_ swing could knock *mountains* down.
Across from him, Orlando, bold,
 was wielding his _enchanted_ sword,
  finer than any other:
 what~it met, it ruinously cut


Orlando swung at him at once --
 as soon as he escaped his grasp.
Aridan's shining helm was cracked
 and yet his face was still intact.

Aridan muttered, through clenched teeth,
"*That* is how you swat off flies!                               (L)
 That's how you fan your nose!
 I'll pay~you back, if I don't change my mind!"

He takes a huge swing, as he speaks,                @
 but does not hit the Count as planned.
He _would_ have knocked him dead to earth --
 or he'd have broken, bashed him sore.
Though Aridan had whirled his club,
 he had not hurt the Count at all,
 for his strokes never hit their mark.

Orlando, though, much skilled in war,
 on his turns in the game played well
 and had already gashed him thrice --
  his head, his belly, and his thigh.
The flow of blood was deep and wide.

And, not to keep you here all night,
 Orlando takes a final swing~and cuts him open to the waist.
The pagan's life and spirit drain --
 and Aridan _dies_ on the plain.


The Count looks, wonders what to do.
There's not another soul in view,
 but only rocks and hills to see:
The white stone bank surrounding him
 did not allow him to ascend.
That slope was green with shrubs and trees,
 and flowers graced it wonderf'ly.

*There,* on the side that day appears              @ {point}
 there was, carved by a chisel's point,
  an open portal, royal, high:
 the world has never seen its like.

Orlando heads towards that gate,
 but what he finds will have to wait.
I'd rather not say more /now,/ since~narrating so much does me in.
Come back next time, when pleasant things,
 the strangest, and yet _very true,_
 if God gives peace, I'll tell, to /you./