Orlando in Love, Episode 49: The Rout at Montalban The powerful King Agrramante, emperor of Africa, with two-and-thirty vassal kings came 'cross the sea with all their troops, to bring great harm to Charlemagne. His father had died fighting him, and Agrramante wants revenge. A prophecy in Africa says Agrramante's sure to win -- while young Ruggiero's by his side. Ruggiero is an orphan knight, who.was.raised by the sorcerer Atalant. Atalant did not wish that boy to go into the world and war, but when he left home anyway, Atalant came along to help. -- Before the.African armies sailed, France was attacked by another foe. The Saracen king of Spain had led~an army 'gainst south Gascony. He reached the plain of Montalban, and set siege to the castle there. Rinaldo, bold lord of that place, was not at home when they arrived, but soon appeared, with Charlemagne~and all his men, to battle there. Rinaldo is a newcomer to Charles'~court, and he is strong. His power is quite close~to that of Count Orlando, noted knight. These paladins became fast friends, until the day that _each one_ fell~in love with the _same_ lady fair. This rivalry makes them compete, and try to show the other weak. The knights no longer serve King Charles, but their own reckless, love-torn hearts. -- When Count Orlando hears that Ag~rramante's armies now attack, the Count is _happy_ at that news,~saying, "O God on high, [knight, deep, rich] you send~swift help and aid where there is need! Because (if I am not deceived) King Charles will lose, Rinaldo too, and when each peer has met defeat, *I* will then rescue _all_ of them! "I will regain -- by valiant deeds -- the love of one I love so much, and I swear by her beauty that~if the whole world is armed and massed~against me at one time, I will -- if that day comes -- destroy them *all*!" And so, though the battle rages hard, Orlando takes himself away, and hides within a nearby wood. -- One of the fiercest Spanish knights, the Saracen, Ferra'u, had been~beaten up badly by Rinaldo. He left the battle to recover, seeking a spring within the woods where he could quench his raging thirst. The joyful songs of bright birds filled~the flowering and beautiful~clearing where Ferra'u now came: The very place /Orlando/ hid. When Ferra'u arrived, he had~no other thought but to dismount. He took his helmet off, and as~he went to drink the shining stream, either from haste or carelessness, he dropped his helmet, and the current~buried it in the silty bed, making Ferra'u much distressed. His helmet dropped to such a depth, he couldn't think what he should do, except to call Macon for aid, and cry out and lament in vain. -- Meanwhile, Orlando recognized the shield and armor that he wore, and he approached along the shore, saluted him, and said these words: "He who _can_ help you, helps you now, taking such pity on your plight that he won't send you to the damned: He knows that you're a worthy knight. Perpetual salvation's yours once you have knowledge of the Truth: Honor on earth, in heaven, joy, fit for the flower of chivalry!" When Ferra'u raised up his eyes to see who spoke so courteously, he saw at once that quartered blazon and though _himself_ the lucky one to have discovered in that forest the greatest cavalier of all. He thought he had it in his power to _catch_ him, /or/, be courteous. -- Happy where he had been depressed, (seeing his fine helm in the depths),~he said, "I will complain no more~about my fortune in the world. [-deep, rough, mocking] I thought my luck had run out, but~I'm happier and more content than wealth could ever make me, for~I've seen the flower of noble knights. "But tell me, if I may be told, why you're not fighting in the field and demonstrating prowess where~only Rinaldo wins renown and the war rages? Though I'm charmed~from head to foot (except one spot), he beat me soundly. My enchantment~did me no good -- at least, not much. "I don't think there's a knight on earth whose valor overshadows his, although consensus everywhere is that _you're_ his superior. If I met his equivalent~and I could test who had the most~courage, agility, and strength, though I should die, I'd die content. "Truly I want to challenge you -- I see you, I know who you are -- but I think it's all make-believe now that I've fought Rinaldo, strong." -- Hearing this statement, Count Orlando~burned in his heart with rage and spite, and he said, "You are partly right: Rinaldo *is* a valiant knight! Your long and laudatory speech, which praises one man /past belief,/ foully _offends_ another's fame. "If you still had your helmet on, I'd show you that /equivalent/~you're looking for in just one minute! You know Rinaldo's /valor/, so you'll _test_ me, eh? Oh, you would *pay!* "I do not want to quarrel _now,_ since you are worn from your ordeal. I'm going to the battlefield. Too bad for those out there: I'll show~if my sword severs like Rinaldo's!" When he said that, the Count, whose soul~was raging (so I think he rushed), mounted his horse -- armed -- with one jump. Now Count Orlando rode away~rapidly, and he never paused till he arrived where armies were~engaged in turmoil and much war. -- During that day, as I have said, King Charles and Agrramante led~their barons to the French frontier: No battle ever was more fierce. Nobody wants the scorn of shame, and each man is prepared to die, to set his soul and spirit free, rather than yield an inch of field. The split spears and the fractured shields, the banners and the dusty standards, the tumbled bodies, the dead steeds rendered that plain a ghastly scene. The warriors fought in a tangle, in broken and disordered ranks, their hue and cry so deafening, it seemed the earth would fall to ruin. -- King Charlemagne is everywhere: He gives commands and fights with ardor, but his directives and his orders -- all his commandments -- are ignored. And though he has a fearless heart, when he sees Agrramante's hordes, Charlemagne contemplates retreating -- till he spies Count Orlando's arms. Orlando rode across the field, magnificent and menacing, and when that paladin was seen, there rose an awful, fearful cry as those who'd lost their courage charged~to join behind that warrior. King Charles, who watched him from afar, praised God, and raised his hands to heaven. @ Who can recount the fierce assault? Who can describe the many swings? I'll have to have some help from God in order to relate them all because no thunder in the sky, no squall of storms amidst the seas, no beating waves or furious fires~assail the way Orlando fights. Orlando did not wait around, but drew his sword and took strong swings, lopping off arms and chopping heads. There was no hiding from his blade, all hauberks, plate, and mail were useless, as madly he slashed men and weapons. Horses and horsemen tumbled where~Orlando -- /furioso/ came, and no knight, no king could be found who dared to meet him face to face. -- When young _Ruggiero_ reached that place, he saw his soldiers in a mound -- exactly like a mountain made~bloody by corpses of the slain. He knew the sign Orlando wore, though it could hardly be discerned, for his white quarter had been stained~bright red by the blood of those he'd slain. Ruggiero moved toward the Count, and I can tell you every ounce~of his hot valor, courage, strength,~and vigor counted and was weighed. Ruggiero wielded _Balisard._ Balisard had an edge that spells~and armor could not stop, That sword~had been forged by Morgana the fay expressly to kill Count Orlando. -- I say, a duel so cruel and foul, was not seen in this world till now. The royal youth swung both hands, @ smashed~Orlando mightily, and slashed~his helmet open, rim to chin: @ No plate or spell defended him, but still Orlando -- as God wished -- suffered no harm, because the blade~/between/ his hood and jaw descended, @ cutting his whiskers, not his skin. Orlando hit him back so hard he tore Ruggiero's shield apart -- its thick plate and its thongs don't hold -- slashing it to his saddlebow. His swing passed by Ruggiero's thigh @ and cut his armor and his harness, but it missed -- not by much -- his flesh, since heaven helps the valorous. -- All of the soldiers stopped their fights to watch those two who hit _so hard_, and meanwhile, _Atalant_ arrived seeking his foster-son, Ruggiero. Old Atalant was petrified -- he almost fell off of his horse -- when suddenly he found Ruggiero at risk of dying from one blow. That false magician instantly~formed a deceit with his foul arts: @v He conjured hordes of raucous men who seemed to trounce the Christian troops, and made a _mock_ King Charles appear, shouting for help in his distress, while Oliver, here shown in chains, was, by a giant, dragged away. Rinaldo, wounded mortally -- pierced by a spear through his chest -- seemed~to cry out, "Cousin, can you let~these men take me with such contempt?" [young, rude knight] The Count was overwhelmed to see~before his eyes such scornful deeds. His visage grew as red as flame from anger he could not contain. Abruptly he turns his fine horse, abandoning his battle with~Ruggiero, and.then nonstop he spurs. The apparitions flee before~the cavalier, conveying their~'prisoners' in their midst. Such is~the strength of this enchantment that~it seems the wind's transporting them. -- Ruggiero, when Orlando left, remained behind, his mind distressed. He turned his swift horse, seized a spear,~and -- furious -- attacked our men. When he came to Archbishop Turpin, vespers and masses did not save~the priest, nor liturgies and prayers -- he fell, unsaddled, legs in air. The knight passed on and struck the others, like a stream surging down a mountain. Such speed as his was never seen: each man Ruggiero meets, he conquers. Already other Saracens, who'd /fled/ before the Count, _return_~with greater spirit than before, and on the field they show their valor. Ruggiero takes such wondrous swings, our men are almost petrified: None can resist his power. Some~are just stunned, but many slain. Meanwhile,~the army at his back increases. Agrramante, and many other pagan kings, followed Ruggiero to the fray. Up front, Ruggiero does such havoc his followers need little force. Ruggiero is a leading light, a thunderbolt, a flash of lightning, beating this band and then the next and seeming everywhere at once, wheeling and whirling as if winged -- that royal youth strikes everything. -- The others run, but _Oliver_~turns towards Ruggiero, all alone. A mighty battle has begun, and this bout isn't like the rest, because their swords are both so sharp, that where they strike, they leave their mark. Ever alert, Ruggiero, when~he saw his men had turned around, seemed like an _arrow_ from the sky -- he swung at Oliver /that/ fast. He swung both hands, but in his rush, @ the sword revolved, as was God's wish,~and hit flat, but with _such_ force that~Oliver's helmet cracked like glass. Now Oliver was in a swoon because of that tempestuous swing: His face, unhelmeted, was flushed, and he slid from his saddle. When~Ruggiero noticed his distress and the blood running from his head, that courteous youth was greatly grieved, so he dismounted in the field. Ruggiero climbed down from his horse and took that baron in his arms to help him to a medic's tent, weeping with pity constantly. But while he was thus occupied, GrifOn attacked him from behind. False GrifOn of Maganza spurred, charged at him, and couched his lance. With all his strength that evil count walloped him hard between his shoulders. -- Ruggiero wheeled on him and cried, "Traitor, I mean to see you die!" [young knight] The false GrifOn does not /wait/ there -- he was a coward in his heart -- but turns his heavy war-horse where~the battle is most thick and dense and melts among the men and armor. On foot Ruggiero followed him, saying he'd slay him like a villain. GrifOn fled, Ruggiero pursued, till they came where _Rinaldo_ used~his sword-blade so proficiently hot blood was flowing through the field, a field that seemed a sanguine sea: No man had ever seen such ruin. -- "Help me, by God!" GrifOn then groaned. [sniveling, nasal] "For God's sake, help! I've no strength left! Through treachery, this odious~and evil Saracen has killed me!" Rinaldo, when he heard those words, bridled Baiardo round to charge~Ruggiero at a gallop, @ but~seeing the knight on foot, he stopped. He would not /charge/ him on Baiardo (since that seemed cowardly) but leaped~out of his saddle to the field, holding _Fusberta_ and his shield. @ The fight they started was so grim that every man stood mute, amazed. Rinaldo did not yet seem worn, although he'd been at war all day, and back and forth they madly swung. Their hard strokes could have wrecked a mountain not just their shields and heavy helms. -- Look! Agrramante joins the battle, pursuing Christian men, who scatter~as fast as straw burns when on fire. King Charles and our men can't defend against the massive rabble mob that seems an overflowing stream -- a hundred men to one -- or _more_. So loud's the noise, so dense the men, the field shakes to its boundaries, and arrows fly: a cloud of shafts~past measuring turns heaven black. Our army flees on every side, and anyone who pauses, dies. Oh, to have seen King Charlemagne silently looking to the sky: the very stones would have been moved~to pity, witnessing his tears. "Save yourself! Leave this place at once! [deep, -old] All of you _save_ yourselves. _Leave_ me,~for I would like to purge my sins. If my lord God wants me to die,~His will be done. I am prepared. "The single grief that hurts my heart is seeing baptized soldiers slain by men who worship false Macon. O Heaven's King, my Blissful Lord, if our sins make You seek atonement,~a scapegoat, let *me* die _alone._" -- All of the barons hear King Charles, and weep, and know not what to say. The royal rank has fled already -- the good and bad are mixed in flight -- and now the crowd is swarming where~Ruggiero and Rinaldo fight~a battle so hard, so intense that neither sees those hordes of men. So routed, so disorganized~are those troops -- some pursue, some flee, some tumble forward, some fall back, @ tripping to this side, shoved to that -- that those two barons have to cease~their battle, for the huge swarm presses~at their backs, and there's _such_ a mass, neither knows where the other is. Split apart, their strength almost gone, overwhelmed by the mammoth mob, both of the knights were discontented, since neither knew which /would/ have won. -- Rinaldo, though, makes this lament: "Oh Heaven's God! What's this I see? [young, rude knight] Our men are uncontrolled, they flee -- and what can I do on two feet?" So saying, he begins to search and sees Baiardo not far off, but when he's close enough to mount, the horse _turns_, wheels, and runs /away/. Rinaldo now wants to despair. He says, "It's a fine time for games! Stay put, you damned beast; I say, stay!" Baiardo turns and does not wait. Rinaldo gives chase to his steed through a wood that is dark and deep, where we will leave him for a while: he will find high adventure there. -- I now return to tell about~Ruggiero, who is still on foot. You've heard Ruggiero left his steed~where he'd descended. Near that spot~was.Archbishop Turpin, keeping~the.Saracens at bay -- somewhat. Since he was near the horse, he seized~his chance to take the bridle, leaped~lightly into the saddleseat, and then returned to fight, bold priest! The priest was riding toward a valley when young Ruggiero saw him pass~before his very eyes. Don't ask~if he was happy and he laughed. He started following on foot,~shouting out, "Wait! That horse is mine!" Good Turpin, who saw everyone~was in flight, had no _wish_ to wait, but couldn't make much progress in~that dense array of Saracens~and Christians trapped and packed so tightly he had to slip along one side. Turpin flees and Ruggiero follows until they reach a narrow pass, a valley set between two hills, where Turpin tumbles off that horse. Ruggiero, halfway down the slope, watches the priest roll towards a marsh, a muddy swamp of stagnant water that holds him fast and pulls him under. Ruggiero laughed and skittered down~the hill to help the drowning priest. -- He pulled him out, then caught the steed, but he _presented_ it to /him,/ offering, with great courtesy, to give it up, if he had need. "God help me!" Turpin said to him, [hollow] "_You_ were not /born/ a Saracen. I don't believe that nature gave~Saracens such obliging manners. Take back your horse. Be on your way! I'd be a rogue if I retained him!" He told him that, then he ran off~on foot, returning to that plain. He found a Saracen who'd strayed, cut off his head, and took /his/ horse. He rode so hard he overtook~the Christian soldiers, in retreat: -- All their defenses they'd forsaken, and men who couldn't run were slain. Routed for six full nights and days, pushed back to Paris and its gates; Many great lords were prisoners, and there were others caught and killed, so many they can't be recalled. And who'll recount the cries, the dread that spread right to the heart of Paris, for all believed, and in tears said, Rinaldo and Orlando, _dead_! As you have heard, these two great knights, had each been led off from the war. One, tricked by magic demon-sight, the other man pursues his horse. Their strange adventures I'll recite, before rejoining Charles' force. But those are other stories, if you please, for now, I've said enough, and so I cease.