Orlando in Love, Episode 53: The Siege of Paris Lovers and damsels fair, for you~with amorous and noble hearts these splendid stories were composed of courtesy in flower and valor. Villains who fight from spite and rage don't listen to such histories. Lovers and damsels, God defend! To honor you is this book's end. The Count Orlando, best of knights, a paladin of Charlemagne, along with his friend Brandymart, has just returned from many~great adventures they had in the East. More timely, they could not have been, for need is great for puissant knights. King Agrramante, Emperor~of Africa, assaults the realm. He leads a vast, _huge_ army; two-and-thirty kings fight under him, and each of these brought many troops. King Agrramante, as I've said, had beaten King Charles in the field, and chased him back to Paris' gates. He'd killed or captured many men, then set his tents around the plain, besieging all within the walls. Such rabble never had been seen as that massed by the African. His camp is seven leagues and ranges~over the valleys, plains and mountains. So many men, they seemed to form~a forest, formed of flags and spears. Those in the city stood defense and night and day maintained the wall; The only paladin within was Ogier, the noble Dane, who rushed to build or strengthen towers. -- When Orlando saw -- and comprehended -- the magnitude of their defeat, his heart ached and such sadness seized him, his eyes streamed tears, and he lamented: "One who believes in this frail life,"~he said, " and in this worthless world should leave high thoughts and fold his wings. Witness the case of Charles the Great: Triumphant and victorious, he made men tremble near and far, but fortune in a moment took~it all, and he, perhaps, is slain." -- But while Orlando utters this, a great roar from the camp arises that seems to echo from the sun, the sound increasing, on and on. Now tambourines and timpani, strange instruments, and bronze horns played. The orders of the day arranged~assaults on Paris from each side -- raids were allotted, troops aligned. The Africans made vows and boasts and vied to make the finest show; some pledged their God, while others swore~to cross the rampart with one jump. Engineers wheeled into position numerous towers and rolling ladders -- a sight to which none were accustomed -- "castles" of woven vines and wood, windlasses made of supple leather, and catapults, strange weapons, wound~with great commotion, which, released, throw stones and fire into a city. -- Inside the town, Ogier the Dane, made commandant by Charlemagne, repairs and orders his defenses: crossbows and catapults and slings. He tries himself to see to things, not to rely on others' eyes, and stations stones, lead, beams, and sulphur among the towers' battlements. He orders and he oversees~armed men on foot, armed men on steeds. Along walls, everywhere, he scampers -- no pausing in this frantic work. -- Pagans are soon heard in the field, their metal horns and tambourines, pipes, castanets, and trumpets seem~to make the air pulse, heaven ring. O Mary mild! O Heaven's King! How miserable that city seemed! I don't believe such tumult, so~bloodthirsty, even pleased the devil! The town was filled with moans and screams. Small children and disheveled ladies, the old, the sick -- the helpless people -- beat their brows, prayed to God to die. They rush about in random groups, the timid flushed, the daring meek. Unhappy wives hold children close and beg their husbands, as they weep, to save them from adversity. Desperate, as a last resort, the women shed their fear and carry~water and boulders to the walls. Hammering church bells ring to arms. The horns and cries cause such a roar the scene can't be described in words. Through the town goes Charles, emperor, and all men follow, no one stays, for~there's none who won't die with their lord. He sends one here, one there, prepares~the city, and arranges guards. -- The pagan army was approaching. Rank after rank ringed Paris' walls, a different king at every gate. The air is trembling and earth echoes as the war spreads to every wall, and lethal waves of stones and darts~and flames are volleyed back and forth. The Christians and the Saracens have never fought with so much fury, and what each does reveals his worth. Sulphur and beams and lime cascade, and one can hear the ladders smashed, the sound of armor cracked, a crash. Dust and smoke form a dark veil in~the sky, as if the sun has fallen. A strenuous defense against~this onslaught will not be enough, for as bees, or excited wasps~or flies return to one who swats them, _so_ that damned nation seems to come, though hurled from towers and battlements, though bodies tumble down, and dead~fill up the city's moats already. Forming across the water was~an awful sight: a bridge of blood. There Mandricard and Rodomont were hurrying to scale the walls, and neither daring Ferra'u~nor Agrramante's slow to move. They vied to be the first to climb, careless of arrows, spears, their lives. -- Orlando, watching this disaster, is almost daunted by the terror, and weeping loudly, calls to God, and hardly knows which path to choose. "O Brandymart, what is my duty? If Charlemagne is dead and Paris~is lost, whatever can I do?"~ he asks. "I see fire, flames, and ruin! It seems to me beyond all rescue: The Saracens are on the ramparts." "If I see right," said Brandymart, "They still fight hand to hand down there. Let me descend, for my heart longs~to massacre these dogs. If Paris~expects so no reinforcements, let her~not be destroyed without a fight!" To that, the Count did not respond, but snapped his visor down at once and followed after Brandymart, who'd started headlong down the slope. -- Then, that incendiary pair forded the river to the field. There, both were quickly recognized, for they'd unfurled their flags and signs. "To arms! To arms!" men bellowed, "Help!" But they had reached the central tent~already. It was well-protected by several kings and all their troops who guard our men -- their prisoners. At the pavilion where they fight, the pagans can't hold off those knights. I tell you, not a soul was spared: some fought back, some ran, some remained, but the storm took them all the same. Orlando tears the tent apart, knocks it in tatters to the ground, and when the captured see the Count they are amazed and cross themselves. @ Brandymart quickly chopped their chains~and ropes. The nearby tents contained~chargers and weapons in abundance, and so they armed themselves and mounted~as fast as possible: All wanted~to join Orlando in his dance, as he rode, galloping, to Paris, with many armored, noble knights: More than a hundred formed that band. Already they were near the city's~walls, where the war was worse than ever. The military instruments and dying cries were loud past measure, making the land shake: Sounds of fire~and blood and death were all one heard. -- Mandricard took a bridge and cut~its barriers and smashed its gate. His soldiers were so eager to~follow, they jostled one another. Elsewhere, cruel Rodomont killed~so many soldiers on the walls~with spears and stones -- he'd struck such numbers -- blood flowed down the walls into the moat. He sees the towers, scorns their heights, foams like a boar, and grinds his teeth. Such fierceness never had been seen. His shield behind him, he holds spikes~and hooks, coiled ropes, an iron ladder. Cursing, he comes. Beneath the towers~he leans his ladder, and he climbs. Here someone fell, there someone fought: Everyone near him screamed for help. If Lucifer or Satan left~the pit and came up here to earth~to ruin Paris and its heights, they would not cause a greater fright. -- Even though they're bewildered, men~defend themselves, in desperation. They believe they are bound to die, so they forget their limbs, their lives; and brought thus to this bitter port, knowing that they will be destroyed, they throw with all their strength and strike~the giant with spears, stone, beams, and spikes. Still on he climbs. He cares as much~as if the wind blew straw and feathers. He gets his waist above the wall and can't be stopped by force or daring. After he tops the summit, panic~sweeps through the town, with piercing cries~and awful lamentations. I~am certain that noise reached the sky. Proud Rodomont then grabbed a turret, loosening every part he gripped, and threw chunks in the city. @ He~wrecked houses, churches, and bell towers. -- Orlando did not know this, since~he was in battle elsewhere, but~the great uproar that spread from there made him go where the danger flared. He rode toward that bitter fray -- he'd never been so moved by rage -- and with one swing he cut the ladder. Rodomont landed in the moat, and large chunks of the rampart crumbled~behind him; half a tower dropped. A spire fell on Orlando's head and left him flattened on the earth. Rodomont freed himself at once. So fierce was that strong Saracen he'd hardly noticed what had happened. Orlando, though, had not yet risen -- he lay unconscious on the plain -- and Rodomont did not wait there, but left the ditch and charged our troops. -- Rodomont needed his strength now because our men surrounded him. Ganelon was on the bank, who, though deprived and faithless, could~be bold and fight well when he wanted. However, here his strength was useless. When Rodomont climbed from the moat, he knocked him down with just one stroke. He leaves his victims without pausing and in the field attacks more men. The Saracens, who'd run because~they'd seen Orlando coming, turned~back and seemed bolder than before: Rodomont fought so hard, the others~aided him voluntarily. A large throng gathered round that knight. None will be there tomorrow, though, since Brandymart, that baron bold, will send some of those men to hell. Oliver, others, I can tell. One Christian charged at Rodomont, who's a yard taller than the rest, and hits him where he aims, no less~than in the middle of his chest. His lance breaks, but the pagan stands~unmoved and strikes back with his sword. That curst knight split the Christian's shield, severed his armor's plates like paper and sliced him sorely on his chest, then hit and cut his saddle; Last,~he hacked his horse's head away. -- Now Brandymart saw that foul swing and planning to obtain revenge, spurred his steed, and he set his spear. Galloping hard, that baron bold struck Rodomont right in the ribs. His armor, dragon-scale, saved him, but~this time he fell on the field. And when he fell, that African~sounded just like a tall tree when, cracked and uprooted by the wind, it crushes lesser trunks below. Oliver's also bold in combat, gives evidence of who he is: his house is not discredited as he chops through a Saracen king. Meanwhile, Orlando wakes again. His stalwart charger, who's so wise, has never left Orlando's side. Orlando mounts his horse, his soul~fearless, and leaves the moat at once. When those in town behold his quartered~shield, a cry rises from the wall. Now Charlemagne is given word of Orlando's presence on the plain and the deliverance of the Christians, in hand-to-hand fight, from the pagans. Don't ask me if the emperor~rejoices when he hears the news. Every man has a sparkling heart and wants to sally out to war. The gate is opened -- with great furor. Ogier the Dane, Huon Bordeaux, and other knights then galloped forth. King Charlemagne now leads the others -- that bold king will not wait in town. Archbishop Turpin stays in Paris, he has the city in his charge. -- Let's turn now to Ogier the Dane, who on the bridge meets Mandricard, fighting there, as I said before, with Agrramante by his side. Ogier rides with his thick lance and~strikes Mandricard, who's still on foot, thinking he'll knock him in the ditch -- but he thinks wrong. That Saracen~is something else, and he stands firm: He does not fall before the spear. Ogier rides past him, galloping, but Mandricard grabs his charger's bridle. Agrramante, beside him, with~all his strength, helped unseat the Dane, But Charles the Great, who'd just arrived, thrust with his lance at Agrramante and knocked him upside down on earth, then rode his horse across his stomach. Now the dense war began again,~as all paired off; all wish to win. The word is quickly spread by mouth that Agrramante's been knocked down, so everybody gathers round,~pushing -- all want to be in front. -- The pagan kings all rushed to help, But Mandricard, there, is the one~who most effectively defends. Alone, he rescued Agrramante, with his strength saved him from that peril. How many dead fell in the ditch because the fight was on a bridge! The water ran incarnadine, so bloody it could strike eyes blind. King Charles, Duke Ogier, and the rest -- furious -- at the pagans pressed. And now they chased them off the bridge and battled them between the ramparts. Then, at the pagan's back, Orlando~and Brandymart, who followed him, arrived with strong and ready men. The terrible and savage brawl~doubled, and grew so heartless that~there never was a battle like it. The cause was this: Proud Rodomont -~ ceaselessly, wildly, chased the Count. Roadways and paths no longer bounded~their brawl, and in the crowds around them, there was no need to aim. The hordes~were packed so close together that~Rodomont and Orlando carved~_plazas_ the length and depth of swords. -- Perhaps because the people wail~in Paris and devoutly pray, perhaps it is some hidden fate, but in the sky, a storm, a gale,~begins, and on the plain, an earthquake~rumbles, and all the buildings shake. That the sun sank, that it was evening, made all these fearful things seem worse. From here, from there, each rank retreated, and so the murky battle ceased. The Christian men fell back inside and closed and barricaded gates. The dawn will bring them further strife; many a man will lose his life. But I, this night, will pause my story. God keep you happy and in glory! Some other time, if He permits, I'll tell you all there is to this.