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they keep me under the guard of this woman, until it shall suit their
convenience to carry me away."
Isabella had hardly finished her recital when a troop of armed men
began to enter the cavern. Seeing the prince Orlando, one said to the
rest, "What bird is this we have caught, without even setting a snare
for him?" Then addressing Orlando, "It was truly civil in you, friend,
to come hither with that handsome coat of armor and vest, the very
things I want." "You shall pay for them, then," said Orlando; and
seizing a half-burnt brand from the fire, he hurled it at him, striking
his head, and stretching him lifeless on the floor.
There was a massy table in the middle of the cavern, used for the
pirates' repasts. Orlando lifted it and hurled it at the robbers as
they stood clustered in a group toward the entrance. Half the gang were
rich palace, built of marble, and adorned with sculptures executed by a
master hand. Into this edifice, through a golden door, the giant
passed, and Rogero followed; but, on looking round, saw nowhere either
the giant or Bradamante. He ran from room to room, calling aloud on his
cowardly foe to turn and meet him; but got no response, nor caught
another glimpse of the giant or his prey. In his vain pursuit he met,
without knowing them, Ferrau, Florismart, King Gradasso, Orlando, and
many others, all of whom had been entrapped like himself into this
enchanted castle. It was a new stratagem of the magician Atlantes to
draw Rogero into his power, and to secure also those who might by any
chance endanger his safety. What Rogero had taken for Bradamante was a
mere phantom. That charming lady was far away, full of anxiety for her
Rogero, whose coming she had long expected.
The Emperor had committed to her charge the city and garrison of
As a flower which the passing plough has uprooted languishes, and
droops its head, so Dardinel, his visage covered with the paleness of
death, expires, and the hopes of an illustrious race perish with him.
Like waters kept back by a dike, which, when the dike is broken, spread
abroad through all the country, so the Moors, no longer kept in column
by the example of Dardinel, fled in all directions. Rinaldo despised
too much such easy victories to pursue them; he wished for no combats
but with brave men. At the same time, the other paladins made terrible
slaughter of the Moors. Charles himself, Oliver, Guido, and Ogier the
Dane, carried death into their ranks on all sides.
The infidels seemed doomed to perish to a man on that dreadful day; but
the wise king, Marsilius, at last put some slight degree of method into
the general rout. He collected the remnant of the troops, formed them
had continued their game a little longer; but they never reckoned a
throw like this among their chances. Cloridan next came to the unlucky
Grillon, whose head lay softly on his pillow. He dreamed probably of
the feast from which he had but just retired; for when Cloridan cut off
his head wine flowed forth with the blood.
The two young Moors might have penetrated even to the tent of
Charlemagne; but knowing that the paladins encamped around him kept
watch by turns, and judging that it was impossible they should all be
asleep, they were afraid to go too near. They might also have obtained
rich booty; but, intent only on their object, they crossed the camp,
and arrived at length at the bloody field, where bucklers, lances, and
swords lay scattered in the midst of corpses of poor and rich, common
soldier and prince, horses and pools of blood. This terrible scene of
carnage would have destroyed all hope of finding what they were in
time of attachment and fidelity rare in the history of man. Cloridan
and Medoro had followed their prince, Dardinel, to the wars of France.
Cloridan, a bold huntsman, combined strength with activity. Medoro was
a mere youth, his cheeks yet fair and blooming. Of all the Saracens, no
one united so much grace and beauty. His light hair was set off by his
black and sparkling eyes. The two friends were together on guard at the
rampart. About midnight they gazed on the scene in deep dejection.
Medoro, with tears in his eyes, spoke of the good prince Dardinel, and
could not endure the thought that his body should be cast out on the
plain, deprived of funeral honors. "O my friend," said he, "must then
the body of our prince be the prey of wolves and ravens? Alas! when I
remember how he loved me, I feel that if I should sacrifice my life to
do him honor, I should not do more than my duty. I wish, dear friend,
to seek out his body on the battlefield, and give it burial, and I hope
to be able to pass through King Charles's camp without discovery, as
