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Chapter 14


ZERBINO'S pain at seeing the Tartar prince go off with the sword
surpassed the anguish of his wound; but now the loss of blood so
reduced his strength, that he could not move from where he fell.
Isabella, not knowing whither to resort for help, could only bemoan
him, and chide her cruel fate. Zerbino said, "If I could but leave
thee, my best beloved, in some secure abode, it would not distress
me to die; but to abandon thee so, without protection, is sad indeed."
She replied, "Think not to leave me, dearest; our souls shall not be
parted; this sword will give me the means to follow thee." Zerbino's
last words implored her to banish such a thought, but live, and be
true to his memory. Isabella promised, with many tears, to be faithful
to him so long as life should last.
When he ceased to breathe, Isabella's cries resounded through the
forest, and reached the ears of a reverend hermit, who hastened to the
spot. He soothed and calmed her, urging those consolations which the
word of God supplies; and at last brought her to wish for nothing else
but to devote herself for the rest of life wholly to religion.
As she could not bear the thoughts of leaving her dead lord
abandoned, the body was, by the good hermit's aid, placed upon the
horse, and taken to the nearest inhabited place, where a chest was
made for it, suitable to be carried with them on their way. The
hermit's plan was to escort his charge to a monastery, not many
days' journey distant, where Isabella resolved to spend the
remainder of her life. Thus they travelled day after day, choosing the
most retired ways, for the country was full of armed men. One day a
cavalier met them, and barred their way. It was no other than
Rodomont, king of Algiers, who had just left the camp of Agramant,
full of indignation for a fancied wrong received from that leader.
At sight of the lovely lady and her reverend attendant, with their
horse laden with a burden draped with black, he asked the meaning of
their journey. Isabella told him her affliction, and her resolution to
renounce the world and devote herself to religion, and to the memory
of the friend she had lost. Rodomont laughed scornfully at this, and
told her that her project was absurd; that charms like hers were meant
to be enjoyed, not buried, and that he himself would more than make
amends for her dead lover. The monk, who promptly interposed to rebuke
this impious talk, was commanded to hold his peace; and still
persisting, was seized by the knight and hurled over the edge of the
cliff, where he fell into the sea, and was drowned.
Rodomont, when he had got rid of the hermit, again applied to the
sad lady, heartless with affright, and, in the language used by
lovers, said, "she was his very heart, his life, his light." Having
laid aside all violence, he humbly sued that she would accompany him
to his retreat, near by. It was a ruined chapel from which the monks
had been driven by the disorders of the time, and which Rodomont had
taken possession of. Isabella, who had no choice but to obey, followed
him, meditating as she went what resource she could find to escape out
of his power, and keep her vow to her dead husband, to be faithful
to his memory as long as life should last. At length she said, "If, my
lord, you will let me go and fulfil my vow, and my intention, as I
have already declared it, I will bestow upon you what will be to you
of more value than a hundred women's hearts. I know an herb, and I
have seen it on our way, which, rightly prepared, affords a juice of
such power, that the flesh, if laved with it, becomes impenetrable
to sword or fire. This liquor I can make, and will, to-day, if you
will accept my offer; and when you have seen its virtue, you will
value it more than if all Europe were made your own."
Rodomont, at hearing this, readily promised all that was asked, so
eager was he to learn a secret that would make him as Achilles was
of yore. Isabella, having collected such herbs as she thought
proper, and boiled them, with certain mysterious signs and words, at
length declared her labor done, and, as a test, offered to try its
virtue on herself. She bathed her neck and bosom with the liquor,
and then called on Rodomont to smite with all his force, and see
whether his sword had power to harm. The pagan, who during the
preparations had taken frequent draughts of wine, and scarce knew what
he did, drew his sword at the word, and struck across her neck with
all his might, and the fair head leapt sundered from the snowy neck
and breast.
Rude and unfeeling as he was, the pagan knight lamented bitterly
this sad result. To honor her memory he resolved to do a work as
unparalleled as her devotion. From all parts round he caused
laborers to be brought, and had a tower built to enclose the chapel,
within which the remains of Zerbino and Isabella were entombed. Across
the stream which flowed near by he built a bridge, scarce two yards
wide, and added neither parapet nor rail. On the top of the tower a
sentry was placed, who, when any traveller approached the bridge, gave
notice to his master. Rodomont thereupon sallied out, and defied the
approaching knight to fight him upon the bridge, where any chance step
a little aside would plunge the rider headlong in the stream. This
bridge he vowed to keep until a thousand suits of armor should be
won from conquered knights, wherewith to build a trophy to his
victim and her lord.
Within ten days the bridge was built, and the tower was in progress.
In a short time many knights, either seeking the shortest route, or
tempted by a desire of adventure, had made the attempt to pass the
bridge. All, without exception, had lost either arms or life, or both;
some falling before Rodomont's lance, others precipitated into the
river. One day, as Rodomont stood urging his workmen, it chanted
that Orlando in furious mood came thither, and approached the
bridge. Rodomont halloed to him, "Halt, churl; presume not to set foot
upon that bridge; it was not made for such as you!" Orlando took no
notice, but pressed on. Just then a gentle damsel rode up. It was
Flordelis, who was seeking her Florismart. She saw Orlando, and, in
spite of his strange appearance, recognized him. Rodomont, not used to
have his commands disobeyed, laid hands on the madman, and would
have thrown him into the river, but to his astonishment found
himself in the grip of one not so easily disposed of. "How can a
fool have such strength?" he growled between his teeth. Flordelis
stopped to see the issue, where each of these two puissant warriors
strove to throw the other from the bridge. Orlando at last had
strength enough to lift his foe with all his armor, and fling him over
the side, but had not wit to clear himself from him, so both fell
together. High flashed the wave as they together smote its surface.
Here Orlando had the advantage; he was naked, and could swim like a
fish. He soon reached the bank, and, careless of praise or blame,
stopped not to see what came of the adventure. Rodomont, entangled
with his armor, escaped with difficulty to the bank. Meantime,
Flordelis passed the bridge unchallenged.
After long wandering without success she returned to Paris, and
there found the object of her search; for Florismart, after the fall
of Albracca, had repaired thither. The joy of meeting was clouded to
Florismart by the news which Flordelis brought of Orlando's wretched
plight. The last she had seen of him was when he fell with Rodomont
into the stream. Florismart, who loved Orlando like a brother,
resolved to set out immediately, under guidance of the lady, to find
him, and bring him where he might receive the treatment suited to
his case. A few days brought them to the place where they found the
Tartar king still guarding the bridge. The usual challenge and
defiance was made, and the knights rode to encounter one another on
the bridge. At the first encounter both horses were overthrown; and,
having no space to regain their footing, fell with their riders into
the water. Rodomont, who knew the soundings of the stream, soon
recovered the land; but Florismart was carried downward by the
current, and landed at last on a bank of mud where his horse could
hardly find footing. Flordelis, who watched the battle from the
bridge, seeing her lover in this piteous case, exclaimed aloud, "Ah!
Rodomont, for love of her whom dead you honor, have pity on me, who
love this knight, and slay him not. Let it suffice he yields his armor
to the pile, and none more glorious will it bear than he." Her prayer,
so well directed, touched the pagan's heart, though hard to move,
and he lent his aid to help the knight to land. He kept him a
prisoner, however, and added his armor to the pile. Flordelis, with
a heavy heart, went her way.

We must now return to Rogero, who, when we parted with him, was
engaged in an adventure which arrested his progress to the monastery
whither he was bound with the intention of receiving baptism, and thus
qualifying himself to demand Bradamante as his bride. On his way he
met with Mandricardo, and the quarrel was revived respecting the right
to wear the badge of Hector. After a warm discussion, both parties
agreed to submit the question to King Agramant, and for that purpose
took their way to the Saracen camp. Here they met Gradasso, who had
his controversy also with Mandricardo. This warrior claimed the
sword of Orlando, denying the right of Mandricardo to possess it in
virtue of his having found it abandoned by its owner. King Agramant
strove in vain to reconcile these quarrels, and was forced at last
to consent that the points in dispute should be settled by one combat,
in which Mandricardo should meet one of the other champions, to whom
should be committed the cause of both. Rogero was chosen by lot to
maintain Gradasso's cause and his own. Great preparations were made
for this signal contest. On the appointed day it was fought in the
presence of Agramant, and of the whole army. Rogero won it; and
Mandricardo, the conqueror of Hector's arms, the challenger of
Orlando, and the slayer of Zerbino, lost his life. Gradasso received
Durindana as his prize, which lost half its value in his eyes, since
it was won by another's prowess, not his own.
Rogero, though victorious, was severely wounded, and lay helpless
many weeks in the camp of Agramant, while Bradamante, ignorant of
the cause of his delay, expected him at Montalban. Thither he had
promised to repair in fifteen days, or twenty at furthest, hoping to
have obtained by that time an honorable discharge from his obligations
to the Saracen commander. The twenty days were passed, and a month
more, and still Rogero came not, nor did any tidings reach
Bradamante accounting for his absence. At the end of that time, a
wandering knight brought news of the famous combat, and of Rogero's
wound. He added, what alarmed Bradamante still more, that Marphisa,
a female warrior, young and fair, was in attendance on the wounded
knight. He added, that the whole army expected that, as soon as
Rogero's wounds were healed, the pair would be united in marriage.
Bradamante, distressed by this news, though she believed it but in
part, resolved to go immediately and see for herself. She mounted
Rabican, the horse of Astolpho, which he had committed to her care,
and took with her the lance of gold, though unaware of its wonderful
powers. Thus accoutred, she left the castle, and took the road
toward Paris and the camp of the Saracens.
Marphisa, whose devotion to Rogero in his illness had so excited the
jealousy of Bradamante, was the twin sister of Rogero. She, with
him, had been taken in charge when an infant by Atlantes, the
magician, but while yet a child she had been stolen away by an Arab
tribe. Adopted by their chief, she had early learned horsemanship
and skill in arms, and at this time had come to the camp of Agramant
with no other view than to see and test for herself the prowess of the
warriors of either camp, whose fame rang through the world. Arriving
at the very moment of the late encounter, the name of Rogero, and some
few facts of his story which she learned, were enough to suggest the
idea that it was her brother whom she saw victorious in the single
combat. Inquiry satisfied the two of their near kindred, and from that
moment Marphisa devoted herself to the care of her new-found and
much-loved brother.
In those moments of seclusion Rogero informed his sister of what
he had learned of their parentage from old Atlantes. Rogero, their
father, a Christian knight, had won the heart of Galaciella,
daughter of the Sultan of Africa, and sister of King Agramant,
converted her to the Christian faith, and secretly married her. The
Sultan, enraged at his daughter's marriage, drove her husband into
exile, and caused her with her infant children, Rogero and Marphisa,
to be placed in a boat and committed to the winds and waves, to
perish; from which fate they were saved by Atlantes. On hearing
this, Marphisa exclaimed, "How can you, brother, leave our parents
unavenged so long, and even submit to serve the son of the tyrant
who so wronged them?" Rogero replied, that it was but lately he had
learned the full truth; that when he learned it he was already
embarked with Agramant, from whom he had received knighthood, and that
he only waited for a suitable opportunity when he might with honor
desert his standard, and at the same time return to the faith of his
fathers. Marphisa hailed this resolution with joy, and declared her
intention to join with him in embracing the Christian faith.

We left Bradamante when, mounted on Rabican and armed with
Astolpho's lance, she rode forth, determined to learn the cause of
Rogero's long absence. One day, as she rode, she met a damsel, of
visage and of manners fair, but overcome with grief. It was Flordelis,
who was seeking far and near a champion capable of liberating and
avenging her lord. Flordelis marked the approaching warrior, and,
judging from appearances, thought she had found the champion she
sought. "Are you, Sir Knight," she said, "so daring and so kind as
to take up my cause against a fierce and cruel warrior who has made
prisoner of my lord, and forced me thus to be a wanderer and a
suppliant?" Then she related the events which had happened at the
bridge. Bradamante, to whom noble enterprises were always welcome,
readily embraced this, and the rather as in her gloomy forebodings she
felt as if Rogero was forever lost to her.
Next day the two arrived at the bridge. The sentry descried them
approaching, and gave notice to his lord, who thereupon donned his
armor and went forth to meet them. Here as usual, he called on the
advancing warrior to yield his horse and arms an oblation to the tomb.
Bradamante replied, asking by what right he called on the innocent
to do penance for his crime. "Your life and your armor," she added,
"are the fittest offering to her tomb, and I, a woman, the fittest
champion to take them." With that she couched her spear, spurred her
horse, and ran to the encounter. King Rodomont came on with speed. The
trampling sounded on the bridge like thunder. It took but a moment
to decide the contest. The golden lance did its office, and that
fierce Moor, so renowned in tourney, lay extended on the bridge.
"Who is the loser now?" said Bradamante: but Rodomont, amazed that a
woman's hand should have laid him low, could not or would not
answer. Silent and sad, he raised himself, unbound his helm and
mail, and flung them against the tomb; then, sullen and on foot,
left the ground; but first gave orders to one of his squires to
release all his prisoners. They had been sent off to Africa. Besides
Florismart, there were Sansonnet and Oliver, who had ridden that way
in quest of Orlando, and had both in turn been overthrown in the
Bradamante after her victory resumed her route, and in due time
reached the Christian camp, where she readily learned an explanation
of the mystery which had caused her so much anxiety. Rogero and his
fair and brave sister, Marphisa, were too illustrious by their station
and exploits not to be the frequent topic of discourse even among
their adversaries, and all that Bradamante was anxious to know reached
her ear, almost without inquiry.
We now return to Gradasso, who by Rogero's victory had been made
possessor of Durindana. There now only remained to him to seek the
horse of Rinaldo; and the challenge, given and accepted, was yet to be
fought with that warrior, for it had been interrupted by the arts of
Malagigi. Gradasso now sought another meeting with Rinaldo, and met
with no reluctance on his part. As the combat was for the possession
of Bayard, the knights dismounted and fought on foot. Long time the
battle lasted. Rinaldo, knowing well the deadly stroke of Durindana,
used all his art to parry or avoid its blow. Gradasso struck with
might and main, but wellnigh all his strokes were spent in air, or
if they smote, they fell obliquely and did little harm.
Thus had they fought long, glancing at one another's eyes, and
seeing naught else, when their attention was arrested perforce by a
strange noise. They turned, and beheld the good Bayard attacked by a
monstrous bird. Perhaps it was a bird, for such it seemed; but when or
where such a bird was ever seen I have nowhere read, except in Turpin;
and I am inclined to believe that it was not a bird, but a fiend,
evoked from underground by Malagigi, and thither sent on purpose to
interrupt the fight. Whether a fiend or a fowl, the monster flew right
at Bayard, and clapped his wings in his face. Thereat the steed
broke loose, and ran madly across the plain, pursued by the bird, till
Bayard plunged into the wood, and was lost to sight.
Rinaldo and Gradasso, seeing Bayard's escape, agreed to suspend
their battle till they could recover the horse, the object of
contention. Gradasso mounted his steed, and followed the foot-marks of
Bayard into the forest. Rinaldo, never more vexed in spirit,
remained at the spot, Gradasso having promised to return thither
with the horse, if he found him. He did find him, after long search,
for he had the good fortune to hear him neigh. Thus he became
possessed of both the objects for which he had led an army from his
own country, and invaded France. He did not forget his promise to
bring Bayard back to the place where he had left Rinaldo; but, only
muttering, "Now I have got him, he little knows me who expects me to
give him up; if Rinaldo wants the horse, let him seek him in India, as
I have sought him in France,"- he made the best of his way to Arles,
where his vessels lay; and in possession of the two objects of his
ambition, the horse and the sword, sailed away to his own country.

Thomas Bulfinch

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