LXXXIX
And turned anew to Olivier, to speed
The warrior's soul more promptly on its way;
Or at the least that baron to impede.
And him beneath his courser keep at bay:
Bold Olivier, whose better arm was freed,
And with his sword could fend him as he lay,
Meanwhile so smites and longes, there and here,
That at sword's length he holds the ancient peer.
XC
He hopes, if him but little he withstood,
He shall be straight delivered from that pain:
He sees him wholly strained and wet with blood,
And that he spills so much from open vein,
'Twould seem he speedily must be subdued,
So weak he hardly can himself sustain.
Often and oft to rise the Marquis strove,
Yet could not from beneath his courser move.
XCI
Brandimart has found out the royal Moor,
And storms about that paynim cavalier;
Upon Frontino, like a lathe, before,
Beside, or whirling in the warrior's rear.
A goodly horse the Christian champion bore;
Nor worse the southern king's in the career:
That Brigliador, Rogero's gift he crost,
Erewhile, by haughty Mandricardo lost.
XCII
Great vantage has he, on another part:
Of proof and perfect is his iron weed.
His at a venture took Sir Brandimart,
As he could have in haste in suchlike need;
But hopes (his anger puts him so in heart)
To change it for a better coat with speech;
Albeit the Moorish king, with bitter blow,
Has made the blood from his right should flow.
XCIII
Him in the flank Gradasso too had gored;
(Nor this was laughing matter) so had scanned
His vantage that redoubted paynim lord,
He found a place wherein to plant his brand;
He broke the warrior's shield, his left arm bored,
And touched him slightly in the better hand.
But this was play, was pastime (might be said),
With Roland's and Gradasso's battle weighed.
XCIV
Gradasso has Orlando half disarmed;
Atop and on both sides his helm has broke:
Fallen is his shield, his cuirass split; but harmed
The warrior is not by the furious stroke,
Which opened plate and mail; for he is charmed;
And worser vengeance on the king has wroke,
In face, throat, breast has gored that cavalier,
Beside the wounds whereof I spake whilere.
XCV
Gradasso, desperate when he descried
Himself all wet, and smeared with sanguine dye,
And Roland, all from head to foot espied,
After such mighty strokes unstained and dry,
Thinking head, breast, and belly to divide,
With both his hands upheaved his sword on high;
And, even as he devised, upon the front,
Smote with mid blade Anglantes' haughty count.
XCVI
And would by any other so have done;
— Would to the saddle-tree have cleft him clean:
But the good sword, as if it fell upon
Its flat, rebounds again, unstained and sheen.
The furious stroke astounded Milo's son
By whom some scattered stars on earth were seen.
He drops the bridle and would drop the brand,
But that a chain secures it to his hand.
XCVII
So by the noise was scared the horse that bore
Upon his back Anglantes' cavalier.
The courser scowered about the powdery shore,
Showing how good his speed in the career:
The County by that stroke astounded sore,
Has not the power the frightened horse to steer.
Gradasso follows and will reach him, so
That he but little more pursues the foe;
XCVIII
But turning round, beholds the royal Moor
To the utmost peril in that battle brought;
For by the shining helmet which he wore,
With the left hand, him Brandimart had caught;
Already had unlaced the casque before,
And with his dagger would new ill have wrought:
Nor much defence could make the Moorish lord;
For Brandimart as well had reft his sword.