But as Prince Arthur fell, his shield became uncovered, and suddenly there blazed forth a light of such dazzling brightness, that no eye could bear it. The giant let his arm drop to his side, and the many-headed beast turned blind and staggered so that Duessa cried out wildly, "O! help, Orgoglio, help, or we perish all!"
The giant was moved by her piteous cry, and strove to wield his weapon in her aid, but all in vain, for the bright shield had sapped his powers.
And now Prince Arthur struck at him, smiting off his right leg, and while he lay prostrate and helpless, leapt lightly upon him, and smote off his head. Lo! Orgoglio's body shrank away, and nothing was left but an empty dried-up skin—such is the end of pride.
When Duessa saw the grievous fate of Orgoglio, she cast away her golden cup, and fled fleetly from the bloody scene; but the squire, light of foot as she, speedily brought her back captive.
And now Una, who had watched the fight from afar, came forward with sober and modest gladness, hardly able to find words with which to greet and thank the victor, declaring that heaven, not she, must requite him the service he had done. She then went on to pray that since heaven and his prowess had made him master of the field, he would end that he had so fair begun, and would rescue her Red-cross Knight from the deep dungeon in which he lay.
Thereupon the Prince gave Duessa into the charge of Timias, while he himself proceeded to make forcible entrance into the castle. No living creature did he see, and when he called aloud, no man answered to his cry; but a solemn silence reigned in hall and bower.
At length there came forth an old, old man, with a beard as white as snow, who walked along with a creeping, crooked pace, and leant his feeble steps on a staff, groping his way, for his eyesight had failed him long ago. On his arm hung a bunch of keys, overgrown with rust: these were the keys of the inner doors, but he could not use them, and only kept them by him from ancient custom. It was a strange sight to watch his feeble pace, for as he moved slowly forward his face was seen to be turned backward. He was the ancient keeper of the place, foster-father to the slain Orgoglio, and his name, Ignaro, betrayed his true nature.
But the Prince honoured his grave and reverend appearance, and asked him gently where were all the dwellers in the castle, to which he replied in a quiet voice that he could not tell. Again the Prince asked where the knight whom Orgoglio had vanquished lay captive, and Ignaro replied he could not tell. Then the Prince inquired by which way he might pass into the castle, and still the old man said he could not tell; whereupon the Prince, courteous as he ever was, grew displeased, and thinking that Ignaro mocked at his questions, upbraided him, and demanded an answer befitting the gravity of the old man's years, but the reply was ever the same, he could not tell.
At this the Prince looked attentively at the aged sire, and, guessing that he was indeed ignorant, stayed his wrath in pity for his imbecility, and, stepping up to him, took the bunch of keys from his unresisting hand, and made free entrance for himself. He opened all the doors, and neither bar nor foeman presented any hindrance. He found all within furnished with great richness and splendour, but everywhere he beheld traces of the giant's cruelty. He sought through every room and every bower, but nowhere could he find the Red-cross Knight.
At length, Prince Arthur came upon an iron door, which was fast locked. He searched among the keys, but in all the bunch there was not one to open it. Presently he espied a small grating in the door, and through this he called with all his strength that he might discover whether any living wight were imprisoned there.