Part 23

XXXI Before the castle, in a meadow plain Beside the bridge’s end, he stayed and stood, Nor was entreated by the speeches vain Of his false guide, to pass beyond the flood. Upon the bridge appeared a warlike swain, From top to toe all clad in armor good, Who brandishing a broad and cutting sword, Thus threatened death with many an idle word.

XXXII “O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil, Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide, Thou canst not fly, of arms thyself despoil, And let thy hands with iron chains be tied; Enter and rest thee from thy weary toil. Within this dungeon shalt thou safe abide, And never hope again to see the day, Or that thy hair for age shall turn to gray;

XXXIII “Except thou swear her valiant knights to aid Against those traitors of the Christian crew.” Tancred at this discourse a little stayed, His arms, his gesture, and his voice he knew: It was Rambaldo, who for that false maid Forsook his country and religion true, And of that fort defender chief became, And those vile customs stablished in the same.

XXXIV The warrior answered, blushing red for shame, “Cursed apostate, and ungracious wight, I am that Tancred who defend the name Of Christ, and have been aye his faithful knight; His rebel foes can I subdue and tame, As thou shalt find before we end this fight; And thy false heart cleft with this vengeful sword, Shall feel the ire of thy forsaken Lord.”

XXXV When that great name Rambaldo’s ears did fill, He shook for fear and looked pale for dread, Yet proudly said, “Tancred, thy hap was ill To wander hither where thou art but dead, Where naught can help, thy courage, strength and skill; To Godfrey will I send thy cursed head, That he may see, how for Armida’s sake, Of him and of his Christ a scorn I make.”

XXXVI This said, the day to sable night was turned, That scant one could another’s arms descry, But soon an hundred lamps and torches burned, That cleared all the earth and all the sky; The castle seemed a stage with lights adorned, On which men play some pompous tragedy; Within a terrace sat on high the queen, And heard, and saw, and kept herself unseen.

XXXVII The noble baron whet his courage hot, And busked him boldly to the dreadful fight; Upon his horse long while he tarried not, Because on foot he saw the Pagan knight, Who underneath his trusty shield was got, His sword was drawn, closed was his helmet bright, Gainst whom the prince marched on a stately pace, Wrath in his voice, rage in his eyes and face.

XXXVIII His foe, his furious charge not well abiding, Traversed his ground, and stated here and there, But he, though faint and weary both with riding, Yet followed fast and still oppressed him near, And on what side he felt Rambaldo sliding, On that his forces most employed were; Now at his helm, not at his hauberk bright, He thundered blows, now at his face and sight.

XXXIX Against those members battery chief he maketh, Wherein man’s life keeps chiefest residence; At his proud threats the Gascoign warrior quaketh, And uncouth fear appalled every sense, To nimble shifts the knight himself betaketh, And skippeth here and there for his defence: Now with his rage, now with his trusty blade, Against his blows he good resistance made.

XL Yet no such quickness for defence he used, As did the prince to work him harm and scathe; His shield was cleft in twain, his helmet bruised, And in his blood his other arms did bathe; On him he heaped blows, with thrusts confused, And more or less each stroke annoyed him hath; He feared, and in his troubled bosom strove Remorse of conscience, shame, disdain and love.

XLI At last so careless foul despair him made, He meant to prove his fortune ill or good, His shield cast down, he took his helpless blade In both his hands, which yet had drawn no blood, And with such force upon the prince he laid, That neither plate nor mail the blow withstood, The wicked steel seized deep in his right side, And with his streaming blood his bases dyed:

XLII Another stroke he lent him on the brow, So great that loudly rung the sounding steel; Yet pierced he not the helmet with the blow, Although the owner twice or thrice did reel. The prince, whose looks disdainful anger show, Now meant to use his puissance every deal, He shaked his head and crashed his teeth for ire, His lips breathed wrath, eyes sparkled shining fire.

XLIII The Pagan wretch no longer could sustain The dreadful terror of his fierce aspect, Against the threatened blow he saw right plain No tempered armor could his life protect, He leapt aside, the stroke fell down in vain, Against a pillar near a bridge erect. Thence flaming fire and thousand sparks outstart, And kill with fear the coward Pagan’s heart.

XLIV Toward the bridge the fearful Paynim fled, And in swift flight, his hope of life reposed; Himself fast after Lord Tancredi sped, And now in equal pace almost they closed, When all the burning lamps extinguished The shining fort his goodly splendor losed, And all those stars on heaven’s blue face that shone With Cynthia’s self, dispeared were and gone.

XLV Amid those witchcrafts and that ugly shade, No further could the prince pursue the chase, Nothing he saw, yet forward still he made, With doubtful steps, and ill assured pace; At last his foot upon a threshold trad, And ere he wist, he entered had the place; With ghastly noise the door-leaves shut behind, And closed him fast in prison dark and blind.

XLVI As in our seas in the Commachian Bay, A silly fish, with streams enclosed, striveth, To shun the fury and avoid the sway Wherewith the current in that whirlpool driveth, Yet seeketh all in vain, but finds no way Out of that watery prison, where she diveth: For with such force there be the tides in brought, There entereth all that will, thence issueth naught:

XLVII This prison so entrapped that valiant knight; Of which the gate was framed by subtle train, To close without the help of human wight, So sure none could undo the leaves again; Against the doors he bended all his might, But all his forces were employed in vain, At last a voice gan to him loudly call, “Yield thee,” quoth it, “thou art Armida’s thrall.”

XLVIII “Within this dungeon buried shalt thou spend The res’due of thy woful days and years;” The champion list not more with words contend, But in his heart kept close his griefs and fears, He blamed love, chance gan he reprehend, And gainst enchantment huge complaints he rears. “It were small loss,” softly he thus begun, “To lose the brightness of the shining sun;

XLIX “But I, alas, the golden beam forego Of my far brighter sun; nor can I say If these poor eyes shall e’er be blessed so, As once again to view that shining ray:” Then thought he on his proud Circassian foe, And said, “Ah! how shall I perform that fray? He, and the world with him, will Tancred blame, This is my grief, my fault, mine endless shame.”

L While those high spirits of this champion good, With love and honor’s care are thus oppressed, While he torments himself, Argantes wood, Waxed weary of his bed and of his rest, Such hate of peace, and such desire of blood, Such thirst of glory, boiled in his breast; That though he scant could stir or stand upright, Yet longed he for the appointed day to fight.

LI The night which that expected day forewent, Scantly the Pagan closed his eyes to sleep, He told how night her sliding hours spent, And rose ere springing day began to peep; He called for armor, which incontinent Was brought by him that used the same to keep, That harness rich old Aladine him gave, A worthy present for a champion brave.

LII He donned them on, not long their riches eyed, Nor did he aught with so great weight incline, His wonted sword upon his thigh he tied, The blade was old and tough, of temper fine. As when a comet far and wide descried, In scorn of Phoebus midst bright heaven doth shine, And tidings sad of death and mischief brings To mighty lords, to monarchs, and to kings:

LIII So shone the Pagan in bright armor clad, And rolled his eyes great swollen with ire and blood, His dreadful gestures threatened horror sad, And ugly death upon his forehead stood; Not one of all his squires the courage had To approach their master in his angry mood, Above his head he shook his naked blade, And gainst the subtle air vain battle made.

LIV “The Christian thief,” quoth he, “that was so bold To combat me in hard and single fight, Shall wounded fall inglorious on the mould, His locks with clods of blood and dust bedight, And living shall with watery eyes behold How from his back I tear his harness bright, Nor shall his dying words me so entreat, But that I’ll give his flesh to dogs for meat.”

LV Like as a bull when, pricked with jealousy, He spies the rival of his hot desire, Through all the fields doth bellow, roar and cry, And with his thundering voice augments his ire, And threatening battle to the empty sky, Tears with his horn each tree, plant, bush and brier, And with his foot casts up the sand on height, Defying his strong foe to deadly fight:

LVI Such was the Pagan’s fury, such his cry. A herald called he then, and thus he spake; “Go to the camp, and in my name, defy The man that combats for his Jesus’ sake;” This said, upon his steed he mounted high, And with him did his noble prisoner take, The town he thus forsook, and on the green He ran, as mad or frantic he had been.

LVII A bugle small he winded loud and shrill, That made resound the fields and valleys near, Louder than thunder from Olympus hill Seemed that dreadful blast to all that hear; The Christian lords of prowess, strength and skill, Within the imperial tent assembled were, The herald there in boasting terms defied Tancredi first, and all that durst beside.

LVIII With sober chear Godfredo look’d about, And viewed at leisure every lord and knight; But yet for all his looks not one stepped out, With courage bold, to undertake the fight: Absent were all the Christian champions stout, No news of Tancred since his secret flight; Boemond far off, and banished from the crew Was that strong prince who proud Gernando slew: