On the other hand, the Powers of Evil were far from being as prosperous as they wished.  They had lost the soul of Clorinda.  They had seen Godfrey healed by a secret messenger from Heaven, who dropt celestial balsam into his wound.  They had seen the return of Armida’s prisoners, who had arrived just in time to change the fortune of a battle, and drive the Pagans back within their walls.  And worse than all, they had again felt the arm of St. Michael, who had threatened them with worse consequences if they reappeared in the contest.

The fiends, however, had colleagues on earth, who plotted for them meanwhile.  The Christians had set about making another tower; but in this proceeding they were thwarted by the enchanter Ismeno, who cast his spells to better purpose this time than he had done in the affair of the stolen image.  The forest in which the Christians obtained wood for these engines lay in a solitary valley, not far from the camp.  It was very old, dark, and intricate; and had already an evil fame as the haunt of impure spirits.  No shepherd ever took his flock there; no Pagan would cut a bough from it; no traveller approached it, unless he had lost his way:  he made a large circuit to avoid it, and pointed it out anxiously to his companions.

The necessity of the Christians compelled them to defy this evil repute of the forest; and Ismeno hastened to oppose them.  He drew his line, and uttered his incantations, and called on the spirits whom St. Michael had rebuked, bidding them come and take charge of the forest—­every one of his tree, as a soul of its body.  The spirits delayed at first, not only for dread of the great angel, but because they resented the biddings of mortality, even in their own cause.  The magician, however, persisted; and his spells becoming too powerful to be withstood, presently they came pouring in by myriads, occupying the whole place, and rendering the very approach to it a task of fear and labour.  The first party of men that came to cut wood were unable to advance when they beheld the trees, but turned like children, and became the mockery of the camp.  Godfrey sent them back, with a chosen squadron to animate them to the work; but the squadron themselves, however boldly they affected to proceed, lead no sooner approached the spot, than they found reason to forgive the fears of the woodcutters.  The earth shook; a great wind began rising, with a sound of waters; and presently, every dreadful noise ever heard by man seemed mingled into one, and advancing to meet them—­roarings of lions, hissings of serpents, pealings and rolls of thunder.  The squadron went back to Godfrey, and plainly confessed that it had not courage enough to enter such a place.

A leader, of the name of Alcasto, shook his head at this candour with a contemptuous smile.  He was a man of the stupider sort of courage, without mind enough to conceive danger.  “Pretty soldiers,” exclaimed he, “to be afraid of noises and sights!  Give the duty to me.  Nothing shall stop Alcasto, though the place be the mouth of hell.”