“I never yet,” answered Orlando, “made a promise which I did not keep; and, nevertheless, I own to you, that were I to make a promise like that, and even swear to keep it, I should not.  You might as well ask me to tear away the limbs from my body, and the eyes out of my head.  I could as soon live without breath itself, as cease loving Angelica.”

Agrican bad scarcely patience enough to let the speaker finish, ere he leaped furiously on horseback, though it was midnight.  “Quit her,” said he, “or die!”

Orlando, seeing the infidel getting up, and not being sure that he would not add treachery to fierceness, had been hardly less quick in mounting for the combat.  “Never!” exclaimed he.  “I never could have quitted her if I would; and now I wouldn’t if I could.  You must seek her by other means than these.”

Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the night-time, on the green mead.  Despiteful and terrible were the blows they gave and took by the moonlight.  There was no need of their looking out for one another, night-time though it was.  Their business was to take as sharp heed of every movement, as if it had been noon-day.[4]

Agrican fought in a rage:  Orlando was cooler.  And now the struggle had lasted more than five hours, and dawn began to be visible, when the Tartar king, furious to find so much trouble given him, dealt his enemy a blow sharp and violent beyond conception.  It cut the shield in two, as if it had been a cheesecake; and though blood could not be drawn from Orlando, because he was fated, it shook and bruised him, as if it had started every joint in his body.

His body only, however; not a particle of his soul.  So dreadful was the blow which the Paladin gave in return, that not only shield, but every bit of mail on the body of Agrican, was broken in pieces, and three of his left ribs cut asunder.

The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword with still greater vehemence than before, and dealt a blow on the Paladin’s helmet, such as he had never yet received from mortal man.  For a moment it took away his senses.  His sight failed; his ears tinkled; his frightened horse turned about to fly; and he was falling from the saddle, when the very action of falling jerked his head upwards, and with the jerk he regained his recollection.

“O my God!” thought he, “what a shame is this! how shall I ever again dare to face Angelica!  I have been fighting, hour after hour, with this man, and he is but one, and I call myself Orlando.  If the combat last any longer, I will bury myself in a monastery, and never look on sword again.”