The Paladin had never seen Bujaforte; but he saw the likeness to the good old Man of the Mountain, his father; and he let go the youth’s hair, and embraced and kissed him.  “O Bujaforte!” said he; “I loved him indeed my good old man; but what does his son do here, fighting against his friend?”

Bujaforte was a long time before he could speak for weeping.  At length he said, “Orlando, let not your noble heart be pained with ill thoughts of my father’s son.  I am forced to be here by my lord and master Marsilius.  I had no friend left me in the world, and he took me into his court, and has brought me here before I knew what it was for; and I have made a shew of fighting, but have not hurt a single Christian.  Treachery is on every side of you.  Baldwin himself has a vest given him by Marsilius, that every body may know the son of his friend Gan, and do him no injury.  See there—­look how the lances avoid him.”

“Put your helmet on again,” said Orlando, “and behave just as you have done.  Never will your father’s friend be an enemy to the son.  Only take care not to come across Rinaldo.”

The hero then turned in fury to look for Baldwin, who was hastening towards him at that moment with friendliness in his looks.

“’Tis strange,” said Baldwin; “I have done my duty as well as I could, yet no body will come against me.  I have slain right and left, and cannot comprehend what it is that makes the stoutest infidels avoid me.”

“Take off your vest,” cried Orlando, contemptuously, “and you will soon discover the secret, if you wish to know it.  Your father has sold us to Marsilius, all but his honourable son.”

“If my father,” cried Baldwin, impetuously tearing off the vest, “has been such a villain, and I escape dying any longer, by God!  I will plunge this sword through his heart.  But I am no traitor, Orlando; and you do me wrong to say it.  You do me foul dishonour, and I’ll not survive it.  Never more shall you behold me alive.”

Baldwin spurred off into the fight, not waiting to hear another word from Orlando, but constantly crying out, “You have done me dishonour;” and Orlando was very sorry for what he had said, for he perceived that the youth was in despair.

And now the fight raged beyond all it had done before; and the Paladins themselves began to fall, the enemy were driven forward in such multitudes by Marsilius.  There was unhorsing of foes, and re-seating of friends, and great cries, and anguish, and unceasing labour; and twenty Pagans went down for one Christian; but still the Christians fell.  One Paladin disappeared after another, having too much to do for mortal men.  Some could not make way through the press for very fatigue of killing, and others were hampered with the falling horses and men.  Sansonetto was thus beaten to earth by the club of Grandonio; and Walter d’Amulion had his shoulders broken; and Angiolin of Bayona, having lost his lance, was thrust down