Rogero passed the night before the day assigned for the battle like that which the felon spends, condemned to pay the forfeit of his life on the ensuing day.  He chose to fight with sword only, and on foot, for he would not let her see Frontino, knowing that she would recognize the steed.  Nor would he use Balisarda, for against that enchanted blade all armor would be of no avail, and the sword that he did take he hammered well upon the edge to abate its sharpness.  He wore the surcoat of Prince Leo, and his shield, emblazoned with a golden, double-headed eagle.  The prince took care to let himself be seen by none.

Bradamante, meanwhile, prepared herself for the combat far differently.  Instead of blunting the edge of her falchion she whets the steel, and would fain infuse into it her own acerbity.  As the moment approached she seemed to have fire within her veins, and waited impatiently for the trumpet’s sound.  At the signal she drew her sword, and fell with fury upon her Rogero.  But as a well-built wall or aged rock stands unmoved the fury of the storm, so Rogero, clad in those arms which Trojan Hector once wore, withstood the strokes which stormed about his head and breast and flank.  Sparks flew from his shield, his helm, his cuirass; from direct and back strokes, aimed now high, now low, falling thick and fast, like hailstones on a cottage roof; but Rogero, with skilful ward, turns them aside, or receives them where his armor is a sure protection, careful only to protect himself, and with no thought of striking in return.  Thus the hours passed away, and, as the sun approached the west, the damsel began to despair.  But so much the more her anger increases, and she redoubles her efforts, like the craftsman who sees his work unfinished while the day is wellnigh spent.  O miserable damsel! didst thou know whom thou wouldst kill,—­if, in that cavalier matched against thee thou didst but know Rogero, on whom thy very life-threads hang, rather than kill him thou wouldst kill thyself, for he is dearer to thee than life.

King Charles and the peers, who thought the cavalier to be the Grecian prince, viewing such force and skill exhibited, and how without assaulting her the knight defended himself, were filled with admiration, and declared the champions well matched, and worthy of each other.

When the sun was set Charlemagne gave the signal for terminating the contest, and Bradamante was awarded to Prince Leo as a bride.  Rogero, in deep distress, returned to his tent.  There Leo unlaced his helmet, and kissed him on both cheeks.  “Henceforth,” said he, “do with me as you please, for you cannot exhaust my gratitude.”  Rogero replied little, laid aside the ensigns he had worn, and resumed the unicorn, then hasted to withdraw himself from all eyes.  When it was midnight he rose, saddled Frontino, and sallied from his tent, taking that direction which pleased his steed.  All night he rode absorbed in bitter woe, and called on Death as alone capable of relieving his sufferings.  At last he entered a forest, and penetrated into its deepest recesses.  There he unharnessed Frontino, and suffered him to wander where he would.  Then he threw himself down on the ground, and poured forth such bitter wailings that the birds and beasts, for none else heard him, were moved to pity with his cries.