“Agramant, the Moorish prince, possesses a ring stolen from a queen of India, which has power to render of no avail all enchantments.  Agramant, knowing that Rogero is of more importance to him than any one of his warriors, is desirous of rescuing him from the power of the enchanter, and has sent for that purpose Brunello, the most crafty and sagacious of his servants, provided with his wonderful ring, and he is even now at hand, bent on this enterprise.  But, beautiful Bradamante, as I desire that no one but yourself shall have the glory of delivering from thraldom your future spouse, listen while I disclose the means of success.  Following this path which leads by the seashore, you will come ere long to a hostelry, where the Saracen Brunello will arrive shortly before you.  You will readily know him by his stature, under four feet, his great disproportioned head, his squint eyes, his livid hue, his thick eyebrows joining his tufted beard.  His dress, moreover, that of a courier, will point him out to you.

“It will be easy for you to enter into conversation with him, announcing yourself as a knight seeking combat with the enchanter, but let not the knave suspect that you know anything about the ring.  I doubt not that he will be your guide to the castle of the enchanter.  Accept his offer, but take care to keep behind him till you come in sight of the brilliant dome of the castle.  Then hesitate not to strike him dead, for the wretch deserves no pity, and take from him the ring.  But let him not suspect your intention, for by putting the ring into his mouth he will instantly become invisible, and disappear from your eyes.”

Saying thus, the sage Melissa and the fair Bradamante arrived near the city of Bordeaux, where the rich and wide river Garonne pours the tribute of its waves into the sea.  They parted with tender embraces.  Bradamante, intent wholly on her purpose, hastened to arrive at the hostelry, where Brunello had preceded her a few moments only.  The young heroine knew him without difficulty.  She accosted him, and put to him some slight questions, to which he replied with adroit falsehoods.  Bradamante, on her part, concealed from him her sex, her religion, her country, and the blood from whence she sprung.  While they talk together, sudden cries are heard from all parts of the hostelry.  “O queen of heaven!” exclaimed Bradamante, “what can be the cause of this sudden alarm?” She soon learned the cause.  Host, children, domestics, all, with upturned eyes, as if they saw a comet or a great eclipse, were gazing on a prodigy which seemed to pass the bounds of possibility.  She beheld distinctly a winged horse, mounted with a cavalier in rich armor, cleaving the air with rapid flight.  The wings of this strange courser were wide extended, and covered with feathers of various colors.  The polished armor of the knight made them shine with rainbow tints.  In a short time the horse and rider disappeared behind the summits of the mountains.