The Iron Tempest (35 page)

“The thankless, ingrateful heathen!” she choked. “How could he agree to this duel? If he kills my brother, I’ll detest him to the day I die! He’ll have murdered our love as surely as if he had driven a lance through my heart. I’d make it my sworn life’s work to see him as dead as Renaud!”

“He may not succeed in killing your brother.”

“Oh, and that’d be so much better? Seeing Rashid dying at the hand of Renaud is something I couldn’t bear—the idea is unthinkable! I couldn’t live after that. I wouldn’t!”

“I don’t believe I ever told you,” said Marfisa, a blush suffusing her dark face with a ruddy glow, like cherry liqueur in chocolate, “that I once nearly killed Renaud myself.”

“
You?
”

“Why’re you so surprised? He’s never told you? It happened many years ago, when all our careers were still young. Shall I tell you all about it?”

“Could I stop you?”

“Don’t be obstinate,” said the Moor and began to relate

M
ARFISA’S
S
TORY.

I once met Renaud and Iroldo, along with a knight named Prasildo, by the River Drada. It was Prasildo who recognised me. “Unless I’m greatly mistaken,” I heard him say, “what we see here is a heathen maiden named Marfisa. You can search the whole world, every kingdom, every road, wherever you will, but you’ll not find anyone fiercer.” It was clear that my reputation had preceded me and I admit that I found it gratifying to hear myself so greatly appreciated. I could see the baron wasn’t finished, so I kept my peace, curious to see what further truths would issue from his lips. “Therefore, Renaud,” he continued, “if you joust with her it’s at your own peril. I’ve no qualms in suggesting that we turn back right now”—good advice, I thought, though I would have hated missing a good fight—“and the sooner the better. Believe me, you won’t regret it. I don’t know if she’s taken notice of us—if not, we still have a chance of escaping with our lives. But once she’s gotten hold of us, her talons’ll never let go. There’s just no defense against power like hers.”

I could see that Roland and Renaud foolishly doubted this, from the utter contempt with which they looked at their fellow knight. No doubt they thought him the rankest coward instead of the very wise man he truly was. I remember hearing Renaud laugh. “Well,” he said, “I’m very grateful for your concern, but I think I’ll just test this maiden for myself, if you don’t mind.” I was sure I’d never heard anything so foolish in all my life.

It was nearly noon. Renaud took up his shield and lance and charged me. At least one of this gang of conversationalists, I thought, has some courage. It would be a shame that he’d have to be the first to die, but there you are. As I watched him gallop toward me, I considered his horse already mine. I settled into my saddle and awaited the collision. But just then—when no more than a yard separated our lance points—a herald arrived at the riverbank and Renaud stayed his charge. He bore a message from King Galafron, to whom I owed my allegiance at that time. “The king has only you, Lady Marfisa,” he cried, “and all his hopes are in your hands. It’s to you alone that he pleads help, to allow your courage and power to bring you everlasting fame.”

“And how am I to do this thing?” I replied with considerable annoyance. I didn’t mind the flattery so much, you understand, as the interruption in the duel. I was anxious to get on with it, as I’m sure you must understand.

[“Of course,” replied Bradamant.]

Well [continued Marfisa], the herald replied that Galafron desired me to capture Agrican, the emperor of Tartary. “He thinks he can oppose the whole earth!” cried the herald. “His Highness, King Galafron, desires that you either slaughter him or put him in his proper place!”

“Now just a moment!” I answered hotly. “Have no fear about me being slow to join a battle! As soon as these three knights are my prisoners—which should be quick enough I imagine—I’ll turn them over to you and be on my way to Agrican. And tell Galafron I’ll do my best to take the man alive.”

Then, seeing there was little time to be wasted, I turned back to where Renaud waited. I shouted to him and to his companions that, seeing as I had pressing business elsewhere, I’d take them all on at one time.

[“Good heavens, Marfisa!” cried Bradamant. “Had you no idea whom you were facing?”

“I doubt it would have mattered much,” Marfisa replied and continued with her story.]

Prasildo was the first to spur his horse, taking no notice, apparently, of his more famous companions. His lance shattered like an icicle against my armor. In truth I scarcely noticed the blow. Prasildo, however, certainly did. He flew from his saddle like a stone from a sling, landing on the sandy riverbank with a heavy thud.

“Quickly now!” I cried to the others. “Hurry up! You heard the herald, so you know I’m in a hurry! Agrican’s doom awaits me!”

Iroldo was next. I could see that I had the advantage of his fury—going into a fight angry is always a mistake. Seeing his companion made my prisoner obviously upset him. Well, if he missed his friend I made him happy, for Iroldo soon joined Prasildo on the riverbank.

That left only your brother.

You have to know that the lance I was bearing was as massive as the trunk of a fair-sized tree. It was made of bone and sinew. Renaud’s weapon looked no smaller or less formidable. Nevertheless, when its point struck my helmet, it may as well’ve struck the stone turret of a castle. There wasn’t a fragment left that was larger than my thumb. It was a shame to see something so beautiful destroyed, but there you are. Angry at the needless delay I’d been forced to undergo, I struck Renaud a blow with the butt of my lance—the first blow I’d struck during the entire duel! I bent the man backwards so far his head nearly touched the rump of his horse. When I glanced at the weapon in my hand I saw to my surprise that it’d split its entire length. I’d used that lance one hundred and six times and it’d always held, so you can’t only imagine the force of that blow, but the shock it gave me to see the lance ruined. I was amazed—and saddened, for there was my faithful and favorite weapon destroyed and for nothing: Renaud retained his seat. I cursed the gods in my anger, accusing Macon of being evil and unjust and calling Trivigant a horny old goat. “Why,” I cried to them, “do you allow that knight to keep his saddle? I dare either or both of you to descend from heaven and show yourselves! Cowards! Select whatever weapon you prefer and I’ll guarantee to leave your corpses spread across the field! You don’t fear me because you know I can’t fly into the heavens, but if I
can
find a way be forewarned! I’ll kill all of you gods! I’ll burn Paradise! I’ll raze the towers of heaven to the ground!”

I was so angry that I scarcely noticed that Renaud had regained his wits and was again charging me. I merely laughed out loud. Why should he worry me? I said to him with as much contempt as I could muster: “Why don’t you run along, you miserable wretch? I’ve got much more important business to take care of. Does being knocked senseless give you some sort of thrill? I might as well warn you now: if you force me to, I’ll strip you of your armor and give you the beating of your life!”

Renaud might as well have been deaf for all the good my warnings did. He rode right up to me and swung his sword at my helmet. I have to say in all honesty that I hardly felt a thing.

[“That’s hard to believe, Marfisa,” said Bradamant. “That sword was Fusberta—it should have cut you in half like a cheese.”

“What can I say? What happened, happened.”]

By this time I’d had enough of this. There were after all more important things awaiting me. It took only three blows from my sword to slice his shield to pieces, shatter his armor and draw blood from his side. I grinned when I saw that Renaud’d finally lost his temper: I’d obviously wounded something more precious than his flesh.

I doubt if Renaud’d ever experienced a battle like that one. He threw the remnant of his shield away and attacked with his sword held in both hands. To my astonishment, the blow sent my shield flying and I felt a terrific shock in my left shoulder. I dropped my reins more from astonishment than pain. I was infuriated by Renaud’s counterattack. I raised myself in my stirrups and swung at Renaud just as he struck at me again. Our blades met in a shower of sparks. What was the name of your brother’s sword again?

[“Fusberta”]

Yes. Fusberta cut my own sword in two as though it were made of wood. The point went spinning away to impale itself into the earth like a dart. That blade was the most valuable thing I owned and I believe I went mad for a time. I abandoned all of my art and rained blows upon Renaud like an angry wife. For his part, he kept his cool and managed to parry all of my wild srokes. Thinking that I saw an opening in his guard, I took a vicious swipe at his head. If it had landed, I can tell you that you would not be worrying today about your brother’s fate. As it were, he ducked beneath my swing and landed such a powerful right-handed blow that the stump of my sword fell from my numbed hand.

If I had been mad before, I was a fury now. There had never in the world been a frenzy to equal mine. I dug my spurs cruelly deep into my horse and it leaped like a Pegasus. I flew into Renaud like a rabid boar. With my fists alone I pummeled at his armored face. I battered him so ferociously he must’ve thought the first part of our duel was childsplay. I was thrilled to see blood streaming from beneath his helmet—spurting from nose and mouth and ears.

[“I think,” said Bradamant, “that if Renaud hadn’t possessed the magic helmet of Mambrino, you would have knocked his head off!”

“Was that what it was? Well, no doubt about that whatsoever!”]

In spite of that defense, I could see that I’d rattled his brains. I think for a short while he lost his senses, too, just as I had. In any event, stunned as he was, Renaud managed to retain his seat. I was about to take advantage of his confusion and end the fight then and there when his horse bolted, flying away from me so swiftly that its hooves barely disturbed the flowers and grass beneath them.

[“That would have been Rabican. There never was a swifter horse.”

I can tell you I was shocked speechless. I retrieved my sword and set off in pursuit. I was almost upon Renaud when I could see him shake his head. As soon as he regained his wits, he reined in his great steed and wheeled around to face me. I could see in his face that the end of the duel was imminent. It was in the full fury of revenge and it was made no prettier for the blood that streamed down it.

Thinking that an angry man makes a careless opponent, I taunted him further: “What a display of cowardice!” I cried. “You low, vile soul! Look at you! Running from a woman! What would Count Roland say if he could see you now, unable to defeat a maiden?”

He squeezed the hilt of his sword so tightly I thought that metal would soon start oozing from between his fingers. We’d fought for nearly an entire day without much to be said for either side, I admit. Renaud hadn’t a seam or plate of his armor that wasn’t split or cracked somewhere. I could actually feel the shame that radiated from him. I felt some little remorse at having so greatly embarassed and disgraced such a famous knight. I knew that in spite of my own fame as a warrior he’d still be vituperated for allowing a woman to make him yield more than he had advanced.

I would have cared more if I myself hadn’t been so enraged. And I have to admit that I showed it more than he did. I raged, I screamed, I growled and hissed like an animal. I wished aloud that I’d never been born since in all my life I’d never spent so much time fighting an enemy with so little result. My shield’d been hacked to pieces and my sword cut short and, I admit, I was growing tired and sore. Yet I still had one advantage over your brother: because of my enchanted armor, I had yet to spill even a single droplet of my own blood.

At about this time, I heard the approach of a large number of horses. I glanced over my shoulder and was astonished to see that an entire army had gathered on the hilltop to watch my fight with Renaud. I could see from the banners that it belonged to King Galafron—whom I recognized in the first ranks. I learned later that he’d paused in his pursuit of Agrican just to watch me. I had no idea at the time, of course, but the horse that Renaud was riding—

[“Rabican.”]

Yes. Rabican. Where do you get these names? Anyway, I hadn’t known that this horse had once been owned by Galafron’s son, Argali. Assuming that Renaud was the assassin Feragu, who had stolen the animal, the king took his sword in both hands and charged your brother from behind! Before I could react, he’d struck such a blow that Renaud was knocked half out of his saddle.

I flew into a blind rage at that—king or no king, how dare he interfere in my duel? I turned from Renaud and attacked the old man. It took only a second to unhorse the interloper and place the stump of my sword at his throat. If it’d had a point, he would’ve died then and there.

While the king’s life hung suspended by a thread, Brandimart and Antifor had arrived. Neither one knew me by sight and assumed with some justification that I must be someone from Agrican’s camp. I first knew of this misapprehension when I heard thundering hooves and war cries from behind me. It doesn’t say much for Galafron’s cowardly army that none of them’d yet raised so much as a finger to help their king nor did even one of them follow the two knights to his defense. Well, even though I was on foot and nearly exhausted, it wasn’t much effort to unhorse the first knight to reach me—who I learned later was Antifor, the king of Albarossia. He flew from his saddle like a pinwheel and was unconscious before he struck the ground. The other, Brandimart, wasn’t nearly so easy. Indeed, I’d never met anyone so nearly my match. He knew every art of combat as well I did.

Renaud, I saw from the corner of my eye, had withdrawn from the field and was watching my battle with no little amusement—no doubt pleased to see two Saracens fighting to the death. He probably considered that any disagreement between pagans was entirely out of the hands of his God, and if that deity felt no need to intercede it would be far from him to usurp the task for himself. In any event, Antifor had recovered sufficiently enough to regain his feet, as so had Galafron. Retrieving their weapons, they set upon me, three to one now. Normally I would’ve welcomed such interesting odds, but as you can imagine I was nearly exhausted by then, having already spent most of the day battling Renaud. I felt myself stumble more than once—and any of those times such an error might have proved fatal had I been fighting more skillful opponents. It was only then—obviously deciding that my defeat was a forgone conclusion—that Galafron’s cowardly army decided to charge into the fray. Five hundred men against one woman!