Chapter 4 Chapter Four

At the time when this story took place, things were still chaotic.It is not uncommon for things to be misnamed, as are names, ideas, forms, and institutions.On the other hand, the world is filled with many things, phenomena and people who have neither names nor characteristics.The self-consciousness of existence, the tenacious pursuit of personal influence, and the idea that it was in conflict with everything that existed had not yet prevailed in that age, and since many people had nothing to do—either because they were poor or ignorant, or because they were content—a considerable part of the Will dissipated in the air.Then, there may also be a place where this thin will and self-consciousness condense and condense into lumps, just like tiny drops of water gather into clouds.This lump, by chance or voluntarily, met a vacant name and surname, which was so often seen in the vacant family of surnames at the time, met a military rank, met a position of clear responsibility, and—especially Yes——meeting a pair of empty armor, because there is no armor, a person who exists is also in danger of disappearing with the passage of time, we wonder what will happen to a person who does not exist... Ajilulf appeared in this way, and began to Pursue fame.

I am telling this story as Sister Teodora, member of the Order of San Colombano.I wrote in the monastery, drawing material from old papers, from gossip overheard in drawing rooms, and from the precious recollections of those who lived it.As nuns, we rarely have the opportunity to talk to the soldiers. I try to use my imagination as much as possible about the things I don’t know. Otherwise, what should I do? I don’t know all the details of this story very well. You should forgive.We are all country girls. Although we are of noble origin, we also grew up in remote castles and later entered the monastery.We have never seen anything but religious rites, tribunes, novenas, harvesting, picking grapes, scourging of slaves, incest, arson, hangings, bandits, looting, rape, and plague.How much can a poor nun know about worldly affairs? So I struggle to write this story, and writing is my way of penance.Now only God knows how I shall tell you about the war, and by the grace of God I have always kept my distance from war, having only seen four or five wild skirmishes on the plain below our castle.Even during those wars, we girls just stood between the cauldrons of boiling asphalt on the city wall and looked out from the crenels (afterwards, how many unburied dead bodies smoked on the grass Stink! The following summer, when I went to play on the lawn, I saw the dead body again in the place where a swarm of wasps was flying!), I said, I really don’t know anything about war.

Rambaldo knew nothing about it either.In his youth, all he thought of was nothing but accepting the baptism of war.Now he was standing in the line on horseback, waiting for the order to attack, and he hadn't yet experienced the special feeling in his heart.There are too many things on his body: the mesh iron cloak with shoulder pads, the breastplate connected with the neck pad, shoulder pads, and pockets, the sparrow-billed helmet that can only be seen from the inside, the decorations on the outside of the armor, A shield taller than himself, a spear that would poke his companion's head when swung, and under him was a war horse that was tightly wrapped by an iron horse cloak so that people could not see its true appearance.

His eagerness to avenge his father's murder by the blood of the caliph Issoare was almost lulled.The people had already explained it clearly to him, and they read it to him according to the few pieces of paper they had written in advance: "When the bugle sounds, you ride your horse straight to the enemy's camp, and you will surely hit the target where you point your spearhead. Yi Soare always fights above this position in the enemy formation. If you don't run wrong, you will definitely meet him, unless the enemy army is completely broken, which will not happen in the first encounter. Of course, there will always be There is a small deviation, but if you hadn't stabbed him, there would have been comrades around you who would have stepped up and shot him dead." In Lombardo's view, if the matter was nothing more than that, then he would not take it seriously. It's so heavy.

The coughing sound became the sign of the beginning of the war.He saw a burst of yellow smoke billowing in front of him, another burst of dust rose from under his feet, and the horses of the original Christians sprang forward to meet them.Rambaldo began to cough, as the entire imperial army coughed in their iron armor, urging their horses to leap towards the pile of smoke of the pagans, and gradually the coughing of the Muslims could be heard.The two clouds of dust joined together to form a large expanse all over the sky.The sound of coughing and spearing was deafening all over the plain. Stabbing your opponent in the first encounter is not as easy as dismounting your opponent, because there is a danger of the spear being broken by the shield, and because of inertia, you are also in danger of falling forward and gnawing on the ground.It is best to take advantage of the opponent’s leaping horse to turn around, and stab between his back spine and buttocks, aim! You may not be able to stab accurately, because when the spear head is downward, it is easy to hit obstacles, or even plunge into the ground, becoming into a bow that bounces you off your horse like a meatball.As a result, the clashes of the vanguard often turned into a scene of warriors flying through the air with their spears propped up.It was difficult to move sideways, because a slight turn of the spear in hand could not pierce the enemy, but had to poke the ribs of the comrades-in-arms, so it soon became a melee without distinction between friend and foe.At this moment, the warriors of the Death Squad stepped forward, held their swords high, charged into the crowd on horseback, slashed vigorously, and deftly opened up a clear front in the melee.

In the end, the warriors of the death squads on both sides confronted each other one by one.They began to duel in pairs, and the ground was covered with corpses and armor, and they struggled to move, and where they could not approach each other, they abused each other wantonly.The degree and quantity of the insult is crucial, as the insult is graded as deadly, bloody, intolerable, moderate or minor, requiring various reparations depending on the grade, or conveying a deep hatred to the future generations.It was therefore of the utmost importance to understand each other, which was a difficult matter between the Moors and the Christians, and the Moors spoke various languages ​​among themselves and among the Christians.What if someone called you a nasty word? You deserved it and deserved it for the rest of your life.So at this stage of the battle came the Interpreters, a troop of hussars, with light weapons, and on some poor horses, who trotted beside the two armies, and heard the obscene words that flew from the mouths of the people , immediately translated into the other party's language.

"Smelly shit!" "Bug shit!" "Dung! Shit! Slave! Pig! Son of a bitch!" The two sides have already reached a tacit agreement not to kill these interpreters.In addition, they can sneak very quickly. It is not easy to kill a soldier who is wearing heavy armor and riding a tall horse that can barely move his hooves because of the armor on the soles of his feet. We can imagine that, Who can do anything to these woodpeckers? Everyone knows that even if war is a slaughterhouse, someone will survive.What's more, relying on their ability to call "son of a bitch" in two languages, they got such a risky advantage.On the battlefield, people with quick hands and feet can always make a lot of extra money. If they grasp the right time to collect things on the ground, the gains are especially great. Then they must always collect all the things before a large number of infantry rush in. Loot everywhere.

When picking up things, the infantry's position is low, which is more convenient, but the cavalry sits comfortably on the horseback and just stretches out the sword in his hand and gently picks it up, and the ability to get things into their hands also amazes the infantry.Picking things up doesn't mean peeling off the dead, because stripping dead bodies is a specialized job, but picking up things that fall on the ground.Because of the habit of men and horses in full armor, many things will loosen and fall to the ground as soon as the two sides meet.At this time, who still has the mind to fight? Picking up things has become a big battle.Back at camp at night, they traded, either bartering or buying and selling in cash.Round and round, always the same things moved from camp to camp, from company to company within the same camp.Doesn't war then become a journey of these objects in people's hands? These objects become increasingly old junk in the process of passing hands.

According to Rambaldo, the situation was quite different from what had been told him beforehand.He raised his spear and rushed forward, eager to meet the beginning of the clash between the two armies.Speaking of encounters, the two armies met; but it seemed all was calculated so that each knight could pass through the gap between the two enemies without even touching each other.After the two teams continued to run in opposite directions for a while, they turned around and tried to confront each other, but they both lost the momentum to charge.Who else would have spotted the caliph among the crowd? Lombardo met a Saracens (as medieval Europeans called Arabs or Mohammedans) as thin as a codfish, and it seemed that among them Neither wanted to give way to the other: the horses shielded each other with their shields, and the horses kicked the ground with their hooves.

The Saracen, pale as lime, began to speak. "Interpreter!" shouted Rambaldo, "what did he say? Get out of the rest of the interpreters who are idling." He said he wanted you to make way for him. ""No, I want to capture him alive!" The interpreter finished; "If he tells me where the Caliph Isoare is, I'll let him go!" The Saracens pointed to a hill and shouted loudly.The interpreter said: "On the hill on the left!" Rambaldo turned the horse's head and galloped away.The caliph, dressed in grass green, is looking out towards the horizon. "Interpreter!" "Here!" "Tell him that I am the son of the Marquis Rosilione, and I have come to avenge my father." The interpreter delivered the message, and the caliph raised a hand with five fingers together. "Who is he?" "Who is my father? This is your new insult to him!" Rambaldo waved and drew his long sword.The Caliph followed suit, drawing a sharp dagger.Just when Rambaldo was at a disadvantage, the Saracen with a face as pale as lime ran over panting, shouting something loudly.

"Gentlemen, please stop!" The interpreter hurriedly translated, "Forgive me, I made a mistake: Caliph Issoare is on the hill on the right! This one is Caliph Abdul.". "Thank you! You are a respectable gentleman!" Rambaldo said, taking a step back from his horse, raising his sword to bid farewell to Caliph Abdul, and then galloped to the opposite hill. When the news came that Rambaldo was the son of the Marquis, Caliph Issoare said: "What?" They had to repeat it aloud in his ear. At last he understood, and raised his sword.Rambaldo charged at him.But when fighting in close combat, he suspected that this person was not Isoare, and his energy dropped a little.He tried his best to concentrate on fighting, but the more he concentrated, the more he doubted the identity of the opponent. This indecision became his Achilles' heel.The Moor approached him step by step.At this time, a fierce battle was raging around them, and an Islamic officer defended left and right in the center of the vortex of the melee, and suddenly gave a loud roar. Rambardo's opponent, hearing the cry, raised his shield, asked for a pause, and answered with a word. "What did he say?" Rambaldo asked the interpreter. "He said: OK, Caliph Issoare, I will send the glasses right away!" , you Christians don’t know what glasses are, they are lenses to correct eyesight. Because of myopia, Isoare had to wear glasses in battle, but the lenses are made of glass, and he has to break them every time he fights A pair of spectacles, and I am responsible for replenishing him with new spectacles. Therefore, I beg you to stop fighting, otherwise, the Caliph will be defeated because of his poor eyesight." "Oh, Mirror Officer!" Rambaldo roared angrily. In his rage, he didn't know whether he should beat his opponent to death or rush to kill the real Issoare. However, what is a war with a blind enemy? What's the matter? "Sir, you should let me go," said the glasses delivery man again, "because it is stipulated in the gauntlet that Issoare should maintain good health, and if he cannot see, he will lose the battle!" He waved the spectacles in his hand glasses, and shouted into the distance: "Come, Caliph, the glasses will be delivered immediately!" "No!" said Rambaldo, slashing at him with a wave of his hand, smashing the glass to pieces. At that same instant, as if the sound of shattering glasses had signaled his death, Issoare was stabbed in the chest by a Christian spear. The officer who delivered the glasses said: "Now he sees the beauty of heaven and doesn't need glasses anymore." He rode away. The body of the caliph fell from the saddle and hung upside down with his feet caught in the stirrups, and the horse dragged the body along until it reached Rambaldo's feet. Seeing the dead Issoare lying on the ground, he felt ups and downs, mixed feelings, and even some contradictions. Among them was the joy of finally succeeding in avenging his father, and some felt that he had broken the spectacles of the Caliph and caused his death. Doubts about whether the method could be regarded as fulfilling the responsibility of revenge, and the shock when he suddenly found that the target he was chasing lost, all of these only existed in his heart for a short moment.Then, he felt that the burden of revenge thoughts that had been weighing on his heart during the battle had been lifted, and he felt extremely relaxed.He can run freely, look left and right, look around, as if wings have grown on his feet, and he can fly. Before that, he was so focused on killing the caliph that he didn't notice the progress of the battle at all, and he had no time to think about what the outcome of the battle would be like.Now he felt that everything around him was so strange, and only then did he feel fear and panic.Corpses were strewn all over the place.Men lay down in straggling stragglers beneath their armor, as if some breastplates, legplates, or other iron bodyguards had fallen in heaps on the ground.Only some arms or thighs are still up in the air.Some parts of the heavy armor were cracked, and the internal organs were exposed from there, as if the inside of the armor was not a complete human body, but some viscera and intestines were filled carelessly, and they would flow out whenever they met a crack. The sight agitated Rambaldo.Could he forget that there were hot-blooded men who animated and animated these iron shells? There was a life under every piece of armor, except one, or he felt that the invisible man of the white knight , Intangible people are all over the battlefield at this time. He rode fast.He did not want to meet anyone alive, friend or foe. He came to a small valley.There was no sign of people here except for the dead bodies and the flies buzzing on them.When the battle has reached a temporary truce, or the fierce battle has moved to the other side of the battlefield.On his horse, Rambaldo looked carefully around.There was a sound of hoofbeats, and a warrior on horseback appeared on a mountain ridge.He was a Saracen! He looked around quickly, tightened his bridle, and fled.Rambaldo whipped his horse and gave chase.Now he was on the ridge too, and he saw the Saracens galloping across the meadows in the distance, and disappeared again in a walnut grove.Lombardo's steed shot out like a sharp arrow, as if it had been waiting for this opportunity to run.Young people are happy.At last, under the lifeless shell, the horse is like a horse, and the man is like a person.Saracens turn right.Why? At this moment Lombardo was sure he could catch him.But another Saracen jumped out of the bushes on the right and blocked his way.The two infidels turned and faced him together: ambushed! Rambaldo rushed forward with his sword raised, and shouted: "Coward." The later one fought him.I saw two horns on his black helmet, which looked like a hornet.The young man parried the blow and pushed it back so that the back of the opponent's sword struck his own shield, but the horse suddenly swerved and the original one approached him. Using the sword and shield together, both attacking and defending, he can only let his horse clamp its legs and move left and right on the spot. "Coward!" he yelled, really angry.It was a tough fight, he was dealing with two enemies at the same time, he gradually felt exhausted, he was really exhausted, maybe Lombardo was about to die, the world must still exist at this time, he didn't know whether it was sad or not to die now sad. Those two came to him together, and he retreated.He gripped the hilt as if for his own life; if his sword were to drop, he would be doomed.At this moment, at this critical moment, he heard the sound of galloping horses.When the two enemies heard the sound, they retreated from him as if they heard the drums of war.They raised their shields to protect them and fell back.Lombardo also turned, and he saw coming from behind a knight wearing the emblem of the Christian army and wearing a lavender cloak over his armor.With a swift whirl of a light spear he drove the Saracens back. Now, Rambaldo fights alongside unknown knights.The knight twirled his spear all the time.One of the enemy soldiers made a false move, trying to knock the spear out of his hand.At this time, the knight in purple hung the spear on the hook of the back frame, and drew out a short sword.He threw himself on the pagan, and the two began to fight, and Lombardo, watching the skillful use of the short sword by the unknown rescuer, almost forgot everything else, and stood there admiringly.However, after only a moment, another enemy rushed towards him, and the shields of the two collided heavily. So, he fought beside the purple knight.Whenever the enemy retreated due to a failed attack, the two of them quickly exchanged positions and confronted the opponent one after another. In this way, they dazzled the enemy with their different skilled tactics.Fighting beside a comrade is much more beautiful than fighting alone: ​​mutual encouragement, mutual comfort, the warmth of the enemy's present tension and the comfort of having a friend in his company. In order to cheer up his spirits, Rambaldo called out to his companion from time to time, but the other remained silent.The young man understood that it is better to speak less in battle, so he kept silent.But he regretted not being able to hear his companion's voice. The fierce battle became more tense.The purple warrior unhorsed his Saracen.The man landed on both feet and fled into the bushes.The other sprang at Rambaldo, but broke the tip of his sword in the fight, and fearing to be captured alive, he turned his horse and fled as well. "Thank you, brother," said Rambaldo to his rescuer, lifting his mask to reveal his face, "you have saved my life!" and offering him his hand, "I am the Marquis of Rossilione. Rambaldo of home, young knight." The purple knight didn't answer.He did not give his name, he did not shake the hand extended by Rambaldo, and he did not show his face.The young man's face was flushed: "Why didn't you answer me?" The man turned his horse's head and galloped away. "Knight, although I owe you a favor, I will still regard this behavior of yours as a great insult to me!" Rambaldo shouted loudly, but the purple knight had gone away. Gratitude to the unknown rescuer, the tacit understanding in the battle, the anger at the unexpected rudeness, the curiosity about the mysterious person, the tenacious struggle that has not yet subsided because the victory is about to subside, Rambal He couldn't stop, so he urged his horse to go after the purple knight, and shouted: "No matter who you are, I will take revenge!" He kicked the horse with spurs, kicked and kicked, but the horse did not move.He pulled on the bit and the horse fell headfirst.He moved the front of the saddle, and the horse rocked a few times, like a wooden horse.He had to take off the horse clothes.He lifted the horse's mask and saw the horse rolling its eyes: it was dead.The Saracens pierced the horse's coat with a sword through the seam between the two pieces, and stabbed the heart. If it hadn't been for the iron vest that tied the horse's hooves and crotch tightly, making the horse stand still as if rooted in the ground, The horse has long since fallen.In an instant, Lombardo's regret for the brave horse who had served so faithfully until he died standing overwhelmed his anger, and he put his arms around the neck of the statue-like horse and kissed its cool cheek.Then he recovered his composure, wiped away his tears, jumped off his horse, and ran away. But where could he go? He scuttled along the dimly discernible wild trails, and came to a river whose banks were overgrown with trees, and there was no sign of war in the vicinity.No trace of the strange warrior had disappeared.Rambaldo walked forward at a leisurely pace.He was discouraged, knowing that the man had escaped.But he still thought: "I will definitely find him, even if he is in the remotest corners of the world!" After such a hot morning, what torments him most now is thirst.He went down to the river bank to drink water when he heard the branches of the trees rustling.A war horse was loosely tied to a walnut tree by a trip rope and was grazing the grass on the ground. The heavy horse clothes were taken off and spread out not far from the horse.Undoubtedly it was the horse of the strange knight, so the knight was not too far away! Rambaldo dived into the reeds to search. When he came to the bank, he poked his head out through the leaves of the reeds, and there he saw the warrior.His head and back were still huddled in the hard helmet and breastplate, like a crustacean, but the armor of his thighs, knees, and calves had been taken off. In short, he was completely naked from the waist down, and his bare feet stepped in the river. stones, bouncing and bouncing.Rambaldo could not believe his eyes.Because the naked part indicated a woman: a smooth belly covered with fine golden hair, round pink buttocks, and long elastic girlish legs.The girl's lower body (the other half with the carapace is now an inhuman and indescribable form) rotated in a circle, looking for a suitable place, she put one foot on the side of a stream and the other foot. On the other side, the knees were bent, the armlets were on the palms of the knees, the head was stretched forward, the back was arched back, and the posture was graceful and deliberate, and he began to urinate.She is a well-proportioned woman with golden hair and noble bearing.Rambaldo was instantly smitten with it. The young female warrior walked down the river bank, immersed herself in the water, and briskly poured water to bathe, her body trembling slightly.She hopped lightly up the bank on her pink bare feet.At this moment she found that Rambaldo was watching her from among the reeds. "Pig! Dog! (in German)" she snapped, drawing a dagger from her waist and throwing it at him.The gesture was one of those vicious flicks that a woman throws at a man's head when she's in a fit of rage, a plate or a broom or whatever is in her hands, lost the precision of a man accustomed to weapons. In short, not a single hair on Rambaldo's head was hurt.The boy slipped away timidly.After a while, however, he longed to see her again, to express his love to her in some way.He heard the horse's front hooves and he ran to the grass, but the horse was no longer there, she was gone.As the sun went down, he remembered that the whole day had passed. After a long walk, he felt very tired physically, and the ensuing lucky event stimulated his brain into a state of excitement and disorder.How lucky he was.The longing for vengeance is replaced by a more anxious longing for love.He returns to the campsite. "Do you know? I avenged my father, I won, Isoare fell, and I..." He spoke incoherently, too quickly, because he was eager to talk about another matter, "...I One against two, a knight came to my aid. Then I found out that it was not a warrior, but a woman, she was beautiful, I don't know what her face was, she wore a purple cloak over her armor... ..." "Ha, ha, ha!" The companions in the tent laughed. They were concentrating on applying ointment to their bruised chests and arms, and a strong smell of sweat radiated from their bodies.Every time I take off my armor after a battle, everyone is sweaty. "You want to be with Bradamante, little flea! Do you think she's going to want you? Bradamante will either find a general or hang out with a stable boy! You'll never get her ass!" Rambaldo was speechless.He steps out of the tent.The west slanting sun is as red as fire.Just yesterday, as he looked at the sunset, he asked himself, "What will I be like when the sun goes down tomorrow? Will I be tested? Will I prove myself a man? Make a mark of yourself?" Now, this is the setting sun of tomorrow, the first test has been borne, it is of no more value, a new test and hardship awaits me, and the conclusion is already laid before it. .At this time of unrest, Rambaldo wanted to have a heart-to-heart chat with the white knight. For some reason, he felt that he was the only one who could understand him.