Then Ranaldo returned. "Anyone else want to defend Trufaldino?" he yelled to the opposing team, mocking them. "Where are all the heroes, who didn't have one knight's worth between them all but wanted to fight against the whole world?"
The fierce Orlando rode towards them, now on his Brigliadoro, since Brandimarte had returned and they had exchanged horses. "Hey, wait for me!" he yelled to Ranaldo. "He who flees isn't much of a threat, and if you want to frighten others you shouldn't turn your shoulders!"
"Cousin," Ranaldo said to him, "I do not wish to quarrel with you; forgive me if I have offended you. And if you believe that Trufaldino's death brings you dishonor, I will testify that you were not in a position to defend him."
"Vile soul," sneered the count, "now you cry for forgiveness? You act more like one of the Maganza house than the son of duke Amone!"
The great Ranaldo lost his patience. "Don't you believe that I fear you!" he said. "And by the way, return [the horse] Baiardo to me, whom you stole, or you will have to deal with me!"
Orlando unsheathed his Durindana, saying: "Let's see a bit of your bravery, whether it's true that it has no equal in the world!"
Ranaldo rode up to him like a tempest, striking him with Fusberta until he broke Orlando's shield, his armor, the iron shirt, and the helmet given to him by the beautiful Angelica. Oh, what a brawl between those two competing cousins, more and more furious and blinded by bile, who seemed like goats butting horns or roosters pecking one another in a chicken coup!
Armor was falling to the ground piece by piece. It wasn't clear who was the better; they wounded each other with rancor and stung one another with peevishly velenous words.
"Son of a bitch!" Ranaldo was yelling to Orlando. "Remember when you treacherously killed Almonte and took the sword Durindana from him, and when you unfairly struck down king Troiano when he was about to defeat you?"
And Orlando to him: "You are a thief, you are not a paladin! Are you talking to me? Have you forgotten, you traitor, that time you used your Malagise's magic to murder king Mambrino, just so you could steal his helmet?"
Meanwhile they were going at each other with those swords, making sparks fly and dealing more than a thousand blows, according to Turpino. One could very well liken those two to Achilles and Hector, to Hercules and Samson: what other knight, says the poem, would have fought so hard for so many hours without tiring or seeking to rest?
