ere
she dwelt, and, throwing herself on her bed, gave vent to the torrents
of jealousy which possessed her soul. Then, rising up, she bade her
maidens weave her with all speed a sad-coloured mantle, and when it was
ready she took the lance of gold belonging to Astolfo, which had (though
she knew it not) the gift of unhorsing every warrior whom it touched,
and, going to the courtyard, led out and saddled her horse.

Alone, without even a squire to help her, Bradamante began her journey
to Arles, where the army of Agramante lay encamped. On the road thither
she met with many an adventure, but by the aid of the golden lance
always bore down her foe. After one of these fights she fell in with the
Lady Flordelice, who was herself riding to Arles in the hope of gaining
news of her husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Moors. By her
Bradamante sent a message challenging Roger to come forth to meet her in
single combat.

'And if he asks my name say it is unknown to you,' she added, 'but that
the stranger knight had bidden you take this horse, and prayed that he
might bestride it in battle.'

Flordelice was careful to fulfil the trust laid upon her, and no sooner
was she within the gates of Arles than she sought out Roger and
delivered him the message and the horse. The young man, perplexed at the
defiance of the nameless knight, sought counsel of his father, who bade
him accept the challenge and prepare for battle without delay. While he
was making ready other knights were not slow to seize the chance of
giving the haughty Christian a lesson, and went out to fight in the
plain beyond the walls. But a single touch of the magic lance was enough
to unhorse them all, and one by one Bradamante sent them to their lord.

'Tell him I await a better man than you,' said she.

'And what is his name?' asked Ferrau of Spain when he rode before her,
having craved permission to try his strength against the stranger.

'Roger,' answered she, and, as her vizor was raised, Ferrau could not
but see the red that flushed her face, though he feigned to notice
nothing.

'He shall come to you,' replied Ferrau, 'but first you must cross swords
with me,' and, spurring his horse, he rode to share the fate of the
rest.

Right glad was Roger to hear that the peerless knight Ferrau had been
borne down like those who had gone before him, and that it was he and no
other whom the victor wished to fight. But the courtiers of King
Agramante now th