CLXII By the Creator haply hastened, who Was moved to pity for the works he made. The blood in torrents ran the country through, Flooding the roads: while on the champaign laid Were eighty thousand of the paynim crew, Cut off that day by the destroying blade: Last trooped from caverns, at the midnight hour, Villain and wolf to spoil them and devour. CLXIII King Charles returns no more within the town, But camps without the city, opposite The Moor's cantonments, and bids up and down, And round, high-piled and frequent watch-fires light. The paynim fashions ditch and bastion, Rampart and mine, and all things requisite; Visits his outposts and his guards alarms, Nor all the livelong night puts off his arms. CLXIV That livelong night the foes, throughout their tents, As insecure and with their scathe deprest, Poured tears, and uttered murmurs and laments; But, as they could, their sounds of woe supprest. One grief for slaughtered friends or kindred vents; Some are by sorrows of their own distrest, As wounded or as ill at ease; but more Tremble at mischief which they deem in store. CLXV Two Moors amid the paynim army were, From stock obscure in Ptolomita grown; Of whom the story, an example rare Of constant love, is worthy to be known: Medoro and Cloridan were named the pair; Who, whether Fortune pleased to smile or frown, Served Dardinello with fidelity, And late with him to France had crost the sea. CLXVI Of nimble frame and strong was Cloridane, Throughout his life a follower of the chase. A cheek of white, suffused with crimson grain, Medoro had, in youth a pleasing grace. Nor bound on that emprize, 'mid all the train, Was there a fairer or more jocund face. Crisp hair he had of gold, and jet-black eyes: And seemed an angel lighted from the skies. CLXVII These two were posted on a rampart's height, With more to guard the encampment from surprise, When 'mid the equal intervals, at night, Medoro gazed on heaven with sleepy eyes. In all his talk, the stripling, woful wight, Here cannot choose, but of his lord devise, The royal Dardinel; and evermore Him, left unhonoured on the field, deplore. CLXVIII Then, turning to his mate, cries: "Cloridane, I cannot tell thee what a cause of woe It is to me, my lord upon the plain Should lie, unworthy food for wolf or crow! Thinking how still to me he was humane, Meseems, if in his honour I forego This life of mine, for favours so immense I shall but make a feeble recompense. CLXIX "That he may lack not sepulture, will I Go forth, and seek him out among the slain; And haply God may will that none shall spy Where Charles's camp lies hushed. Do thou remain; That, if my death be written in the sky, Thou may'st the deed be able to explain. So that if Fortune foil so fear a feat, The world, through Fame, my loving heart may weet."