Finally it is the appointed day, and Trufaldino and Angelica's defenders go down to the battlefield. Count Orlando is riding Baiardo, with Aquilante and Grifone at his sides; Trufaldino rides behind, pale as a bed sheet, and last come Chiarione and king Adriano. They are awaited by Ranaldo, Marfisa, Iroldo, Prasildo, Astolfo the Englishman and Torindo the Turk, all standing in a row.
Here they are, the two teams with rival cousins as captains, just like a local soccer tournament. And then the match begins; lances fly off in pieces, swords slam into armor, duels begin, the first knights fall to the ground.
Orlando had wanted to attack Ranaldo right away, but found himself hindered by the horse he was riding: Baiardo balked, unwilling to go against his master. How to describe the tremendous anger come over the count? His eyes were like live flames, he was gnashing his teeth in rage and growling, red-hot breath escaping from his nose, flashing like fire in the air.
Ranaldo rode toward him. "Dear cousin," he appealed to Orlando, "where did you leave your pure mind and noble spirit? Have you let your heart be stirred by that harlot? Do you want everyone in Paris to know that you have taken to defending a traitor? Forsake Trufaldino and the false love of that rogue!"
"Here's a thief turned preacher," responded count Orlando. "The sheep can sleep well now that the wolf has made himself shepherd! Do you wish for me to abandon Angelica's love so that you could take advantage of it? You will regret before evening these vile things you have been saying about my lady!"
But Orlando could not move: Baiardo remained still no matter how much he was spurred. Meanwhile, Trufaldino had thrown poor Astolfo to the ground and was attacking him - on horseback, the villain! Ranaldo looked over, and in the wink of an eye he started toward the traitor on his Rabicano, fast as the wind.
But as soon as Trufaldino saw him from afar, he ran for it, yelling: "Help! Help! Knights, come help! You must keep your word!"
Grifone, Aquilante, Chiarione and king Adriano all took off after Ranaldo in an attempt to stop him, but the paladin left them all behind and quickly reached the fugitive, tying him tight with a rope.
And then, riding around the field, he dragged the traitor on the ground for a long time like a dead weight. Tripping on every thorn and on every sharp stone, Trufaldino's body was undone little by little, until all that remained was his trunk down to the belt. Thus died that wretched, deceitful and false man, and he quite deserved it, says the poem.
