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The loyalty and prowess of the good knight
Pelistes had gained him the reverence even of
his enemies. He was for a long time disabled
by his wounds, during which he was kindly treated
by the Arab chieftains, who strove by every
courteous means, to cheer his sadness and make
him forget that he was a captive. When he was
recovered from his wounds they gave him a
magnificent banquet, to testify their admiration
of his virtues.

Pelistes appeared at the banquet clad in sable
armour, and with a countenance pale and
dejected, for the ills of his country evermore
preyed upon his heart. Among the assembled
guests was Count Julian, who held a high command
in the moslem army, and was arrayed in
garments of mingled christian and morisco
fashion. Pelistes had been a close and bosom
friend of Julian in former times, and had served
with him in the wars in Africa, but when the

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Count advanced to accost him with his wonted
amity, he turned away in silence and deigned
not to notice him; neither, during the whole of
the repast, did he address to him ever a word,
but treated him as one unknown.

When the banquet was nearly at a close, the
discourse turned upon the events of the war, and
the moslem chieftains, in great courtesy, dwelt
upon the merits of many of the christian cavaliers
who had fallen in battle, and all extolled
the valour of those who had recently perished in
the defence of the convent. Pelistes remained
silent for a time, and checked the grief which
swelled within his bosom as he thought of his
devoted cavaliers. At length, lifting up his voice,
“Happy are the dead,” said he, “for they rest
in peace, and are gone to receive the reward of
their piety and valour! I could mourn over
the loss of my companions in arms, but they have
fallen with honour, and are spared the wretchedness
I feel in witnessing the thraldom of my
country. I have seen my only son, the pride
and hope of my age, cut down at my side; I
have beheld kindred friends and followers falling
one by one around me, and have become so seasoned
to those losses that I have ceased to weep.
Yet there is one man over whose loss I will never
cease to grieve. He was the loved companion
of my youth, and the steadfast associate of my

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graver years. He was one of the most loyal of
christian knights. As a friend he was loving
and sincere; as a warrior his achievements were
above all praise. What has become of him, alas,
I know not! If fallen in battle, and I knew
where his bones were laid, whether bleaching on
the plains of Xeres, or buried in the waters of the
Guadalete, I would seek them out and enshrine
them as the relics of a sainted patriot. Or if,
like many of his companions in arms, he should
be driven to wander in foreign lands, I would
join him in his hapless exile, and we would mourn
together over the desolation of our country!”

Even the hearts of the Arab warriors were
touched by the lament of the good Pelistes, and
they said—“Who was this peerless friend in
whose praise thou art so fervent?”

“His name,” replied Pelistes, “was Count
Julian.”

The moslem warriors stared with surprise.
“Noble cavalier,” exclaimed they, “has grief
disordered thy senses? Behold thy friend living
and standing before thee, and yet thou dost not
know him! This, this is Count Julian!”

Upon this, Pelistes turned his eyes upon the
count, and regarded him for a time with a lofty
and stern demeanour; and the countenance of
Julian darkened, and was troubled, and his eye
sank beneath the regard of that loyal and

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honourable cavalier. And Pelistes said, “In the name
of God, I charge thee, man unknown! to answer.
Dost thou presume to call thyself Count Julian?”

The count reddened with anger at these
words. “Pelistes,” said he, “what means this
mockery, thou knowest me well; thou knowest
me for Count Julian.”

“I know thee for a base impostor!” cried
Pelistes. “Count Julian was a noble gothic
knight; but thou appearest in mongrel moorish
garb. Count Julian was a christian, faithful
and devout; but I behold in thee a renegado
and an infidel. Count Julian was ever loyal to
his king, and foremost in his country's cause;
were he living he would be the first to put shield
on neck and lance in rest, to clear the land of
her invaders; but thou art a hoary traitor! thy
hands are stained with the royal blood of the
Goths, and thou has betrayed thy country and
thy God. Therefore, I again repeat, man unknown!
if thou sayest thou art Count Julian, thou
liest! My friend, alas, is dead; and thou art
some fiend from hell, which hast taken possession
of his body to dishonour his memory and render
him an abhorrence among men!” So saying,
Pelistes turned his back upon the traitor, and
went forth from the banquet; leaving Count
Julian overwhelmed with confusion, and an object
of scorn to all the moslem cavaliers.

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