And fight they did, and desperately, as if each held a nation’s ransom at his sword’s point. Better matched warriors never clashed steel. Fragments of shields flew around; then casques were split, and blood flowed freely. Still they fought. At length Pelistes, who had been much injured by his fall, began to show signs of weakness, and Maguel perceiving this, pressed on him the more, until Pelistes, summoning all his remaining strength to strike a final blow, failed in his aim and fell prostrate on the earth. “This is a brave foe,” quoted Maguel to his followers, who, renegade though he was, we must allow had generous qualities or he would have run Pelistes through. “Let us save his life, such a knight will honour our triumph.” So, unlacing his buckler, they throw water on his face, and raise him upright against a barrier of rock. Though plunged in a deep swoon, Pelistes lived, and strapped to a stout palfrey reached Cordoba. * * * * * When the imprisoned captives, straining their eyes for any sign, see him surrounded by dusky Africans, to their eyes a bleeding corpse, their very souls seem dead within them. Pelistes gone, no help can come. To sell their lives dear, they sally forth, but are soon driven back into the convent, each noble Goth dying sword in hand. The convent is immediately occupied by the Moors, and from that time is known as “St. George of the Captives.” Meanwhile, Pelistes found friends among his foes. Slowly his wounds healed, and until he was restored to health the Arabs carefully tended him. At length, when he was able to walk, Maguel (who frankly gloried in his apostasy) bade him to a banquet within the Alcazar. It was a sore trial to the feelings of the old warrior, but they were generous foes. As a prisoner, he could not refuse the hospitality of his hosts, but the woes of his country lay heavy at his heart. The grass was still green over the graves of his comrades, and to his fancy the weapons of the Moors were crimsoned with their blood. Pelistes occupied the seat of honour on the right hand of Maguel, and with that exquisite courtesy, for which the Moors were famous, his host turned the talk on the valour displayed by the Christians, and extolled their gallant defence of Cordoba, specially remembering that devoted little band who had perished in the convent. “Could I have saved their lives,” added Maguel, “it would have done me honour. Such enemies ennoble victory. Had those brave knights consented to surrender when I sent in a flag of truce I should have cherished them as brothers.” Pelistes silently acknowledged the enlightened chivalry of these words, but his heart smote him so sorely that he could not speak for some moments. But for his final charge to them “not to surrender” they might be with him now! At length words came to him.