"Oppose me at thy peril, Pizarro!" shouted the friar, whirling upon him savagely. "Dost thou know this man? Dost know that he is a Morisco—this unknown who calleth himself José? Doth any man here know his name?" "No man here knoweth my name, friar," interrupted José, "but thou shalt have it! I am Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor. My father was Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor.—And now hearken!" he thundered, approaching the monk at a stride and glaring down into his eyes with an expression that chilled his blood. "Hearken! If thou seekest more of me, or breathest my name again in denunciation or accusation, to-day, to-morrow, or twenty years hence, thou diest—and I swear it! By the Almighty, if thou barest thy claws again at me, I’ll not spare thee! Now go! Go!—or I’ll kill thee in thy tracks!" Mauricio hurriedly retreated. José thrust his poniard back into its sheath with a snap and faced the officers. During the outburst they had stood petrified. His bold declaration that he was a Moor—one of a people which had been proscribed and driven from Spain with every form of persecution, outrage, and cruelty that hatred of their race and greed of their wealth could inspire—staggered even Cristoval. The others had been too much astounded, and even horror-stricken by his rash defiance and arraignment of the Inquisition to interfere in behalf of the friar had they been so inclined. José looked from one to another for a moment with all the pride and fierceness of his race now aroused and burning in his defiant eyes. "Señores," he said, "ye have heard my name. There may be one among you who liketh not the sound of it, or who would question me further. If there be such a one, I will give him answer on horse or on foot." "Nay, nay, José!" cried Cristoval, advancing and grasping his hand. "None of us will quarrel with thy name. Thou ’rt a gallant comrade and honest gentleman. That sufficeth. If any man here would dispute it, he hath affair with me!" "And with me!" added De Soto, with emphasis. "I believe, on my soul, thou ’rt a good Christian, Abul Hassan Zegri, whatever thy blood. Thou may’st count Hernando de Soto one of thy friends." Hernando Pizarro and others joined in their protestation of friendship, but the rest hung back, fearing the danger involved in adhering to a man under ban of the Inquisition. Mendoza’s muttered "_Morisco infiel!_" was taken up, but the group around José was too formidable to encourage open hostility, and the rest stood sullenly apart. It was noticed by the commander, who said briefly: "There shall be no quarrel about José, nor with him.—José, or Abul Hassan Zegri, or whoever thou art, thou ’rt among friends. Thou hast been a stanch companion, and whilst I have power no hand shall be raised against thee. But guard thy tongue, and beware throwing nettles to the clergy. We are far from Seville, but the Inquisition hath long arms, as men have learned before. But—thou ’rt not an infidel?"