There were two young Moors, both of humble rank, who gave proof at that time of attachment and fidelity rare in the history of man.  Cloridan and Medoro had followed their prince, Dardinel, to the wars of France.  Cloridan, a bold huntsman, combined strength with activity.  Medoro was a mere youth, his cheeks yet fair and blooming.  Of all the Saracens, no one united so much grace and beauty.  His light hair was set off by his black and sparkling eyes.  The two friends were together on guard at the rampart.  About midnight they gazed on the scene in deep dejection.  Medoro, with tears in his eyes, spoke of the good prince Dardinel, and could not endure the thought that his body should be cast out on the plain, deprived of funeral honors.  “O my friend,” said he, “must then the body of our prince be the prey of wolves and ravens?  Alas! when I remember how he loved me, I feel that if I should sacrifice my life to do him honor, I should not do more than my duty.  I wish, dear friend, to seek out his body on the battlefield, and give it burial, and I hope to be able to pass through King Charles’s camp without discovery, as they are probably all asleep.  You, Cloridan, will be able to say for me, if I should die in the adventure, that gratitude and fidelity to my prince were my inducements.”

Cloridan was both surprised and touched with this proof of the young man’s devotion.  He loved him tenderly, and tried for a long time every effort to dissuade him from his design; but he found Medoro determined to accomplish his object or die in the endeavor.

Cloridan, unable to change his purpose, said, “I will go with you, Medoro, and help you in this generous enterprise.  I value not life compared with honor, and if I did, do you suppose, dear friend, that I could live without you?  I would rather fall by the arms of our enemies than die of grief for the loss of you.”

When the two friends were relieved from their guard duty they went without any followers into the camp of the Christians.  All there was still; the fires were dying out; there was no fear of any attempt on the part of the Saracens, and the soldiers, overcome by fatigue or wine, slept secure, lying upon the ground in the midst of their arms and equipage.  Cloridan stopped, and said, “Medoro, I am not going to quit this camp without taking vengeance for the death of our prince.  Keep watch, be on your guard that no one shall surprise us; I mean to mark a road with my sword through the ranks of our enemies.”  So saying, he entered the tent where Alpheus slept, who a year before had joined the camp of Charles, and pretended to be a great physician and astrologer.  But his science had deceived him, if it gave him hope of dying peacefully in his bed at a good old age; his lot was to die with little warning.  Cloridan ran his sword through his heart.  A Greek and a German followed, who had been playing late at dice:  fortunate if they had continued their game a little longer; but they never reckoned a throw like this among their chances.  Cloridan next came to the unlucky Grillon, whose head lay softly on his pillow.  He dreamed probably of the feast from which he had but just retired; for when Cloridan cut off his head wine flowed forth with the blood.