The Historical Nights Entertainment | Page 6

when the legate, in a litter
slung in line between two mules, entered Coimbra. He was attended by
two nephews, Giannino and Pierluigi da Corrado, both patricians of
Rome, and a little knot of servants. Empanoplied in his sacred office,
the cardinal had no need of the protection of men-at-arms upon a
journey through god-fearing lands.
He was borne straight to the old Moorish palace where the Infante
resided, and came upon him there amid a numerous company in the
great pillared hall. Against a background of battle trophies, livid
weapons, implements of war, and suits of mail both Saracen and
Christian, with which the bare walls were hung, moved a gaily-clad,
courtly gathering of nobles and their women-folk, when the great
cardinal, clad from head to foot in scarlet, entered unannounced.
Laughter rippled into silence. A hush descended upon the company,
which stood now at gaze, considering the imposing and unbidden guest.
Slowly the legate, followed by the two Roman youths, advanced down
the hall, the soft pad of his slippered feet and the rustle of his silken
robes being at first the only sound. On he came, until he stood before
the shallow dais, where in a massively carved chair sat the Infante of
Portugal, mistrustfully observing him. Affonso Henriques scented here
an enemy, an ally of his mother's, the bearer of a fresh declaration of
hostilities. Therefore of deliberate purpose he kept his seat, as if to
stress the fact that here he was the master.
"Lord Cardinal," he greeted the legate, "be welcome to my land of
Portugal."
The cardinal bowed stiffly, resentful of this reception. In his long
journey across the Spains, princes and nobles had flocked to kiss his
hand, and bend the knee before him, seeking his blessing. Yet this mere
boy, beardless save for a silky down about his firm young cheeks,
retained his seat and greeted him with no more submissiveness than if
he had been the envoy of some temporal prince.

"I am the representative of our Holy Father," he announced, in a voice
of stern reproof. "I am from Rome, with these my well- beloved
nephews."
"From Rome?" quoth Affonso Henriques. For all his length of limb and
massive thews he could be impish upon occasion. He was impish now.
"Although no good has ever yet come to me from Rome, you make me
hopeful. His Holiness will have heard of the preparations I am making
for a war against the Infidel that shall carry the Cross where new stands
the Crescent, and sends me perhaps, a gift of gold or assist me in this
holy work."
The mockery of it stung the legate sharply. His sallow, ascetic face
empurpled.
"It is not gold I bring you," he answered, "but a lesson in the faith
which you would seem to have forgotten. I am come to teach you your
Christian duty, and to require of you immediate reparation of the
sacrilegious wrongs you have done. The Holy Father demands of you
the instant re-instatement of the Bishop of Coimbra, whom you have
driven out with threats of violence, and the degradation of the cleric
you blasphemously appointed Bishop in his stead."
"And is that all?" quoth the boy, in a voice dangerously quiet.
"No." Fearless in his sense of right, the legate towered before him. "It is
demanded of you further that you instantly release the lady, your
mother, from the unjust confinement in which you hold her."
"That confinement is not unjust, as all here can witness," the Infante
answered. "Rome may believe it, because lies have been carried to
Rome. Dona Theresa's life was a scandal, her regency an injustice to
my people. She and the infamous Lord of Trava lighted the torch of
civil war in these dominions. Learn here the truth, and carry it to Rome.
Thus shall you do worthy service."
But the prelate was obstinate and proud.

"That is not the answer that our Holy Father awaits."
"It is the answer that I send."
"Rash, rebellious youth, beware!" The cardinal's anger flamed up, and
his voice swelled. "I come armed with spiritual weapons of destruction.
Do not abuse the patience of Mother Church, or you shall feel the full
weight of her wrath released against you."
Exasperated, Affonso Henriques bounded to his feet, his face livid now
with passion, his eyes ablaze.
"Out! Away!" he cried. "Go, my lord, and go quickly, or as God
watches us I will add here and now yet another sacrilege to those of
which you accuse me."
The prelate gathered his ample robes about him. If pale, he was entirely
calm once more. With stern dignity, he bowed to the angry youth, and
so departed, but with such outward impassivity that it would have been
difficult to say with