The Historical Nights Entertainment | Page 8

morning they
rode briskly amain, the Infante fasting, as he had risen, yet unconscious
of hunger and of all else but the purpose that was consuming him. He
rode in utter silence, his face set, his brows stern; and Moniz, watching
him furtively the while, wondered what thoughts were stirring in that
rash, impetuous young brain, and was afraid.
Towards noon at last they overtook the legate's party. They espied his
mule-litter at the door of an inn in a little village some ten miles beyond
the foothills of the Bussaco range. The Infante reined up sharply, a
hoarse, fierce cry escaping him, akin to that of some creature of the
wild when it espies its prey.
Moniz put forth a hand to seize his arm.
"My lord, my lord," he cried, fearfully. "What is your purpose?"
The prince looked him between the eyes, and his lips curled in a smile
that was not altogether sweet.
"I am going to beg Cardinal Corrado to have compassion on me," he
answered, subtly mocking, and on that he swung down from his horse,
and tossed the reins to a man-at-arms.
Into the inn he clanked, Moniz and Nunes following closely. He thrust
aside the vinter who, not knowing him, would have hindered him, great

lord though he seemed, from disturbing the holy guest who was
honouring the house. He strode on, and into the room where the
Cardinal with his noble nephews sat at dinner.
At sight of him, fearing violence, Giannino and Pierluigi came instantly
to their feet, their hands upon their daggers. But Cardinal da Corrado
sat unmoved. He looked up, a smile of ineffable gentleness upon his
ascetic face.
"I had hoped that you would come after me, my son," he said. "If you
come a penitent, then has my prayer been heard."
"A penitent!" cried Affonso Henriques. He laughed wickedly, and
plucked his dagger from its sheath.
Sancho Nunes, in terror, set a detaining hand upon his prince's arm.
"My lord," he cried in a voice that shook, "you will not strike the Lord's
anointed--that were to destroy yourself for ever."
"A curse," said Affonso Henriques, "perishes with him that uttered it."
He could reason loosely, you see, this hot-blooded, impetuous young
cutter of Gordian knots. "And it imports above all else that the curse
should be lifted from my city of Coimbra."
"It shall be, my son, as soon as you show penitence and a Christian
submission to the Holy Father's will," said the undaunted Cardinal.
"God give me patience with you," Affonso Henriques answered him.
"Listen to me now, lord Cardinal." And he leaned forward on his
dagger, burying the point of it some inches into the deal table. "That
you should punish me with the weapons of the Faith for the sins that
you allege against me I can understand and suffer. There is reason in
that, perhaps. But will you tell me what reasons there can be in
punishing a whole city for an offence which, if it exists at all, is mine
alone?--and in punishing it by a curse so terrible that all the
consolations of religion are denied those true children of Mother
Church, that no priestly office may be performed within the city, that

men and women may not approach the altars of the Faith, that they
must die unshriven with their sins upon them, and so be damned
through all eternity? Where is the reason that urges this?"
The cardinal's smile had changed from one of benignity to one of guile.
"Why, I will answer you. Out of their terror they will be moved to
revolt against you, unless you relieve them of the ban. Thus, Lord
Prince, I hold you in check. You make submission or else you are
destroyed."
Affonso Henriques considered him a moment. "You answer me
indeed," said he, and then his voice swelled up in denunciation. "But
this is statecraft, not religion. And when a prince has no statecraft to
match that which is opposed to him, do you know what follows? He
has recourse to force, Lord Cardinal. You compel me to it; upon your
own head the consequences."
The legate almost sneered. "What is the force of your poor lethal
weapons compared with the spiritual power I wield? Do you threaten
me with death? Do you think I fear it?" He rose in a surge of sudden
wrath, and tore open his scarlet robe. "Strike here with your poniard. I
wear no mail. Strike if you dare, and by the sacrilegious blow destroy
yourself in this world and the next."
The Infante considered him. Slowly he sheathed his dagger, smiling a
little. Then he beat his hands together. His men-at-arms came in.
"Seize me those two Roman whelps," he commanded, and pointed to
Giannino and