a knight. And he was at least true to his time in that he combined a
fervid piety with a weakness of the flesh and an impetuous arrogance
that was to bring him under the ban of greater excommunication at the
very outset of his reign.

It happened that his imprisonment of his mother was not at all pleasing
in the sight of Rome. Dona Theresa had powerful friends, who so
used their influence at the Vatican on her behalf that the Holy
Father--conveniently ignoring the provocation she had given and the
scandalous, unmotherly conduct of which she had been guilty--came to
consider the behaviour of the Infante of Portugal as reprehensibly
unfilial, and commanded him to deliver Dona Theresa at once from duress.

This Papal order, backed by a threat of excommunication in the event of
disobedience, was brought to the young prince by the Bishop of Coimbra,
whom he counted among his friends.

Affonso Henriques, ever impetuous and quick to anger, flushed scarlet
when he heard that uncompromising message. His dark eyes smouldered as
they considered the aged prelate.

"You come here to bid me let loose again upon this land of Portugal that
author of strife, to deliver over the people once more to the oppression
of the Lord of Trava?" he asked. "And you tell me that unless by obeying
this command I am false to the duty I owe this country, you will launch
the curse of Rome against me? You tell me this?"

The bishop, deeply stirred, torn between his duty to the Holy See and
his affection for his prince, bowed his head and wrung his hands. "What
choice have I?" he asked, on a quavering note.

"I raised you from the dust." Thunder was rumbling in the prince's
voice. "Myself I placed the episcopal ring upon your finger."

"My lord, my lord! Could I forget? All that I have I owe to you--save
only my soul, which I owe to God; my faith, which I owe to Christ; and
my obedience, which I owe to our Holy Father the Pope."

The prince considered him in silence, mastering his passionate,
impetuous nature. "Go," he growled at last.

The prelate bowed his head, his eyes not daring to meet his prince's.

"God keep you, lord," he almost sobbed, and so went out.

But though stirred by his affection for the prince to whom he owed so
much, though knowing in his inmost heart that Affonso Henriques was in
the right, the Bishop of Coimbra did not swerve from his duty to Rome,
which was as plain as it was unpalatable. Betimes next morning word was
b