rought to Affonso Henriques in the Alcazar of Coimbra that a
parchment was nailed to the door of the Cathedral, setting forth his
excommunication, and that the Bishop--either out of fear or out of
sorrow--had left the city, journeying northward towards Oporto.

Affonso Henriques passed swiftly from incredulity to anger; then almost
as swiftly came to a resolve, which was as mad and harebrained as could
have been expected from a lad in his eighteenth year who held the reins
of power. Yet by its very directness and its superb ignoring of all
obstacles, legal and canonical, it was invested with a certain wild
sanity.

In full armour, a white cloak simply embroidered in gold at the edge
and knotted at the shoulder, he rode to the Cathedral, attended by his
half-brother Pedro Affonso, and two of his knights, Emigio Moniz and
Sancho Nunes. There on the great iron-studded doors he found, as he had
been warned, the Roman parchment pronouncing him accursed, its sonorous
Latin periods set forth in a fine round clerkly hand.

He swung down from his great horse and clanked up the Cathedral steps,
his attendants following. He had for witnesses no more than a few
loiterers, who had paused at sight of their prince.

The interdict had so far attracted no attention, for in the twelfth
century the art of letters was a mystery to which there were few
initiates.

Affonso Henriques tore the sheepskin from its nails, and crumpled it
in his hand; then he passed into the Cathedral, and thence came out
presently into the cloisters. Overhead a bell was clanging by his
orders, summoning the chapter.

To the Infante, waiting there in the sun-drenched close, came presently
the canons, austere, aloof, majestic in their unhurried progress through
the fretted cloisters, with flowing garments and hands tucked into
their wide sleeves before them. In a semi-circle they arrayed themselves
before him, and waited impassively to learn his will. Overhead the bell
had ceased.

Affonso Henriques wasted no words.

"I have summoned you," he announced, "to command that you proceed to the
election of a bishop."

A rustle stirred through the priestly throng. The canons looked askance
at the prince and at one another. Then one of them spoke.

"Habemus episcopum," he said gravely, and several instantly made chorus:
"We have a bishop."

The eyes of the young sovereign kindled. "You are wrong," he told them.
"You had a bishop, but he is here no longer. He