Affonso Henriques had come to his feet by now, and he stood there
staring at the old knight, his face blenched, his stout heart
clutched by fear of these impalpable, blasting weapons that were
being used against him.

"My God!" he groaned, and asked: "What must I do?"

Moniz was preternaturally grave. "It is of the first importance
that the people should be pacified."

"But how?"

"There is one way only--by a promise that you will submit to the
will of the Holy Father, and by penance seek absolution for
yourself and your city."

A red flush swept into the young cheeks that had been so pale.

"What?" he cried, his voice a roar. "Release my mother, depose
Zuleyman, recall that fugitive recreant who cursed me, and humble
myself to seek pardon at the hands of this insolent Italian
cleric? May my bones rot, may I roast for ever in hell-fire if I
show myself such a craven! And do you counsel it, Emigio--do you
really counsel that?" He was in a towering rage.

"Listen to that voice," Emigio answered him, and waved a hand to
the open window. "How else will you silence it?"

Affonso Henriques sat down on the edge of the bed, and took his