head in his hands. He was checkmated--and yet....

He rose and beat his hands together, summoning chamberlain and
pages to help him dress and arm.

"Where is the legate lodged?" he asked Moniz.

"He is gone," the knight answered him. "He left at cock-crow,
taking the road to Spain along the Mondego--so I learnt from the
watch at the River Gate."

"How came they to open for him?"

"His office, lord, is a key that opens all doors at any hour of
day or night. They dared not detain or delay him."

"Ha!" grunted the Infante. "We will go after him, then." And he
made haste to complete his dressing. Then he buckled on his great
sword, and they departed.

In the courtyard of the alcazar, he summoned Sancho Nunes and a
half-dozen men-at-arms to attend him, mounted a charger and with
Emigio Moniz at his side and the others following, he rode out
across the draw-bridge into the open space that was thronged with
the clamant inhabitants of the stricken city.

A great cry went up when he showed himself--a mighty appeal to
him for mercy and the remission of the curse. Then silence fell,
a silence that invited him to answer and give comfort.