"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 Pierlulgi. "Seize them, and make them fast. About
it!"

"Lord Prince!" cried the legate in a voice of appeal, wherein
fear and anger trembled.