"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 brought 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.
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