"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.
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