It was the note of fear that heartened Affonso Henriques. “About it!” he cried again, though needlessly, for already his men-at-arms were at grips with the Cardinal’s nephews. In a trice the kicking, biting, swearing pair were overpowered, deprived of arms, and pinioned. The men looked to their prince for further orders. In the background Moniz and Nunes witnessed all with troubled countenances, whilst the Cardinal, beyond the table, white to the lips, demanded in a quavering voice to know what violence was intended, implored the Infante to consider, and in the same breath threatened him with dread consequences of this affront.
Affonso Henriques, unmoved, pointed through the window to a stalwart oak that stood before the inn.
“Take them out there, and hang them unshriven,” he commanded.
The Cardinal swayed, and almost fell forward. He clutched the table, speechless with terror for those lads who were as the very apple of his eye, he who so fearlessly had bared his own breast to the steel.
The two comely Italian youths were dragged out writhing in their captors’ hands.
At last the half-swooning legate found his voice. “Lord Prince,” he gasped. “Lord Prince... you cannot do this infamy! You cannot! I warn you that... that...” The threat perished unuttered, slain by mounting terror. “Mercy! Have mercy, lord! as you hope for mercy!”
“What mercy do you practice, you who preach a gospel of mercy in the world, and cry for mercy now?” the Infante asked him.
“But this is an infamy! What harm have those poor children done? What concern is it of theirs that I have offended you in performing my sacred duty?”
Swift into that opening flashed the home-thrust of the Infante’s answer.
“What harm have my people of Coimbra done? What concern is it of theirs that I have offended you? Yet to master me you did not hesitate to strike at them with the spiritual weapons that are yours. To master you I do not hesitate to strike at your nephews with the lethal weapons that are mine. When you shall have seen them hang you will understand the things that argument could not make clear to you. In the vileness of my act you will see a reflection of the vileness of your own, and perhaps your heart will be touched, your monstrous pride abated.”