God's Fires

by Patricia Anthony

  Thus it was declared that the tribunal would take leave for a midday meal, then meet at the fifteenth hour in the house of the prisoner, Guilherme Castanheda, and there rule on the prisoners’ fates.

  Pessoa rushed downstairs in a wild flurry. His feet tripped over themselves. His cloak flapped.

  Below, the jailers were gathered close about a conflagration of lanterns. Three steps from the bottom, Pessoa looked to the women’s cell and spotted what he had feared: Marta’s warm cloak folded neatly and returned, Berenice in a corner all alone and shivering.

  “Blankets! Damn you! I want blankets here! And open the door!”

  A clang of keys. Averted gazes. Mutters of, “Yes, father. Right away, father.”

  And then one man at the back said in a trembling voice, “Dark, isn’t it, father?”

  Dona Teixeira called out merrily, “Black as your souls!” She sat in the shadows, her daughter curled to her one side, Marta Castanheda curled tight to the other.

  Pessoa said to the guards, “Quit the room.”

  “But…” They exchanged glances.

  “Fear to go up top, don’t they,” Dona Teixeira cackled. “Fear God might see them and pinch their heads off.”

  Pessoa told her, “Shut your mouth.”

  Thunder rumbled through the jail and set the walls to vibrating. Lightning blinked madly at the windows. Wind struck the westerly wall, sending candles guttering and stray paper into sudden flight.

  “Believe you now that they are angels?” Dona Teixeira asked. “Watch! For soon my daughter’s baby will come, sword in hand, through the clouds.”

  They backed away from the women’s cell, their faces turned from the windows. When one man brought the blankets, Pessoa tore them from out his grasp. “Leave us,” he said.

  They looked at him, fearful.

  “Good God, men. It is but a storm. You’ve seen a storm such as this.”

  “But the women…” said one.

  Another: “The cell door is open. Should we leave the door open, then?”

  And yet another. “What if Monsignor finds out?”

  “Wait at the top,” Pessoa told them. “Draw your swords. If any of these women come raging up the stair, you have my permission to run them through.”

  When they left, Pessoa went into the women’s cell. The smell of her—strawflowers and spices—blessed the corner. Longing nearly toppled him. She could not be here, not so small and so imprisoned. The Holy Office would send word that a mistake had been made.

  He threw the blankets down like in a stoning, but she did not stir. He took in breath to shout, and aborted it in a sigh. “Are you hungry?”

  Movement stirred the shadows; clothing rustled.

  “Damn you, Berenice. Are you hungry?”

  She whispered, “No.”

  He whirled to Dona Teixeira. “Look at her! Look! Has she not cared for you when you were sick? Has she not comforted your dying? And you make her sit here all alone? God! God! May you be struck down for it!”

  He stalked over and opened up Dona Teixeira’s basket. He took out a loaf, a pear, tore a piece of roasted lamb from off the shank. He wrapped it all up in a linen cloth and brought it to her.

  “Take it!” He threw the food into her lap. The napkin opened, spilling the meat. The pear rolled onto the straw.

  Was she frightened? Was she weeping? Her face was turned away and he could not tell. He felt damp heat prickle his eyes. Before he could lose control, he stalked out the door.

  Rain came down, drenching Afonso’s cloak. It wet his tunic and his undershirt. His clothes became all of a cold weight and felt so strange about his body that he wondered if this was how it was to be dead.

  The captain shouted in his ear, “Sire! Come away!”

  Below him, the soldiers had put down their shovels. They had covered their heads from the fierce glare of the lightning and the crash of the thunder.

  The captain pulled on his arm. “Sire!”

  Lightning danced. A bolt struck nearby and shook the hill to its stony roots. Soldiers broke and fled for their tents, and the drays of a nearby wagon whinnied in terror. The captain’s frantic jerk on Afonso’s arm sent them both to their knees.

  And then the stars fell. Fell all around and with a great clamor. They fell cold and round and white, clattering against rock, pelting the grass. They rang against the captain’s helmet, his breastplate; they dealt hammer blows to Afonso’s shoulders.

  “The stars!” Afonso cried.

  “What, sire?”

  “The stars are falling!”

  “Yes, yes.” The captain pulled him to his feet, nestled his head against his shoulder, and star-pounded, they ran to camp.

  Bernardo took scraps from the kitchen and tucked them into his pockets. He went to his room. Pure as moon in a midnight sky, the dove’s face shone from the shadows. Each time thunder cracked, the boy cowered.

  “It’s all right.” Bernardo went to him, kneeling to lay a hand on his knee.

  “I know. I know it’s all right. I’m not afraid.” But his eyes searched the dark for monsters.

  Bernardo brushed hair back from that alabaster brow. “No, of course you aren’t.” Outside the diamond-paned windows a tempest whipped through the Gates of Hell, chasing winged and fluttering demons.

  “I have food.” Bernardo brought his hands from out his pockets. The boy snatched the loaf, the cheese. He put a chunk of sausage whole into his mouth.

  Wind trumpeted down the street. “Do you hear it?” Bernardo cocked his head and smiled. “The tribulation? Today Monsignor will condemn to death your father and sister and her heralds. Day after tomorrow he will send them to the stake. But—de morte transire ad vitam—before the flames can touch one hair, God will bear them up.”

  “I want pai,” the dove said.

  He took the boy’s hands in his. “You know your rosary, do you not?”

  The solemn nod stole Bernardo’s heart. He kissed the boy’s cold fingers. He lowered his forehead to the dove’s knuckles and closed his eyes. Brother of Marta, sister of Lazarus, sent by God to shore up that part in Bernardo which was weak.

  “Then say your rosary, Rodrigo, and stay quiet and hidden.” He tucked the blankets about him more securely, put another log on the fire, and left the room.

  Father Manoel was waiting in the dining hall, looking dejectedly out the windowpanes to the black day. Bernardo tugged on the Jesuit’s sleeve and bent his head to whisper, “He will not win.”

  “He always wins, Bernardo. I see it in his eye. And he will yet force the seculars to agree with him, for they rightly value their skins.”

  “No.” Bernardo tugged at his sleeve once more. “It matters not that Monsignor sends the condemned to the stake. There are no flames which will burn them. Do you not see? Heaven is coming.”

  A stirring in the hallway carried with it the sound of voices and Goatee’s merry laughter. The tribunal had arrived.

  Father Manoel moved away to his chair, shaking his head and muttering, “God have mercy.”

  THE CASE of Marta Castanheda, age fifteen, was brought before the tribunal for a decision as to her fate, and it was ordered that, as she had confessed to lies concerning her visitations by the Virgin Mary, she should be found guilty of grave heresy and be relaxed to the state for execution.

  Msgr. Gomes declared, and the tribunal unanimously agreed, that Marta Teresa de Penha Castanheda, having confessed to her lie and having sincerely abjured, should be put upon a pyre of wood and pitch and tied to a stake, whereupon the state executioner, after having allowed her to say her prayers, might come forward and dispatch her mercifully and quickly with a garrote so that she should not suffer the flames. And when her soul had fled her body, her pyre should be set alight, and her body burnt, and to this all that were present agreed.

  AS TO the matter of Guilherme Castanheda, man of commerce and father of Marta, the seculars and Fr. Pessoa agreed that, since war had embittered him, Sr. Castanheda should be sh
own compassion. It was suggested by the three that Sr. Castanheda be cautioned against more heretical statements and freed from prison and be given a sanbenito, white with a red cross upon it, which he should wear each and every feast day in penance for his wrongdoings. Msgr. Gomes disagreed, suggesting that the prisoner’s heresy was too grave to ignore, and that relaxing to the state was called for. Since neither compromise nor unanimity could be reached by the tribunal, the matter was set aside.

  CONSIDERING the case of Amalia Teixeira, wife to Duarte, the tribunal was in unanimous agreement that she be relaxed to the state for burning, and the statements read as follows: the seculars condemning her for fostering heresy in others after having been warned to silence by clerics; Fr. Pessoa condemning her for statements made before the tribunal itself as to the Blessed Mother’s being forced by God; and Msgr. Gomes for her avowed belief in her daughter’s virgin conception and angels.

  As the tribunal was unanimous, although for diverse reasons, it was ordered that Amalia Analinda Teixeira, on the day the auto-da-fé was to be held, would be given over to a state executioner who would then bind her to a pyre of wood and pitch; that the pyre was to be set alight and that she be burnt to death in front of her judges and other witnesses, and her ashes scattered.

  AS TO the case of Maria Elena Teixeira, daughter to Amalia, Msgr. Gomes elected that she be relaxed to the state for burning. The seculars and Fr. Pessoa were of the opinion that the girl was insane and thus must be set free. As the tribunal was not unanimous and consensus could not be reached, the judgment was set aside.

  AS TO the case of three unnamed beings, two apparently living and one apparently dead. Msgr. Gomes was of the opinion that they were fallen angels who had taught the king the heresy of Galileo Galilei, and thus were wicked liars. It was his opinion that they should be relaxed to the state and burned straightaway. The seculars made objection, saying they believed the creatures to be dumb beasts, and thus not deserving of punishment. Fr. Pessoa objected to punishment also, he being of the opinion that the creatures were angels of God, and sanctified. He said that he had additional proofs as to their divinity, having been told by the guards that the creatures partook of water and of bread, yet had not been seen to relieve themselves of it. He said further that the guards had searched the cell, looking for dung which they meant to use as a curative, but that they had found no trace. Fr. Pessoa questioned the other members of the tribunal as to how the creatures could eat and drink and yet yield nothing. A secular related that monkeys, if sufficiently distressed, were known to consume their own spoor, and perhaps that was why the guards had not found any. Fr. Pessoa asked if such habit did not make them ill, and the secular said that he had been told that monkeys often choked and died, as the feces caught in their throats. The other secular spoke up, asking if the discussion on offal was ended, as he had just eaten and contemplated enjoying dinner; and the matter of the creatures’ fate was set aside.

  ON THE matter of Berenice Pinheiro, herbalist, Msgr. Gomes and the two seculars agreed that leading the dying into such apostasy was a grave heresy deserving of burning; and Fr. Pessoa was of the opinion that the woman was insane and should be set free. He said that he had further proof, and that he would bring it that evening or on the morrow, and so the decision on the herbalist’s fate was set aside.

  THUS the cases of Marta Castanheda and Amalia Teixeira were judged completed, and note made to instruct the two women straightaway concerning the decision of the tribunal, so that they be given time to make peace with then-souls.

  AS THE DAY was damp and cold, it was suggested that the tribunal order up brandy and take an hour’s leisure before returning to arguments. Msgr. Gomes spoke up and said that God had set him to a great task: that of banishing heresy altogether. He stated that he had prayed and God had sent him answer in the form of terrible dreams, thus it did not matter that brandy was brought and leisure taken, for he himself assumed the burden to decide the fates of the prisoners, and that he felt obligated to reverse the decisions of mercy.

  A secular spoke up, saying that Msgr. Gomes had not the authority to do so; to which Msgr. Gomes replied that God had given him the authority. Fr. Pessoa said that neither he nor the seculars had sign of that, and if they believed Msgr. Gomes, why should they not also believe the women’s story of angels. He said that there was more proof of the women’s story than Msgr. Gomes’s, being that the women had witnesses and Msgr. Gomes did not. Msgr. Gomes swore and said that the women had not been charged by the Holy Office to protect and defend the Church, and that if Fr. Pessoa saw no difference between the angel story and his, then perhaps Fr. Pessoa should join his lover on the fire.

  A secular said that such personal reprimands were highly inappropriate. He said that he himself had long ago wearied of Msgr. Gomes’s remarks. In fact, he was of the opinion that the tribunal should be halted immediately and word sent to the Holy See to bring another inquisitor-general. He said that he was paid as expert in inquisitorial matters and that to reverse his decision was to make him out a liar, and he would not have it.

  Msgr. Gomes replied that God had told him to burn all the prisoners and have done with it. That if he did not act, the world would fall into a tumult, and compared to that, one three-penny lawyer’s reputation did not matter a mouse fart.

  The secular got to his feet and pounded the table with his fist and said that he would see Msgr. Gomes stripped of his position. He said that it mattered not about the animals, but that Maria Elena Teixeira was obviously not in possession of her faculties and that to penalize her for it was highly illegal and immoral and flew in the face of the reformed Holy Office. He asked if Msgr. Gomes fancied himself a cleric more of the French or German ilk, who would burn poor women believed to be witches. He asked if Msgr. Gomes believed the herbalist Berenice Pinheiro, for example, possessed of the evil eye, and went about in the air astride a broom? And if Msgr. Gomes believed that, then perhaps Be should set fire to the entire town and rid himself of all the heresy, to which Msgr. Gomes replied that he had mind to do that, and that if the town was burnt at least he might sleep at night; to which Fr. Pessoa said that it appeared Msgr. Gomes wished to gain his own sleep at the cost of the rest of the tribunal, and exhorted the seculars to imagine the screaming of Maria Elena, who knew not what she did, and the cries of Guilherme Castanheda, whose only crime was a sentimentality for his daughter.

  The other secular stated as how the entire affair was ridiculous, that Msgr. Gomes looked about Quintas and saw superstition, when he himself looked about Quintas and could see lurking a dangerous Spanish plot. He said less attention should be paid to lighting pyres and more paid to informing the king’s regent of a terrible sedition.

  Msgr. Gomes suggested that the three ride out to the Holy See and ask for a replacement straightaway, and could he have horses sent up, the statement intended in the form of an irony, for a violent storm was then raging, and word had arrived of floods and uprooted trees and hail.

  Msgr. Gomes said that the jailers and guards and executioners had been given unto his command and that he would make use of them.

  THUS he ordered Maria Elena Teixeira, age fourteen, Guilherme Castanheda, man of commerce, and Berenice Pinheiro, herbalist, and the unnamed creatures of unknown origin, even the creature who appeared dead, to be all lashed to pyres and burnt unless they asked to be forgiven their sins, at which time they might be shown compassion and be strangled before the fires were lit. Then in a loud voice he called an inquisitorial guard to him, and instructed that the guard take three jailers and go to the rectory and there gather the parish priest, Fr. Luis Soares, for the priest had much to confess concerning the nature of the creatures, and so the guard went out into the rain.

  Pessoa leaped to his feet. “Have you not ordered murders enough? God!”

  Monsignor Gomes said, “Sit down!”

  How could Pessoa sit through this? This usurpation of reason? The room was quiet suddenly, the storm outside holding its breath, the f
ire lessening from roar to crackle. Castanheda’s great room smelled of burning wood and the cinnamon and cloves of the sweet cakes the seculars and Monsignor were eating.

  But rage would avail nothing. And so, as his teacher of dialectics had instructed, Pessoa pictured himself putting a bull back into its stable, and imagined locking it up. He said more calmly, “It is most natural that Luis sees divinity in the creatures, for Luis sees God in everything. I know him well, and I will attest to his sweet nature. As I have traveled, sir, I have never seen a better pastor, or one more dedicated to his sheep. But Luis is like a child sometimes, perhaps even the sort of child Christ would have us be.”

  Gomes’s face quickened to an unhealthy red. “That is just the problem with this town: maudlin gullibility. Perhaps Soares is the chief culprit here, as it was he who had charge over the village’s spiritual well-being. Hah! I bend your own reason back upon you. Well? Is that not a logical deduction? Do you not see that yourself? Or have you given your Jesuit logic up to mysticism?”

  Breathing hard, Pessoa paced the length of the marble hearth. “Loyola teaches that questions should lay an inescapable path toward understanding. This is pure bickering, sir, and it gains us nothing.”

  “Admit it: Satan found here a weak parish in which to put his sword.”

  Pessoa halted. Rage came charging out of its stable, Pessoa helpless to stop it.

  But before he could give voice to his shout, Tadeo spoke up. “I feel no need to question Father Soares. Really, Monsignor. An elderly parish priest? His only sin is kindliness. As far as I can see, Father Soares has done nothing. Bringing him before the Inquisition is unthinkable.”

  “Unthinkable? Believe you so? Well, this kindly old man has stated in front of witnesses and has also claimed before this very tribunal that the creatures are divine. He has fostered deviltry. So, sirs, I warn you: I will thus call Father Soares, and ask him again, and I shall decide heresy on his answer.” Those small eyes moved from Tadeo’s now blushing face to Pessoa’s. “And you? Have you changed your mind?”