God's Fires
Page 39
“He is of a stubborn nature, as you well know, and at the present he apparently does not wish to discuss things.”
Pedro pushed de Melo aside. “He will talk to me.” He opened the next door, the one with the crown carved into it. The stateroom felt stuffy and close; the curtains were drawn over the dreary day. Across the room, Dr. Sales was seated in a chair. And next to the doctor was a bed with a shadowy figure upon it.
“Can we not have light?” Pedro snapped.
The doctor quickly trimmed the lamp, and Pedro could see that Afonso was drawn up into a corner, his knees to his chest, his face to the wall.
“Afonso?” He mounted the bed, crawling over covers to greet him. “Look, Afonso. I brought you a present.”
When Pedro was closer, he heard Afonso singing. That surprised him. And, although he listened hard, he could not make out any words. So unearthly had Afonso become that, when Pedro touched his brother’s hand, he was surprised to feel that it was warm and firm. When he took his wrist, he was surprised to find a pulse.
“See?” He set the statue down. “It is Don Quixote, Afonso. Will you not look? Will you not even look at me?”
That wordless whispered song, those eyes that looked at the bulkhead, and yet somehow saw too far.
“It is not really a banishment, Afonso. A little while and then you can come back. I would have you with me, you know that, do you not? Do you? And the Azores. Why, you will like the Azores. It is so beautiful there.”
God. What had he done?
“Afonso? Was it the acorn? Was it the burnings? I could not stop them. Not and keep the kingdom.”
Such a brutal and remote peace rested in him—the tranquility of a saint forced face-to-face with God.
Pedro put his ear to his brother’s chest. Gentle and steady as the slap of waves, Afonso’s heart beat. Air went in and out the lungs. Pedro wrapped his arms about that still-warm body and took what comfort he could.
“Please,” he whispered. “Tell me about the windmills.”
Afterword
The historical Afonso, who was most likely retarded but not—I suspect—as good-natured as I have drawn him, spent fifteen years of royal exile in the Azores. He never returned to Lisbon. Prince Pedro married Afonso’s little French princess and, upon his brother’s death, ascended the throne. He reigned another twenty-three years.
This book takes liberties with Portuguese history, particularly with the character of Count Castelo Melhor, who suffers from the author’s playfulness. I tried, however, to portray the young Pedro as he was: a good king, and a forward-thinking one. Although he ultimately failed, Pedro attempted during his thirty-eight years of rule to bring Portugal into the Industrial Age. He was thwarted at every step by the Inquisition.
About the Author
Patricia Anthony is the acclaimed author of Cold Allies (winner of the Locus Award for Best First Novel); Brother Termite; Conscience of the Beagle; Happy Policeman; Cradle of Splendor; God’s Fires, and Flanders.
She lives in Dallas and teaches writing at Southern Methodist University.
GOD’S FIRES
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author.
All rights reserved. Copyright © 1997 by Patricia Anthony.
Cover art by Mark Smollin.
ISBN: 0-441-00537-3
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc., 200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016. ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.