Far From a Pleasant Land

The creaking wagon pulled up to a raised platform. A soldier shoved the condemned. They stumbled out and fell, giving the guard an excuse to kick them. Struggling to get up while shackled, the girl’s tunic ripped. “Let’s see more of that shapely body,” sneered the soldier, pulling the bodice. It split farther, revealing her white breasts, milky as alabaster. “Stop!” screamed the mother. “Leave her alone, I beg you.” “Rot in hell,” croaked her father through cracked lips. “No more, brute!” shouted one of the holy men. He pointed a ringed finger. “Leave!” The soldier disappeared. The three prisoners listened to the charges read against them, and again heard the crucial question, “Do you wish to confess your sin and receive the mercy of the Church?” “What mercy is that?” muttered the man. “You’ll break our necks before laying a torch to the woodpile. We’ll die anyway.” “Silence!” The Grand Inquisitor swallowed a gagging cough. The stench of a thousand unwashed bodies lay heavily in the confined area. “What is your answer?” “Never!” “Mayor, take charge of the prisoners.” “Place the condemned on the stacks,” ordered the mayor quickly. He brushed dust off his velvet doublet. A rotten tomato smacked the cheek of the condemned man. He grimaced and turned away, red juice and seeds trickling down into his beard. A ripple of laughter coursed through the crowd, and soon stinking eggs and flabby cabbages, mealy potatoes and kitchen peelings peppered the heretics. Drums throbbed as soldiers lashed the prisoners to large poles set in stacks of wood. A boom of thunder roared overhead. Black clouds mounted up like cobras ready to strike. The crowd gasped and stopped pelting the prisoners. “Look, the sky condemns us,” the captain shouted. “Nonsense,” cried the mayor. “Keep going—” “It’s a bad omen, sire.” “Heap up more tinder. Pour on more oil.” “Rain will douse the fires.” “Be quick about it.” Soldiers sprinted to fulfill the orders. A crack of dazzling light split the sky and another thunderclap pulsed overhead. “Light the bonfires now—" The mayor hissed at his soldiers. “Set them free, set them free!” The murmur grew and swept through the crowd. The soldiers threw torches on the three stacks of wood. At the crackle of tinder igniting, some in the crowd cheered. Others took up the chant: “Release them, set them free.” The prisoners shrieked as flames licked at their ankles. Another strike of lightning ripped the sky apart. Down poured millions of raindrops. They closed on the spreading flames like swarming troops. Scarlet-robed churchmen fled for cover. “God is angry!" Release them!" The crowd surged toward the platform where the mayor cowered. The wooden platform groaned with the pressure of bodies. "Very well--do it." A cheer erupted as soldiers cut the prisoners loose. All three rubbed rope-raw wrists and then melted into the crowd. The bonfires sputtered and died. “Leave town if you like, but we'll follow your tracks like hounds,” bellowed the Grand Inquisitor. “To the ends of the earth!”