God's Fires by Patricia Anthony

Author:Patricia Anthony [Anthony, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0441005373
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1997-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Let us clarify, Your Majesty. The earth what?” In the quiet of the tent, the fat priest leaned forward, his bulk pressing against the sweet-burdened table. His mouth fascinated Afonso. It reminded him of the backside part on a dog which is tight and pink and puckered.

“Sire? Are you listening? The earth what?”

“I forget your name,” Afonso said.

Those lips constricted even more, so much so that Afonso thought neither turds nor words could pass. But then the fat priest slipped a chocolate almond between them, smooth as the royal physician with a suppository.

“Once more: I am Monsignor Gomes,” he said. “The Inquisitor-General of Lisbon, Your Majesty. Given charge over banishing heresy from your kingdom, and given that mission by the Holy Father in Rome himself.” The pudgy fingers plucked up another almond, inserted it. “Do you understand what ‘heresy’ is, sire?” Suddenly that fat priest turned to a waiting cook. “I’ll have half a bushel of these made up to be sent back with me, please.”

The cook bowed and left.

The fat priest ate another almond. “So. Heresy. Do you know what heresy is, Your Majesty?”

Behind where the fat priest sat at table, Father de Melo was making hand motions. There was something he wanted Afonso to remember. Afonso nodded.

“What, then?” the fat priest asked. “Tell me. Please define heresy for me, sire.”

Father de Melo was beside himself. Afonso nodded again.

“No? Heresy, sire, may be said to be all those statements which go against Holy Mother Church and the word of God. Statements such that there is no Hell, for example. That God may be whatever the whimsies of each and every individual decide Him to be. That the earth revolves about the sun. This is heresy.”

Afonso waited for an almond to slide out of those lips like a tiny brown turd. When it did not, Afonso lost interest. He got to his feet. “Thank you for coming.” It was important to thank petitioners. His father and his advisers had taught him that.

The fat priest looked up in surprise. Would he not stand? That is what petitioners were supposed to do. Yet not one of them stood: not the fat priest nor the guard who had come with him nor Father de Melo.

Another almond disappeared. Three of the fat priest’s chins quivered. “Sit down, Your Majesty. It is essential that we end this here.”

“God is waiting. I need to go into the acorn now.”

Father de Melo was making snatching motions at the air as if he would, by force of will, pull Afonso into his seat.

“No, sire,” the fat priest said. “I do not think His Highness will quit an audience with the inquisitor-general unless the Pope himself gives him leave.”

Afonso looked around the tent. The footmen had been caught between rising and sitting, and seemed unable to decide. The king’s guards stood at attention, but looked ill at ease.

“Sit down,” the fat priest said.

“No. I will go into the acorn and talk to God now.”

Father de Melo began, “O please,

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