with this mongrel to save his soul? Must we show him the Devil’s way?”
Turning to one of the sentries, he orders, “Shave this New Christian!”
As two warders restrain Lopes, a third takes his torch and brings it to the struggling man’s beard. The whiskers catch fire and Lopes screams. I cannot watch anymore.
Henrique says, “Confess thy sins, wretched soul, and allow the Savior to take pity on you!”
“I confess! I confess!”
“Thou will confess in earnest?”
“Yes, yes, only please! …”
I force myself to glance at the wretched man. Lopes is on fire—a human torch. His shrieks curdle my blood.
“Douse the fire,” Don Henrique suddenly commands.
A bucket of water is splashed into Lopes’s face. He gasps for air, his face a grotesque melting candle of dripping water, burnt hair, and charred skin.
The Inquisitor accuses, “Thou changest linens on Friday. And thou concealest the treacherous act from thy servants by placing the dirty linens atop the clean, only to remove them before sunset on Friday. Admit it!”
Lopes says nothing.
“Still thou wadest in defiance!”
“No, Your Holiness,” Lopes squeaks.
“Speak up, Fernando Lopes!” the Inquisitor thunders. “Did thou change linens on Friday?”
Lopes nods.
“Dost thou admit to thy sin?’
“Yes, Your—” Lopes swallows. “Yes, Your Holiness.”
“And to thy sin of refraining from the consumption of pork?”
“But Your Holiness,” Lopes protests feebly, “pork makes me ill—”
“Still thou retainest the Devil’s obstinence?”
“Truly my stomach is ill-bred for its consumption.”
Don Henrique turns to the galleries.
“Must we continue listening to the lies of this filthy Jew? Must we prove our intent to save his soul once again? Light the beard.”
“No!” Lopes screams. “Yes, I confess. I did abstain from the consumption of pork.”
“Thou art a Judaizer. Admit it, Jew!”
“Yes, yes, it is true!”
“And who else was involved in thy crimes? Thy wife?”
“No! Verily, she is an honest Christian!”
“As thou art an honest Christian,” Don Henrique mocks.
“No, no! She knows nothing of my sins—”
“Admit it, dog! Thy wife is also a sinner—”
“But it is not true!”
“Light his beard.”
“No,” Lopes pleads with anguish. But this time he refuses to speak further. His cries are put to rest when again Don Henrique orders his beard to be drenched.
“Fernando Lopes,” says the Inquisitor, “dost thou repent for thy wicked ways?”
“Yes,” Lopes whispers.
“Dost thou embrace the cross and pledge an oath of faith that Jesus Christ is thine only chance for salvation in the Hereafter?”
“Yes.”
Don Henrique walks over to the condemned man and holds out his crucifix.
“Embrace the cross, Fernando.”
Lopes does as ordered.
“Pledge thy faith to Christ the Lord,” demands the Inquisitor.
“I pledge my faith to Christ the Lord.”
“That He is thy Savior.”
“He is my Savior.”
“And thy salvation in the Hereafter.”
“And my salvation in the Hereafter.”
“Thou art a wretched sinner, but thou dost make penitence on this day for all thy previous sins.”
“I am a wretched sinner, but I do make penitence on this day for all my previous sins.”
“And pray for the mercy of Christ.”
“And pray for the mercy of Christ.”
“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”
“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”
“Fernando Lopes,” cries the Inquisitor, “for thy free confessions, thou warrant mercy. Thou shalt be relaxed to the secular arm for punishment, but shalt be garroted in a swift manner as a reward for thy free confessions and thy pledge of oath to the True Faith.”
The guards unbound the prisoner’s limbs and lead the limp, burnt man over to an open iron collar attached perpendicularly to a metal post. As the collar is clamped shut around his scrawny neck, Lopes begs for his life, but his whines are cut short at the first turn of the screw.
The collar tightens. Lopes gasps and clutches at the metal band constricting his throat.
The screw is turned again.
Lopes’s pasty face takes on the blue tinge of strangulation.
The screw makes a final revolution, and Lopes’s arms, legs, and bowels relax.
The crowd roars at the sight of the lifeless body.
A few minutes later a warder loosens the screw and removes the collar. Lopes tumbles to the ground, a pile of dead bone and skin. The body is dragged by the hair to a pyre. After securing the corpse to the stake, the sentry notices that the head is dangling precariously from its broken neck. He grabs a handful of Lopes’s hair and ties it around the stake. The head is now sufficiently upright, dead eyes gaping at the galleries. Satisfied, the sentry walks away to join his ranks.
The corpse will be burnt at the conclusion of the ceremony—the grand finale that serves as a caveat for those who contemplate straying from the catechisms of the Church.
Don Henrique turns his attention to the woman next to me. She, like me, is a relapso—a converso found guilty of Judaizing. She admits her guilt freely. She begs for another chance, not for her, but for her unborn child. Her pleas, though acknowledged, merit her no special
