Fire of the Inquisitor

“Think about it honey.”

“I’m always thinking about it mother,” Helena said. Bowman was whining as she stood by the door. He was being extra clinging today, so much that Helena worried if the old dog was feeling okay. She grabbed his big face with both of her hands and kissed him. Whispering in his ear, “I’ll be back soon.”

“What was that?” her mother called from the other room.

She opened the door. “I’m leaving now.”

“Be safe,” her mother said, as she closed the door.

Be safe, what did her mother think she was doing for her uncle? Helena wasn’t anything more than a house servant. Did her mother think that she was running secret spy missions for him and cooking his meals at the same time? Helena couldn’t help, but smile at the idea. Wouldn’t that have been an interesting life, something more exciting than what her mother had planned for her? She found herself praying more often for the soldiers sent to retrieve the medicine her uncle needed in the past few days.

“Helena!” someone called to her.

She blinked away her daydream to find that the town’s square was unusually active for this time of day. It took her a few moments to find the person who was calling for her. It was a woman named Clea, the wife of the baker who made her uncle’s bread. She was also one of the faces she remembered from the rally at the warehouse.

Helena walked over to her, wondering why she looked so panicked. She put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “What is happening Clea?”

“They’ve arrested them,” the woman kept her voice low.

Helena frowned. “Who?”

“Acantha and the rest of women leaders.” The woman nervously looked around the square. “They said they were hiding weapons, said they were conspiring against your uncle.”

Helena held a hand over her mouth that hung open from shock. “Isabella?”

“What?” Clea said.

Helena grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Was a young woman named Isabella with them?”

Clea nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Helena nearly fell backward, overcome by the guilt that she might have been to blame for the women’s arrest. She looked toward the edge of town. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” the woman grabbed at her. “Where are you going?”

Helena started to run. “I have to see them!”

It was a short run to the stockade, but Helena arrived out of breath. She looked at the door where there was a crowd of soldiers talking in a group. She thought about barging right in the front door, telling whoever asked that she was on official business for the Governor General. Instead, she headed for the back of the building, taking care no one saw her. The prisoners were kept in the dark in the basement of the building with only two small barred windows to ventilate it and let in a small amount of light.

“Isabella,” Helena whispered as she crouched by one of the windows.

“Helena?” The taller girl came to the bottom of the and reached out with her long hands.

Helena reached down and squeezed the outstretched hands. “What happened?”

“I don’t know how they found out about us,” Isabella said. “We weren’t even having a real meeting, just eating breakfast together.”

“Don’t worry I’ll think of something.” Helena gave the girl another reaffirming squeeze of the hand.

“There is nothing you can do,” an older voice said. “But my lady is coming for us, she will unleash her wrath on these corrupted men.”

“Your lady?” Helena stood up and took a step back. “Isabella, I have to leave, but I will make sure my uncle hears about this.”

“Thank you,” Isabella called back, “But be careful.”

Be careful.

The words rang in her ears as she sprinted back to the center, only one destination on her mind. The town square had become even more crowded when she made it back, obviously, the news of the arrests had brought life as usual to a stop. She had to fight her way to the steps of the church, bumping into angry men and confused women. The church itself was starting to fill with townspeople looking for a spiritual answer to what was happening. Helena searched for the Bishop through the crowd, but could not find him.

“He’s not here.” Helena turned around to see the young priest that had helped her before. “He’s still at home.”

“Thank you.” Helena made her way back outside, unsure if the priest had even heard her.

Helena ran to the bishop’s house, a short walk made excruciating longer by the crowds still pouring into the town square. At one point she thought she saw her mother, but if the woman had called out to her she didn’t hear nor would she have stopped anyway. When she reached her destination she saw the bishop closing the door and turning to the street. Recognizing her, he gave her a big smile.

Helena didn’t feel happy to see him.

“Helena it’s good to see you,” the bishop said. “I was just about to visit your uncle.”

“How could you tell them!” Helena grabbed the priest’s robes with her small hands. She could feel tears start to run down her cheek as she pulled him closer. “You said it was just between us.”

“What are you talking about?” the bishop said.

“They arrested them,” she cried.

The bishop held her back and looked down at her. “Who?”

The young woman avoided his gaze. “Acantha and some of her followers.”

“Oh my,” he said, staring out to the street. “I had forgotten all about the meeting I was supposed to have with her.” He looked down at her. “I’m sorry Helena.”

Helena wiped the tears from her eyes. “You never went to meet with her?”

He shook his head.

Helena looked around, embarrassed by the scene she had just made. She hoped that no one had seen what had just happened and come to some unfortunate conclusions. Fortunately, anyone who was on the street was still making their toward the town square, leaving most of the nearby building closed or empty.

“We should probably make our way to the General Governor’s now,” the bishop said.

Helena jumped, almost forgetting he was there. “Of course, we should hurry.”

They walked together and when they made it to the large crowds in the town center, they made a path for the bishop to get through. It looked like they would make it to Helena’s uncle’s house quickly until a familiar face stopped them.

“Gaius,” the bishop greeted the general. “How are you this morning?”

“Busy.” The tired sounding soldier glanced at Helena from the corner of his eye. “I suppose we are headed to the same place.”

“Yes,” the bishop let his gaze sweep over the crowd, “unfortunate turn of events.”

“Unfortunate?” The general folded his arms. “I consider it fortunate that we caught them before the heretics got anyone killed.”

Helena wanted to tell him they weren’t heretics, most of them anyway, but she held her tongue. Instead, she asked, “What will happen to them?”

The general gave her a grim frown. “If I had my way we would execute them right now.”

Helena’s felt faint.

The bishop must have noticed. “Execution, isn’t that a little extreme?”

“Extreme?” The general looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to stone heretics father.”

The bishop smiled. “We are also supposed to forgive our enemies.”

Gaius frowned. “Well, in any case, it is not my decision.”

The bishop looked out into the crowds again and nodded. “I’m sure the general will reward you for your vigilance.”

“Just doing my duty.” The general gave him a curious look.

Helena couldn’t take the waiting anymore, stepping away from the two rivals she turned to her uncle’s house and rushed to the door. There was so much she needed to tell him, so many favors she need to ask of him. Before she could knock on the large door, it opened and one of his maids stepped out. She had tears in her eyes.

“Gia, what’s wrong?” Helena asked.

“The governor general,” the maid searched for the words to say, “he’s gone.”

Helena felt like she had been punched in the stomach by a huge fist. She bent down on the steps to her father’s door and stared confusingly at the crowd in front of her. It was chaos. The bishop and the general came running up to her and shouted questions and demands. Overhearing, the crowd now started to surge forward, a thousand voices flooding the streets. Helena could hear none of this. All that filled her ears was her own voice saying the same thing over and over again.

“They’re doomed.”