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The Inquisitors looked toward the Queen. Isabella was in her early thirties and swarthy even for a Spaniard – to some eyes she seamed not far from a Moor. The enormous, snowy-white ruff she wore only accented her dark skin. Swath or not, though, she was the Queen. She raised her hand, and then let it fall.
And as it fell, the executioners hurled torches into the waiting fagots. They caught at once. The roar of the flames almost drowned out the screams from the burning men. The roar of the crowd came closer still. That baying had a heavy, almost lustful, undertone to it. Watching others die while one still lived…
Better him than me. The Mixture of shame and relief churning inside made one want to spew. Oh, dear god, better him than me. Turning away from the stakes, from the reek of charred flesh, and hurried…
As the Lord Togas commands, punishment for those who defy his rule…
And as it fell, the executioners hurled torches into the waiting fagots. They caught at once. The roar of the flames almost drowned out the screams from the burning men. The roar of the crowd came closer still. That baying had a heavy, almost lustful, undertone to it. Watching others die while one still lived…
Better him than me. The Mixture of shame and relief churning inside made one want to spew. Oh, dear god, better him than me. Turning away from the stakes, from the reek of charred flesh, and hurried…
As the Lord Togas commands, punishment for those who defy his rule…