When the Heavens Fall (21 page)

The Tower was frightening to most people, and Brandon, for all his courage, was somewhat intimidated. It seemed that there was an odor of fear. He mentioned this to Quentin

“This place has a terrible smell. I don't know what it is.”

“The smell of misery, I think, Brandon. So many have died in this place. Others have been tortured beyond human endurance. I wish the earth would open up and swallow it, but until that happens, we must do our best.”

They were following a guard down a musty-smelling corridor. Another guard opened a steel door with a key attached to a belt around his waist. “They'll all die tomorrow. Don't try giving them weapons, sir. It wouldn't do 'em no good.”

“I don't have any weapons,” Quentin said. He stepped inside the cell. Brandon followed him

A high, narrow, barred window gave a feeble beam of light. Brandon stood back. He saw Quentin go to the prisoners and
embrace each of the three men. He listened as Quentin spoke of hope and the world to come. One of the men, a simple enough fellow in his forties, began to cry. “What will happen to my dear wife and my little one, pastor?”

“You need not worry about that. The church will take care of them. I'll see to it myself. They will always have food and shelter and care.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

Brandon did not say a word, but felt somehow strange as Quentin sat down and talked with each of the prisoners. They all hung on his words—mostly verses of hope and promise. He stared at the men thinking,
They'll be dead soon. What would that be like, I wonder? Better to get killed in battle when you don't know it's coming than to sit here and wait for it to come and take you!

The visit lasted a long time. Quentin embraced each of the men again and said a prayer over each one

As soon as they were outside, Brandon took a deep breath. “I've seen battle, but nothing was as bad as this. Is there no hope at all, Uncle?”

“Yes, there's hope. There's hope in Christ, but no earthly hope, I'm afraid, for these three. They will be with their Beloved tomorrow.” He turned to Brandon. “I need you with me tomorrow, Nephew. I need your strength.”

“Uncle Quentin, I hardly—”

“Will you attend me?” Quentin pressed him. “It will take everything in me to see these dear folk at heaven's gate.”

Brandon closed his mouth and looked him in the eye. Hadn't he given enough in being with him today? But Quentin gave him no quarter

“I will be by your side, Uncle.”

Brandon slept very little the night before the execution at Smithfield. The two men shared a room. Quentin seemed awake all
night, often on his knees in prayer. Perhaps that was the reason Brandon slept so little. His uncle did not pray loudly, but from time to time a groan would issue from the darkness.
It's almost as though his soul is being pulled out of him,
Brandon thought.
He has a passion and a love in him that I know nothing about, something I'll never know.
The thought left him hollow

Finally the dawn came, and the two men, neither of them having an appetite, went at once to the prison. Quentin was admitted, but Brandon was told that only the pastor could visit the condemned

For two hours Brandon wandered about Smithfield, torn by strange feelings. He had seen men die in so many ways on the battlefield, but in almost every instance it was quick and in that sense merciful. Even those who did not die at once did not linger long

He came to where a large crowd of unruly people were gathered. Out in an open field were a number of stakes and two cartloads of wood drawn by donkeys. Brandon tried to force himself to be calm, but cold perspiration came out on his forehead as his imagination put him against one of those stakes with the fire consuming his feet, his body, and the agonizing pain that would ensue

A muffled cry went up from someone in the crowd, then many voices were speaking. Brandon turned quickly to see the prisoners being led from the building where they had been kept. A shock ran over him as he realized that there were four prisoners—and one of them was a woman

Accustomed as he was to the shock and horrors of the battlefield, the idea of a woman being burned at the stake shook Brandon more than he had thought possible. He could not take his gaze off her. She was an elderly woman in her sixties, probably. Her hair was white, and her face was lined with care, but to Brandon's shock and amazement he saw that she was smiling. “What in the world can she have to smile about?” Brandon whispered under his breath

Then he saw that Quentin had accompanied the prisoners, and as they stopped just short of the stakes, he watched as Quentin went to the four, and despite a protesting guard, began to pray. His voice was loud and clear on the air

“Oh, Father, all things are in thy hands that made the world and all that is therein, all that swims in the great seas, all that flies through the air, all that walks the earth. You who care for the sparrow that falls, care for these who come today to make their home with thee. They leave their earthly home, and they will now come and be in your arms in peace and joy and perfect bliss forever. I pray, Lord, that you would show mercy and give them a death that is as painless as such a thing can be. And, Lord Jesus, as you appeared to Stephen, as he looked up into heaven and saw you, Lord Jesus, I pray that your holy presence might be made known to each of these your children—”

The prayer was cut off when a burly man wearing a snuff-brown doublet shoved him out of the way with a curse. “Get out of here with blasted prayers. It's too late for that,” he snarled. As Quentin stepped back, the executioner said, “Tie 'em up! We'll have us a burn here.”

Almost paralyzed, Brandon could not take his eyes off the scene. He was shocked to see seven ravens that had been circling in the sky come down and alight near one of the stakes. Evidently, there was grain scattered about; they pecked at it and they chattered as they moved about the ground, searching for more. Something about the sight of these ebony birds shook Brandon, and he turned away and looked out over the horizon. It was a beautiful day. The air was clear and pure—a jarring contrast to what was about to take place

Quickly Brandon forced himself to look as the victims were tied to the stakes. He watched with mounting disgust that was turning to rage as one of the guards tightly bound the old woman, making her cry out in pain. “Hush up there, granny. You'll make a bright light, you will.”

I'd like to get you alone and make a light out of you!
Brandon thought

When all the prisoners were tied to the stakes, the wood was unloaded from two wagons. The guards piled it around the feet of the victims, and a fat man standing next to Brandon said to his companion, “Well, that won't be easy. Look at it. Those faggots are green. It'll be a slow death.”

When the sticks were in place, a torch was brought, and the executioner took it. He started with the oldest of the three men. Since the wood was green, it was hard to get it started, and he cursed. As soon as it began to burn, he called out, “Here, help me with this. Light 'em up.”

Two more men picked burning branches from the fire and lit the wood at the feet of each of the condemned. The wood began burning reluctantly. A slight breeze sprang up, which made the flames burn higher. Brandon could clearly hear the crackling of the wood as it started to burn in earnest, and then from the second wagon dry wood was added. The fires sprang up, and one of the men cried out, “Oh, Jesus, have mercy on me and receive my soul!”

The new wood caught quickly, and soon all the victims called upon the name of Jesus, and when the flames suddenly caught and curled around the oldest of the men, his clothing caught fire and his head went back and in a short time his tongue was so swollen that he could not speak and his lips were shrunk to the gums. The fire swirled around him, consuming the flesh. He cried out one more time, and then the ropes burned away and his body, burned black, fell forward

Quentin appeared beside him then, tears streaming down his face. Brandon searched for a way to comfort him, but there were no words. Despite himself, Brandon looked to the woman. The fire had begun to burn her legs and consume her clothing. He expected to see horror on her face, but instead her face was turned upward, and to the shock and amazement of Brandon
Winslow he saw that she was smiling. She cried out in a clear voice, “Blessed be the Lord! Take me to yourself, Lord Jesus!”

Brandon could stand no more. He whirled and shoved his way through the crowd, some cursing at him as he shouldered them aside. He stumbled blindly away, and Brandon, who was not a crying man, found his eyes blurred. He was breathing heavily, as if he had run a great distance. “Oh, God, how can you let this happen? What beasts have been created in this world?” He walked quickly, half-running, holding his hands over his ears, but he could not shut out the crackling of the wood or the dying prayers and cries of the prisoners

“I could not do that! I could never endure a thing like that!” he cried aloud and knew that there were horrors yet in this world that he had not dreamed of and some inexplicable, mysterious power in serving God

Sir, your brother and son are here to see you and your father.”

Stuart looked up from the book he had been reading and nodded. “Bring them into the front parlor, where my father is sitting, will you, please?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Stuart opened a door to the next room. “Heather, Quentin and Brandon are here.” He smiled, “Good to see you, Father.” He felt the pressure of Heather's eyes on him and nodded. “You're worried. Well, so am I.”

“You must make him listen to reason. He's in dreadful danger. And Brandon . . .”

“It's not a
reasonable
matter. It's a matter of faith. Quentin feels that he can't betray what he believes in order to please the queen. But I will try.”

Heather lowered her eyes so that he could not see the pain that was in them. Nevertheless he knew. She had slept little, and the two of them had been bearing a double burden. They were, as always, praying with a sense of desperation for Brandon. That was a burden that never left them night or day. But now this danger to Quentin Winslow occupied their minds with almost
equal desperation. It gave them some small consolation that Brandon had come to Quentin's aid

Quentin came in, with Brandon and Claiborn close behind. He smiled and came over and clasped Stuart around the shoulders. “Good to see you, Brother, and you, Heather.” He embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He said, “It's always a pleasure to kiss a pretty woman.”

“You wouldn't know much about that,” Stuart growled. “You'd be better off if you would start chasing some woman rather than riling the queen.”

Quentin laughed and then stepped aside, hands clasped, as Brandon went to his mother and kissed her on both cheeks, then to Claiborn, then shook hands with Stuart

“It's good to see you, Son. And it means so much that you came to be with your uncle in his time of need.”

“It's for him that I am here,” Brandon said. “I thought that together we might talk some sense into him.”

“Ah,” Quentin said. “It all depends on what you consider logical. I think you'll find my views quite cogent.”

Stuart gestured toward two chairs and said, “Please, both of you, sit down.” He sat down beside Heather on a stuffed couch covered with a fine leather and kept his arm around her. He knew it must be a struggle for her to have their wayward son here and stay silent, to say nothing of the danger that her brother-in-law now faced. Claiborn was sitting beside the fire in his favorite chair, a blanket across his legs

“Well, what about it?” the old man asked. “Tell us what's going on.”

“I suppose you know more about what's going on at the palace than I do, Stuart,” Quentin began. “From what I hear, the queen is besotted with Philip. She can't blow her nose without getting his permission.”