“My poor, mad darling,” Isabella commiserated.
“Put your robe back on,” Doña Maria hissed.
“Put down that robe!” Torquemada ordered when I started to comply with Doña Maria’s suggestion. “Don’t try to conceal the evidence of your hellish origins.”
“Is he really a demon?” the King asked Torquemada.
“The madness of the Princess proves it. He has possessed her.” The tall, skeletal figure in the black cassock looked like a caricature of the Grim Reaper. “And there is other evidence. He has used his evil powers on Her Majesty as well.” Torquemada leveled a bony finger at Queen Isabella.
“Be careful, Torquemada! You go too far!” The Queen’s voice was shaky.
“Do you deny that you had an interview with this sorcerer yesterday?” Torquemada asked the Queen.
“No. It is true.”
“And after the meeting you granted an audience to a mad Italian sailor named Colombo? Is it not a fact that you saw him on the advice of this visitor from Hell?”
“Si.” The Queen grew pale. “But—”
“Is it not also a fact that you pawned the royal jewels and gave the money to this mad Italian sailor to outfit his fleet?”
“Isabella!” King Ferdinand looked like a righteous husband about to lift his improvident wife’s charge plate.
“Furthermore,” Torquemada fed Ferdinand’s anger, “this mad sailor’s expedition is predicated on the ridiculous and heretical idea that the world is round!”
“You’ve thrown the royal jewels away!” Ferdinand stared at Isabella in shocked disbelief.
“Don’t blame her, Your Majesty.” Torquemada came in smoothly. “The Queen couldn’t help herself. She was possessed. This witch”—he pointed at Doña Maria —“summoned that demon” -- now his bony finger zeroed in on rne—“to deliver Spain to the devil by undermining the judgment and sanity of your royal house.”
“I have always been loyal to Her Majes—” Doña Maria defended herself.
“Do you deny that you have influenced Her Majesty against the Inquisition? And Her Majesty has in turn influenced His Majesty, the result being to tie my hands. Is it not also true that this Wica extracted a promise from the Queen to stop me from driving the heretics out of Spain?”
“Is that true, Isabella?” Ferdinand wanted to know. “Is that why you came to me today and got me to agree not to extend Torquemada’s powers?”
“Yes, Ferdinand.” The Queen admitted it. “But this Wica has many strange powers. If he uses them for the benefit of Spain, then--”
“Heresy!” Torquemada thundered. “Your Majesty would not talk like this if the Evil Spirit had not possessed you. It must be driven out by fire.”
“Are you proposing that the Queen be burned at the stake?” Ferdinand was shocked.
“Of course not, Your Majesty.” Torquemada back-tracked hastily. “Only that this Wica be burned.”
“And what if his power is greater than yours?” Doña Maria suggested. “What if you are unable to burn him?”
“I will stake my reputation on that,” Torquemada retorted. “The power of good can always overcome the power of evil. If there is doubt, then let it be a test, a contest if you will. If this Wica will not burn, then let him destroy me. But if he does burn, Your Majesty, then you must take it as a divine sign of the rightness of the Inquisition and grant me the authority to rid Spain of all Jews, witches, Moors, Gypsies and other heretics.”
“Do you accept the challenge?” Ferdinand asked me.
“Wouldn’t it be better if Torquemada and I worked out some sort of peaceful coexistence?” I suggested.
“You see how afraid he is of the power of Heaven!” Torquemada crowed.
“I’m just not much for barbecues,” I told them. “Particularly when I’m slated to be the shish-ke-bob.”
“It will be a fair test,” the King decided. “And if Wica is exorcised, then Torquemada shall be free to escalate the Inquisition.”
There it was. It had happened again. I had set out to ameliorate the barbarism of the Inquisition, and instead, I was to be the roasted reason to promulgate it. But I hadn’t much time to dwell on the larger picture. Once sentence had been pronounced on me, Torquemada wasted no time in arranging to have it carried out.
Dawn was just breaking when I was led out to the courtyard of the palace. A stake had been set up there with piles of dry tinder arranged around it. Guards led me to the stake and tied my hands and feet to it.
Wisps of smoke curled up towards my nostrils. Tongues of flame flicked at my feet. More wood was heaped around me. The fire crackled now and shot upwards. The heat started to melt the golden paint on my gonads. Naked, I felt the sweat break out all over my body. A bunch of faggots propped against the stake burst into flame. The fire shot upwards and blistered my posterior. There Was just enough slack in my bonds so that I was able to leap upwards and --
I burst through the icing of the giant cake and sprang free into the smoke-filled air of the stag party. There was a moment of stunned silence. Obviously the collection of distinguished-looking men in dinner clothes who were sitting around the table had been expecting a different sort of filling. Finally one of them found his voice.
“That fag caterer is through in Washington!” he announced. “You tell him I said that, George,” he instructed one of the men seated across from him. “You tell that queer that President Johnson said he’s through!”
'CHAPTER SIX
Hold everything! Call off the F.B.I.! Withdraw the libel suit!
Not Lyndon!
You hear that, Texas? No need to mobilize the vigilantes. You capisce, Ladybird? No reason to book passage for Reno. You got that, Romney, Ronnie, Richie and Rocky? No ammunition; just a dud.
Not Lyndon!
Writer, publisher, printer, et al., apologize for the confusion and hereby state that the Johnson referred to in the previous chap. is not the current prez. Furthermore, there is not the slightest indication that Hawkbird ever even had the impulse to indulge himself in such shenanigans and if he did have such an impulse, all the evidence bears out the innate strength of character to sublimate it to napalming natives and other such expressions of the national good. LBJ in the forbidden hay? Perish the thought18 !
Not Lyndon!
But all of our nation’s President Johnsons were not so pure of thought and deed. Andrew, for instance, muddled up the national image by appearing at his inauguration for vice president in such a drunken state that he could hardly take the oath of office. Between then and the time Lincoln was assassinated and he took over the presidency, Andy’s capers were an open scandal in Washington. But in fairness it should be noted that Andrew Johnson was not a Texan.
Indeed, Texas never produced a swinger like Andy. Not many states did. Tennessee, from whence sprang the free-wheeling Andy Jackson19 and the even free-er-wheeling Andy Johnson20 , is the exception. Something in the sour mash, I suspect.
I’d judge the sour mash had been flowing pretty freely just as I popped up at the presidential stag party. Anyway, it seemed so from the way the other guests echoed the President’s dissatisfaction at my appearance. There was a decided lynch-light in their eyes as the expressions of disappointment and disapproval mounted.
The President himself shot me one last withering glance and stamped out of the room disgust. Many of the other distinguished guests got to their feet to follow. But they sat down again as the frosting flew off another section of the giant cake and a blonde vision in black lace corselet black net stockings and high heels leaped onto the table. Forgetting about me, they all focused on the girl. She focused on me with a puzzled expression. I focused back.