Benedita and Augusta Bulcão walked side by side along the procession that skirted the fountain and entered the square. The midday sun was shining brightly in the bright blue sky and the square was packed. Men, women, elders and children, entire families watched the arrival of the procession with deep interest and anticipation. At the center of the huge rectangular square two enormous piles of wood had been assembled and near a beautiful ornate facade to the left, three wooden poles pointed to the clear June sky. At the opposite end, two platforms were set up. The one in the furthest corner was smaller and looked extremely comfortable: it had a cover of heavy brocade fabrics with fringes that concealed a dozen people dressed in luxurious clothes and adorned with shiny jewels, sitting comfortably in upholstered chairs. The two sisters looked at each other in amazement: it was the first time they had seen the royal family. The other stand, closer to them and towards which they were heading, was larger and covered too, but in a more modest way. The men dressed in black and red priestly robes, framed by crosses, flanked by scribes and soldiers, made it clear that this dais, unlike the other, had been set up for service functions, not observation.
Once the procession reached the two stands, its members were quickly reorganized. Religious men carrying crosses and incense joined their peers of the larger platform, or dispersed among the officers positioned along the square, guarding the posts and the wood piles. The bulk of the procession, made up of a hundred people wearing a sambenito over their common clothes – two rectangular pieces of cloth, which covered the back and front of the body down to the knees – were arranged in a sinuous line. Most people wore light colored sambenitos. A few others, no more than ten, wore dark sambenitos and that was so for the Bulcão sisters.
The first person in line was a man wearing a pale sambenito. He was instructed to step onto a small stage, facing ecclesiastics and officials. The bishop, who occupied the highest chair on the platform, looked at him with disinterest. One of the priests asked if the man regretted his crimes. Visibly nervous, he stammered a 'yes' and went into a long, tearful speech of regret. The man's suffering did not seem to have any effect over the men on the platform, but it stirred some frenzy from the gathered population. Eventually the sentence of exile was decreed, and the man was taken by soldiers to a building behind the podium.
The next in line was a woman who could only cry when the priest asked her if she had any regrets for her crimes. She was also sentenced to exile and taken by soldiers. The third person in line was also a woman, but she seemed far more confident than her predecessor. Faced with the priest's questioning, she delivered a convincing speech of repentance for her mistakes and a fervent promise to follow the precepts of the Church henceforth. Her speech was applauded by those close enough to hear and she was sentenced to do forced labor. She was also taken by soldiers.
The event went on like this for the next hour. One by one, people were led to the stage and spoke of repentance for their crimes and enforced their commitment to follow the faith and dogmas of the Church, then they received their punishments and were taken away. The first change in this pattern came when the eighth person climbed to the stand: a young woman who delivered a very unconvincing speech and was sentenced to flogging. Unlike the others, she was taken to one of the poles, where ten lashes were applied. Viewers seemed equally fascinated and terrified by the flogging. Some jostled to that corner of the square to get a better view, while others decided to get away from the screams to better hear the speeches.
The next big change in the punishment pattern came when the first person wearing the dark sambenito took the stage. The spectators privileged with seats crawled to the edge of their chairs and the crowd grew strangely quiet. Even the uninterested bishop seemed more attentive. Anticipation hung in the air. The priest's voice seemed much louder in the near silence:
- Are you Afonso Nunes?
- Yes.
Afonso Nunes did not seem in the least intimidated by the profusion of officers, ecclesiastics, and soldiers in front of him, nor even by the nobility beside him, much less by the crowd at his back.
-You are being accused of heresy, blasphemy, and practice of witchcraft. For those crimes, your sentence is death. Afonso, do you repent from your sins?
-No.
The crowd grew restless, and the two sisters looked at each other. What was Afonso Nunes doing? That was not protocol. The priest opened his mouth, but one of the highest-ranking ecclesiastics, seated beside the bishop, rose. He wore a simple black habit, had a large crucifix on his chest and a head shaved at the top, leaving only a crown of brown hair on the sides of his skull.
-So, you confess to the crimes committed against God and the Crown?
Afonso Nunes faced the priest, and his posture became even more combative than before.
-There is no crime against God or the Crown in my actions, sir. I am the Crown's most loyal subject and fear God as a good Christian.
The priest descended to the lowest level of the dais, coming face to face with the accused. Some people laughed derisively and even cursed the accused.
- Your words don't match your actions. He says he is God-fearing but has sold his soul to the Devil; he says he is a loyal subject but does not hesitate in attacking Crown soldiers.
- I did not attack Crown soldiers, I attacked mercenaries who tried to steal from me and my family. And I did not sell my soul to the devil! Magic is part of God's great design; it is a gift the Lord has bestowed upon man to be used in His service! As you should know, Tomás!
Augusta and Benedita held their breath, as did the entire crowd. From where they stood, the sisters couldn`t see the men's expressions, but they saw the priest turn away and put his hand on the priest's shoulder, who finished reading the sentence.
- So be it. Afonso Nunes, for the crimes of heresy, blasphemy, and witchcraft, will be sentenced to death at the stake.
Everyone kept their eyes on the shaved-headed priest. He had barely taken his seat again and the bishop was already leaning in to talk to him. Whatever he said was convincing, for the bishop put his hand on his subordinate's shoulder and all seemed well. Afonso Nunes was dragged towards the wood piles, had his hands and arms tied, and was thrown to the ground. The sisters looked at each other, knowing they would be treated very similarly in a matter of minutes. Indeed, when they were taken to the stage, one after the other, pleas of repentance and oaths to follow the Church's doctrine and faith did nothing to change the sentence of death for the crimes of witchcraft and heresy. They were also tied up and thrown at the foot of the wooden piles, along with Afonso Nunes and all the other unfortunate souls wearing the dark sambenito.
The ceremony took all afternoon. The sun was setting when the last in line was ordered to do forced labor, just before the last lash was delivered against the back of an old man who did not seem able to stand on his own legs, let alone the strength of a whip. When the man managed to walk away, albeit supported by his two sons, the general opinion was that the executioner had been purposefully lenient.
When the bishop descended from the dais, followed by the other priests, and when the soldiers forced the ones tied to the ground to rise, the expectation of the crowd reached its peak. That was the moment everyone had been waiting for: the moment when divine wrath would fall on heretics, when the justice of men would wipe out the Devil's lackeys from the earth. The screams and insults directed at the ten unfortunate people was deafening, but the bishop silenced the crowd with the raising of a hand.
Benedita and Augusta did not bother too much with the bishop's speech: something about saving their souls through the cleansing of fire; other about eliminating the evil the devil had infected their bodies with. The sisters were more worried about how to escape.
-Dita, do you still have it?
-Yes, Augusta, it's under my skirt, don't worry.
-What if they... - Augusta lowered her head as the bishop passed by them "...their souls will be purged of all evil..." - they find...
-They won't! Now shut up!
A movement caused the accused to look back. Large wooden logs were being skewered with difficulty among the piles. When the two sisters turned back again to the bishop and crowd, they were startled by the immediate presence of priest Tomás, looking at them with interest.
-Augusta and Benedita Bulcão... - The man shook his head sadly. – It is a shame, such young souls…
Tomás raised his right hand to bless them both. Benedita felt something move and couldn't do more than watch, helplessly and shocked, the wand hidden under her dress fly into the priest's free hand. Comprehension came down upon her with the force of a punch.
-No... You... You are...
The woman's voice was suddenly gone, and she could only open and close her mouth like a dying fish. Inside, she screamed in horror. Augusta, who hadn't seen the priest's discreet movement, took her time to notice and didn't quite understand the desperate look on her sister's eyes, nor her tears, or her sudden silence.
-Dita, Dita, what's going on?
The woman did not seem to hear her younger sister, however. She looked around in panic, realization hitting her hard. The sheer desperation of Benedita, usually so calm, deeply affected Augusta and she craned her neck trying to spot her father in the crowd. The priest, who had not moved yet, as he was carefully observing the reaction extracted from the accused, noticed the movement of the younger Bulcão and pointed somewhere in the crowd.
-Diogo is right there. – Then he caressed the teenager's white cheek and forced her face so that her very dark eyes fell into his greenish-brown eyes – But he won't be able to help you, child. These two are to be separated!
Soon each of the sisters was pushed onto a pile of wood, along with the other accused. All were tied tightly to the posts by their hands and feet. Augusta knew something was deeply wrong. Of course, being accused of witchcraft and imprisoned by the Inquisition was bad enough, but she was confident they would emerge unscathed from the bonfire, like at least half a dozen others in her community. Dita had made sure the wand was under her clothes, and then it was just a matter of using the right spell and they would all be safe! So why was Benedita crying so much? What had the priest said about his father? Wait... How did he know her father?
Afonso Nunes was tied up right beside her. He was sorcerer, also. He was sure to get them out of this, right?
-Sir Afonso... Do you have a wand with you? Can you get us out of here?
The man, who had hitherto maintained his haughty pose and steady gaze, finally dropped his mask, revealing a deep sadness as he stared into the teenager's dark eyes. He shook his head.
-I'm sorry, child. There is nothing I or anyone else can do.
Augusta blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it all.
-No problem, my father is here, he's going to do something...
She felt her heart sink in her chest as she felt the man's hot, sweaty fingers reach for hers, in a strange attempt at holding hands. He was still looking at her with sadness, but now with pity too. And a tear fell from his eyes.
-Your father can't do anything, child. Tomás warded the pyres. No spells from outside can reach us in here.
Comprehension finally descended upon the girl. She stared straight ahead, despair rising in her throat. In the fire ahead the smoke was already high, and she couldn't see Benedita very well. She felt heat and smoke rise from under her feet. She looked out over the crowd where her parents, uncles and aunts, were desperate trying to reach them and were being held by soldiers. Father Tomás was heading towards them. From where she stoon now Augusta could finally see the wand the priest carried unobtrusively in his left hand, but soon the smoke covered her vision and the only thing she could see was the sad and distressed face of Afonso Nunes, who tightened his grip on her fingers. She buried her face in the man's shoulder and did the only thing she could: scream.