In the Garden of Iden Read Online Free

pillow and went unconcernedly to sleep. I headed for the staircase at once. I had to have a look at this great lord. Up the high bare creaking flight narrow as a ladder, I went; round and round to the top of the house.
    At the end of the passageway was a shut door. I ran and pulled it open.
    No lord there, with riding boots and sword propped beside his bed; no fine aristocrat pale against the bed linen. No. Only, leaning in the corner, the figure of a man all braided together out of sheaves of wheat. He was large as life and decked with colored ribbons, bright and frivolous as festival time.
    Writing this down, I can still feel the howl of disappointment rising in me. I tiptoed into the room—God knows why I tiptoed, I could never wake him—and looked very closely to be sure.
    A big straw dolly was all he was, like the play figures folk put up to decorate their houses at harvest time and burned later. I remembered seeing them. I remembered the priest scowling and telling us these were things of the Devil.
    I had been crying quietly but clapped my hands over my mouth as Light Dawned on me.
    Crash of cymbals for dramatic emphasis here. Actually, there had to have been quite a lot of crashing and other commotion going on downstairs at this point, but all I heard was my own heart pounding. These people were witches. The Devil gave them powers and that was where all the gold came from and of course all witches dressed in splendid clothes. No, wait, wasn’t that secret Jews? Was it Jews who sacrificed little children to idols and witches who ate them, or the other way around? Whichever, I had to find the Holy Inquisition as fast as I could.
    I turned and scurried down the stairs, arriving at the bottom landing to behold the hallway full of big men, booted and spurred. Two of them were dragging the young man out of the kitchen. He had puked all over his doublet in terror, and hung limp between them. A grim-looking fellow leaned down and said:
    “Señor, the Holy Inquisition is waiting for you. It seems they wish to discuss a matter of faith.”
    “Are you Inquisidors?” I inquired, peering through the stair railings. All their heads swung up in astonishment.
    “Yes,” said the grim man.
    With a cry of relief I ran down and hugged him around the legs. He stared at me in shock. I can’t imagine he got that kind of reaction from people very often.
    “Thank you, Holy Inquisidor!” I babbled. “These people are witches and they were going to kill me and there’s a big scary devil-thing upstairs, I saw it, and I didn’t know how to find you but here you are! Please save me, señor!”
    There was a moment’s silence before he turned to his men and said:
    “Seize this child also. And search the house.”
    Well, I didn’t think anything was wrong, even when they hauled me out and set me on a horse and bound my hands to the pommel. After all, everyone knew the Holy Office played a little rough. I was so grateful to be saved, I didn’t mind in the least. All I had to do (I thought) was explain everything to the Inquisidors and they would understand the danger I had been in. All would be well. Of course.
    They brought out the young man—he was crying now—and tied him to a horse too. They brought out a big bundle containing everything they had found in the house; I could see the trailing ribbons of the wheat man.
    “See, señor?” I pointed as well as I could with my hands bound. “There’s the bad devil-thing. Are you going to burn this bad man, señor? Are you going to tell my mama and papa?”
    But they wouldn’t answer me. They all mounted; a man vaulted up behind me, and away we rode at a gallop. Just as before, my heart was bright and light. I was rescued! I was safe! Goodbye, dark house under the oak trees!
    Well.
    We came to the great city of Santiago in broad morning, by country lanes and by narrow city streets where not a soul moved, even in the light of day. I remember a city white with dust and blazing in all