When people are set alight, they burn hotter than a pile of firewood.
The first to move were several of Nio's cousins. They were poor men who usually kept their heads down. On normal days, when they saw Bartolo, they acted like mice facing a cat. Tonight, the mice found their courage.
Their eyes were red. They said nothing.
They turned and ran back to their homes, not to fetch tools for eating, but tools for killing.
Next came Giotto the baker. He felt that the skill and pride of his entire life had been crushed by Bartolo the demon. He was going too. He wanted to haul out all the flour from that estate and see if it would rise at all.
Then there was Mario the blacksmith, a man built like a bear. His wife, Rosa, was one of the most devout women in the village. For days she had muttered at home that Bartolo was a demon, that if he was not burned, their entire family would go to hell with him.
Mario had never truly believed before. He believed in the hammer in his hands more.
Now he believed.
Because the abbot had spoken, and the abbot's words were harder than his hammer.
He ran the fastest. He went home to fetch the heavy hammer he used at the forge.
One. Two. Ten. A hundred.
People scattered down the hillside like a retreating tide, then surged back into the village. Soon, they gathered again like a rising flood. This time, they were no longer empty-handed onlookers.
They carried all kinds of things.
Hoes that had turned soil days ago would now turn flesh. Sickles that had cut wheat yesterday would now cut throats. Pitchforks once used to lift hay for cattle would now pierce Bartolo's heart.
Axes, clubs, butcher knives appeared, and torches were lit. Hundreds of flames joined together and wound through the village like a living thing.
This fire dragon had only one destination: Bartolo's estate.
"Cleanse him!"
"Burn the demon!"
"Take back our things!"
Giovanni stood on the hillside. Luca and several other monks stood behind him. They watched the roaring fire dragon rush toward the estate, which was already glowing red under the blaze.
Luca's face flickered in the firelight. His lips trembled from excitement. He felt as if he were witnessing history, a sacred and great judgment.
"Abbot," he said, his voice shaking. "We… we are not going?"
Giovanni watched the unstoppable flood and spoke softly. "Not yet. The lambs need time to feast. We are shepherds. Shepherds always clean the table last."
* * *
The gate of Bartolo's estate was made of oak reinforced with iron. It was solid. In the past, it had symbolized power. Any tenant who came here would lower his head.
Today, it was nothing. Just wood in the way.
Dozens of strong men carried a thick log cut from the forest and charged forward.
"One! Two! Three! Hit!"
Boom!
The log smashed into the iron gate. The hinges groaned and the iron plating caved in.
Behind the gate, several servants braced it with their bodies. Their faces were pale with terror. They heard the ocean-like roar outside and felt each impact shake the ground beneath their feet.
The steward, the middle-aged man Bartolo had scolded days before, shouted, "Hold it! Hold it! The master said whoever lets them in will have his legs broken!"
But even as he spoke, he was already inching backward.
"One! Two! Three! Hit!"
Boom!
A crack split the wooden boards, and firelight poured through the gap, followed by twisted faces.
"We cannot hold it! Steward! We cannot hold it!" a young servant cried.
Boom!
The third strike sent the entire gate and frame collapsing inward. Several servants were crushed under the falling door and did not move again.
The steward was quick. He avoided being pinned and crawled away. From the ground, he watched the mob surge into the courtyard like a flood, carrying torches and farm tools.
It was over.
That was the only thought in his mind.
Leading the villagers was Mario the blacksmith. He spotted the steward cowering against the wall and raised his hammer.
The steward collapsed to his knees and begged.
"Don't kill me! Please don't kill me! I am not Bartolo's man! I was oppressed too!"
"I know where the treasure is! I know where he hid the gold!"
To save his life, he sold his master without hesitation.
Mario's hammer stopped in midair as greed flashed in his rage filled eyes.
"Lead the way!"
Feeling granted a pardon, the steward scrambled up and ran ahead, bent low like a dog that had found a new owner.
"This way! My lords! This way! Bartolo's treasure room is on the second floor of the main house!"
Part of the mob followed him toward the manor, while the rest scattered across the estate. They broke into servants' quarters, stormed the kitchens, and rushed into the stables.
They looted anything they saw.
They killed anything that moved.
A stable hand who tried to resist was pinned to a wall by several farmers with pitchforks. His eyes were still wide open when he died.
Another maid tried to flee with a bundle of silver tableware. Several men grabbed her. The silver was taken, and she was dragged into a dark corner.
* * *
Bartolo was still in his treasure room when the crashing sounds outside finally reached him. He climbed onto a tall stool and peered through the small window.
He saw his front gate smashed open, and he saw those familiar, lowly faces, tenants and craftsmen holding torches and weapons, pouring into his courtyard like madmen. He also saw his granary still burning, the granary he had spent half his life building, now a giant torch.
At last, he understood. Giovanni's curse was not empty words. It was real.
"Fire shall consume your greed…"
The words echoed in his mind, and his whole body trembled, not from fear, but from pure rage. He felt betrayed, betrayed by the village, by the white eyed wolves he had fed, by the young abbot he had always despised, by everything.
"Rebellion… this is rebellion…" he muttered, jumping down from the stool.
His face, worn from a day and night without sleep, twisted horribly. "I will kill them… I will kill every one of those dogs…"
He looked around at his treasure, his gold and contracts, the things being coveted by the mob outside. No. Absolutely not. These were his life. No one could take them.
His gaze then fell on the wall, where a sword hung. It was a decorative blade bought in Florence for a high price when he was young, with a sharkskin scabbard and colored glass set into the hilt. He had never killed anyone with it and had barely drawn it before.
Now he took it down, gripped the hilt, and pulled hard.
Clang!
The sword came free, the blade gleaming coldly under candlelight. Holding it, he felt a bit of strength return. He was no longer just a moneylender in the village. He was a king defending his castle.
Footsteps sounded outside, growing closer. They were coming for his treasure room.
"My lords! It is here! All that old bastard's money is inside!"
It was the steward's voice, the one he had trusted most.
"Find him! Kill him!"
"Break the door!"
Bang, bang, bang…
The iron door shook as hammers and axes struck it from outside. Bartolo's eyes turned fully red.
He did not hide. Holding the sword, he walked to the door, slid back the bolt himself, and yanked it open.
The corridor was packed with people.
Mario the blacksmith.
Giotto the baker.
And the steward who had sold him out.
They all held weapons. Their faces were filled with greed and cruelty. When the door flew open and they saw him standing there with a sword, they froze, not expecting him to open the door himself.
"You dogs! Ungrateful dogs!"
He roared and swung the sword at Mario, who stood in front, using all his strength.
Mario did not expect the attack. Panicking, he raised his hammer to block.
Clang!
The flashy decorative sword struck the iron hammer and snapped in half, half of it clattering to the floor. Bartolo stared at the broken blade in his hand, his last courage and last hope shattering with it.
"Ha… haha…"
Mario recovered and laughed. Then he raised the hammer.
"Die! Demon!"
The hammer whistled through the air and smashed down toward Bartolo's head. He did not even have time to dodge.
Thud.
Like crushing a melon, his skull caved in, red and white splattering everywhere.
The expression on his face froze in shock, disbelief, and confusion as his body swayed and fell backward. He collapsed inside the room filled with his treasure.
Bartolo was dead.
His eyes remained open, reflecting the glittering gold coins he had loved most.
**
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