The church was empty, with only a few scattered monk robes lying in disarray on the floor before the altar.
Giovanni stumbled out from a small room behind it. His hair was soaked, damp strands clinging to his pale forehead. His robe had been torn open down the front, hanging loose and disordered. His face was deathly white, and he gasped for air, one hand bracing against the altar while the other clutched something tightly.
It was a wooden cross.
But now, the cross had snapped cleanly in half.
The abbot seemed not to notice Marco at all. Leaning heavily on the altar, he staggered forward step by step until, with a dull thud, he dropped to his knees before it.
"Lord…" he whispered, his voice so weak it was barely audible.
"I did all I could…"
"Bartolo's vengeful spirit is too strong… his greed became the source of his power after death…"
"I drove him back… but he will return…"
"Those tainted possessions… those bloodstained coins scattered outside… they are his markers… the anchors of Hell…"
"As long as they remain in the village for even one more day, he will never find rest…"
"He will seek out those who took his wealth… one by one… and drag them into Hell…"
"Lord… please forgive me… I failed to protect Your lambs…"
After speaking, Giovanni could no longer hold himself up. His head tilted, and he collapsed before the altar.
Marco was utterly terrified.
A vengeful spirit. Anchors of Hell. Dragged into Hell one by one.
Fear crushed his reason. He dared not stay a moment longer. Driven purely by instinct, he fled the monastery.
* * *
Marco ran back in a daze. Once home, he told his wife and neighbors everything he had seen and heard, exaggerating every detail.
The abbot had fought Bartolo's evil spirit alone to protect everyone. Even the sacred cross had been broken.
The abbot had said it himself. All the money taken from Bartolo's house was cursed. It was the anchor of the evil spirit. Whoever held it would die.
This time, fear truly fell over the whole village.
Those who had shared in the plunder dragged out the gold coins, silverware, and jewelry they had hidden away. They stared at the glittering objects as if they were death warrants.
What they held no longer felt like wealth. It was a hot potato, a poisonous snake that could strike at any moment.
Some wanted to throw the items back into Bartolo's house, but they did not dare. Maybe Bartolo's vengeful spirit was still there. Going now would be walking straight into a trap.
Others thought about tossing everything into the river, but like Marco, they could not bring themselves to do it. After all, it was real gold and silver.
Greed and fear tore at each other inside their hearts, over and over, tormenting them until they were close to madness.
By afternoon, someone finally broke.
It was still Marco.
He took the lead and contacted several other small landowners like himself, people who had taken a good share during the looting. They gathered together and talked for a long time. In the end, they went to the monastery gate.
* * *
Thump, thump, thump…
Several men dropped to their knees together in the square before the monastery gate.
"Please, Abbot Giovanni, save our lives!"
Their cries drew more villagers over. Before long, a large crowd was kneeling outside the monastery, all of them people who had taken ill-gotten wealth.
The monastery gates slowly opened.
Giovanni came out, supported by Luca. He had changed into a clean robe, but his face was still pale, his expression weak and exhausted. He looked at the kneeling crowd and let out a heavy sigh.
"You… sigh…"
"Although I spoke for the Lord and absolved you of the sin of looting, who could have known Bartolo's vengeful spirit would be so powerful. His hatred has already clung to every single piece of property."
"This is no longer ordinary money. It is a ticket to Hell."
Marco led the way, slamming his head into the ground until his forehead bled. "Abbot! Please show mercy and help us think of a way!"
Everyone followed, bowing again and again. Pleading cries filled the air.
In the crowd, a skinny man like a dried stick shouted while bowing, "Bartolo collecting rent was eating flesh and drinking blood! Taking back a little of it was allowed by God!"
Beside him, a woman with messy hair cried, "My husband is lying in bed and is about to die. If we throw away this money, the children will starve."
Someone else called out, "If we wash it with holy water, can we cleanse the curse and keep the money?"
Giovanni did not answer immediately. Leaning against Luca, his gaze swept across the flushed faces before him.
He knew it well. Forcing people to spit out meat already in their mouths was harder than killing them.
Fear could make them kneel, but only greed could make them obey.
The sun slowly tilted westward. Just as their knees went numb and their bodies began to sway, he covered his mouth with a handkerchief and coughed twice.
At last, he spoke.
"There is… a way."
Everyone lifted their heads. Hope flared in their eyes.
Marco crawled forward on his knees until he stopped a foot from Giovanni's shoes. "Abbot Giovanni! Please speak! As long as we can keep this money to stay alive, even if you tell us to scoop sand from the Arno River, we will do it!"
"Yes! Abbot! Please save us!"
Giovanni looked down at the dark mass of bowed heads before him, his face filled with deep hesitation. He waved a hand to Luca behind him.
Luca understood at once and turned back through the gate. Moments later, he returned carrying a tray covered with red velvet. On it lay a thick stack of parchment paper.
Each sheet was cut neatly, the edges traced with gold powder that gleamed blindingly in the setting sun.
Giovanni picked one up and unfolded it.
"This is not ordinary paper. This is a 'St. Lucia Grace Gold Certificate.'"
The villagers raised their heads and stared at the parchment in confusion. They could not read, but they recognized the patterns. Those designs appeared only in the most sacred scriptures.
"Coins are stained with blood and resentment, so you cannot keep them," Giovanni continued, giving the parchment a light shake. "But this paper is not."
"This paper has been blessed by the monastery and sprinkled with holy water from the Jordan River. It is clean."
"My method is simple."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over faces filled with fear and greed.
"Since you fear the curse on those coins, then give the coins to me. Give them to the monastery."
**
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