Giovanni soon learned about Bartolo's remarks. Luca was the one who told him, and he was furious.
"Abbot, that Bartolo is outrageous!" Luca complained angrily. "He dares to openly stir the villagers against us! We should send people to seize him and whip him!"
In Luca's mind, people like Bartolo deserved the old methods Matteo had used.
Giovanni, however, was not angry after hearing this. His face still wore that compassionate smile.
"Luca," he said gently, "anger is the devil's whisper. It blinds the eyes. Bartolo is not opposing us. He is helping us."
Luca froze. "Helping us?"
He did not understand at all.
"Yes," Giovanni replied calmly. "He is helping us separate those who waver from those who are truly faithful."
"You cannot tell if a sheep is good just by how it behaves in the pen. You find out when the wolf comes. Does it run with the shepherd, or follow the other sheep in panic?"
"Bartolo is that lead wolf. Now he has howled once. We only need to wait and see how many sheep follow him."
Luca nodded, half understanding. He always felt the abbot's words carried deeper meaning.
"Then… what should we do now?" he asked.
"Nothing," Giovanni said. "Let's take a walk."
A walk?
Luca was even more confused. Things were about to explode, and the abbot wanted to walk?
Giovanni did not explain. He led Luca out of the monastery. It was already afternoon, and the sun felt warm on their skin as they walked slowly along the village path.
A fourteenth-century European village was not pleasant to look at. The road was dirt, full of pits, and rain from a few days earlier had left dirty water pooled everywhere. The smell was foul. On both sides stood villagers' houses, most built of stone and mud, topped with straw roofs. Trash piled up at every doorway, where pigs and chickens rummaged freely. Several children without trousers rolled in the mud. The air was thick with the stench of filth, rot, and livestock.
Giovanni walked through this mess in his simple sandals, his expression calm, almost content. He liked the contrast. The more filthy the surroundings, the more his purity stood out.
Luca followed behind, stepping carefully, trying not to dirty his robe. To him, the abbot was like a white lotus blooming from a pile of dung.
They reached the far end of the village, where Jacob's butcher shop stood.
Business looked good. Several slabs of freshly slaughtered meat hung at the door, dark red and fresh. A wooden sign read: Fresh Venison. A few men who looked like servants of small landowners were bargaining with Jacob. He swung his knife as he chopped meat, talking as he worked. There was a confidence on his face that had not been there before.
Giovanni saw it and knew the task had been done.
Jacob also noticed Giovanni. His hand paused for a moment, then steadied. He gave Giovanni a humble smile filled with understanding.
Giovanni returned a slight nod. One glance was enough. They both knew.
Giovanni continued walking. Not far ahead, he saw the person he wanted.
Bartolo.
Bartolo stood by the edge of his largest wheat field, hands on his hips, watching his tenants work. Giovanni quickened his pace and wore a look of pleasant surprise.
"Oh, Messer Bartolo," he called warmly. "Good day. May the Lord bless you."
Bartolo turned and saw the young, pretty-faced abbot. He paused. He had not expected this. He thought Giovanni would send people to trouble him. Instead, the abbot came in person, and with such a humble attitude.
Bartolo straightened his back at once.
"Oh, Abbot," he said lazily.
"I wouldn't dare," Giovanni said quickly, waving his hands. "Before such a respected elder, I am just a young man."
Bartolo narrowed his eyes. What was this boy plotting?
"Messer Bartolo, I came today to ask for your guidance," Giovanni continued.
"Oh?" Bartolo grew interested. "About what?"
Giovanni sighed. "You know, I've only just become abbot. I'm inexperienced in shepherding souls. My intention with the Firstfruits Thanksgiving was to glorify the Lord and unite the faith of the villagers, but it seems many do not understand."
"I've heard that you also have opinions about this plan."
He looked at Bartolo like a student seeking instruction.
"Messer Bartolo, you are the wisest and most respected man in the village. You understand the villagers far better than I do. Could you teach me? What should I do to guide the Lord's flock better, to serve the village better?"
Giovanni's words made Bartolo feel as if he had drunk fine wine. Comfort spread through him. He had always believed he was the true ruler of this village, and now even the abbot had come to seek his advice.
What did that prove?
It proved this young abbot was useless.
Bartolo's vanity swelled. He felt fully in control. Clearing his throat, he began lecturing Giovanni like an elder.
"Abbot, you're young. You don't understand how things work here. With these peasants, fancy ideas don't work. Honor and blessings mean nothing to them."
"You need to make them fear you, like they fear me."
"Look at me. I never waste words. If someone doesn't pay rent, I take his land. If someone owes me money, I smash his cooking pot."
"Then they behave."
Bartolo spoke with spit flying. Giovanni nodded again and again.
"Yes. Yes. That makes perfect sense. Then… about the Firstfruits Thanksgiving, how should I change it?"
Bartolo thought for a moment, then answered, "If you ask me, cancel it. It's useless. But since the notice is already up, canceling it would hurt your pride."
"How about this," he said generously. "Make that Roll of Honor fancier. Draw some flowers on it. Inlay some colored glass. And on the celebration day, have the monks sing more hymns. Sing louder."
"Also prepare some cheap wine and hand it out. One small cup per person is enough."
They were shallow, useless suggestions that touched nothing important.
Giovanni listened as if he had found treasure. He bowed deeply.
"Messer Bartolo, you truly are my guiding light. Don't worry. I will improve my plan exactly as you advised."
"Thank you so much. Another day, I will bring the monastery's best wine and thank you in person."
Bartolo waved his hand as if dismissing a servant. "Fine. Fine."
Giovanni spoke a few more words of thanks before leaving with Luca.
Watching Giovanni's retreating figure, Bartolo sneered. He thought this new abbot was nothing but a decorative pillow, nice to look at and useless inside. He was already planning how to mock him once the celebration failed, and how to further seize the monastery's power to collect taxes.
* * *
On the way back, Luca could not hold it in any longer.
"Abbot, why were you so polite to him? That Bartolo means us no good! Those suggestions were nonsense!"
Luca's face was red with anger. He felt the abbot had bowed to a villain, a humiliation.
Giovanni stopped and turned to him. "Luca," he said with a smile, "have you seen how hunters catch a bear?"
Luca shook his head.
"A hunter doesn't charge at a bear head-on. That would be foolish. He digs a pit on the path the bear often walks, covers it with branches and leaves, and then places a beehive on the other side."
"When the bear smells honey, it forgets everything and rushes forward. And then it falls into the trap."
Giovanni patted Luca's shoulder.
"Bartolo is that bear. What I gave him just now wasn't humility. It was honey."
"He has tasted sweetness. He thinks he is smarter and stronger than me. He will grow more arrogant and stop fearing me. He will think he can do whatever he wants."
"And then, he will run straight into the trap I prepared for him."
Luca stood there, stunned. Only now did he understand. That meeting, that request for advice, every bit of it had been an act.
He looked at Giovanni's familiar, compassionate smile. For some reason, a chill ran down his spine. He felt the abbot was far more terrifying than any bear.
* * *
That night, deep silence filled the monastery. All the monks were asleep, and only the night watch monk walked the courtyard with a lamp.
Suddenly, he heard a loud clatter at the monastery gate. He jumped and hurried over. Opening the wooden door, he peered outside.
No one was there.
Moonlight shone on the cold stone steps. He relaxed, thinking he had imagined it, and was about to close the door when a strong stench hit his nose.
He looked down.
At the foot of the steps sat a wicker basket. The smell came from inside.
Curious, he stepped closer and lifted the lamp. The basket was filled with rotten, decaying fish. Their eyes were white, most of the scales had fallen off, and flies buzzed above them.
The monk almost vomited.
As he was about to curse, he noticed a note stuck among the fish. He pulled it out and held it close to the lamp. Written in crooked charcoal letters was a single line:
"This is the offering for you."
Below it was a crude, insulting symbol.
The monk's face turned pale.
This was provocation. A naked insult to the entire monastery.
He did not dare delay. Holding the note, he ran to Giovanni's room and pounded on the door.
Bang, bang, bang…
"Abbot! Something terrible has happened!"
The door opened. Giovanni stood there in his night robe, with no trace of sleep on his face, as if he had been waiting.
"What is it?" he asked calmly. "Why the panic?"
The monk handed him the foul-smelling note.
"Abbot, look!"
Giovanni glanced at it, then walked to the doorway and looked down at the basket of rotten fish beneath the steps.
**
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