The night watch monk was named Paul. He was an honest man who had stayed in the monastery for ten years.
"Abbot, this… this was done by the devil!"
This was not just an insult to the new abbot. It was an insult to the monastery, and an insult to the Lord Himself.
Giovanni said nothing. The night wind was cold, stirring the hem of his robe as the stench from the wicker basket beneath the steps grew stronger. He looked at the rotten fish inside it.
There was no anger. No panic.
He was calm, so calm that it did not feel human.
Paul looked at him and thought the abbot must have been shocked stiff, or perhaps so furious that he could not speak. He wanted to say something to comfort him, but did not know how.
After a long while, Giovanni's expression finally changed. It was not anger, but sorrow. His blue eyes grew misty as he looked at Paul and slowly shook his head.
"Paul," he said, his voice hoarse and tired, "you are wrong. This was not done by the devil."
Paul froze. If not the devil, then who?
"Satan is proud," Giovanni continued. "He would never use such sneaky and filthy tricks. If he wanted to attack the Lord's flock, he would send a plague. He would call forth a pack of wolves."
His gaze passed over Paul's shoulder and into the darkness beyond, toward the sleeping village of St. Lucia.
"This was done by humans. By servants of Satan. By wolves wearing human skin, hiding among us."
Servants of Satan. In St. Lucia village.
Paul's legs went weak. Something far more terrifying than a basket of rotten fish had happened.
"I can feel it," Giovanni said softly, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his chest. "I can feel the Lord's sorrow. He is watching us, watching this village."
"He has seen that among His flock, there is a sheep covered in filth."
"He is weeping."
Giovanni's body began to tremble slightly, as if he were bearing great pain, as if he were receiving a message from above. He had entered a state Paul could not understand, yet felt was deeply sacred.
Revelation.
The word surfaced in Paul's mind. He had only seen it in the biographies of saints. He never imagined he would witness it himself. He stared at Giovanni, barely breathing.
The man before him was no longer a young abbot. He was a prophet, a prophet speaking directly with the Lord.
"Enough…"
Giovanni suddenly opened his eyes and let out a painful whisper. It was as if he had been dragged out of that sacred state. He grabbed the doorframe and gasped for air.
"Abbot, what's wrong?" Paul rushed forward to support him.
"I saw it… I saw the Lord's anger. He is watching us. He is watching that basket of fish."
"That is not fish. That is sin. The sin of this village. The sin of all of us."
"Our faith has cracked. Our devotion has gathered dust."
"That is why the servants of Satan dared to act so boldly, why they dared to throw their filth at the Lord's door."
Giovanni pushed Paul away and walked down the stairs step by step. He stopped before the wicker basket and did not cover his nose. He simply stood there, looking down at the rotten fish, like he was looking at a dead child.
"Paul."
"Yes, abbot."
"Carry this basket into the church."
Paul was shocked. "The church? Abbot, this… this thing is too filthy. How can it be brought into the Lord's house?"
"That is exactly why the Lord must see it," Giovanni replied, his voice regaining some strength. "This is evidence, evidence that Satan has declared war on us."
"Bring the note as well. Put it in a box. Seal it."
"Yes."
Paul did not dare ask more. He felt every order carried a meaning beyond his grasp. He found a cloth and covered the basket, then struggled to lift it. It was heavy, and foul.
He carried it across the silent courtyard toward the church, his steps heavy. He felt he was not carrying rotten fish, but a coming disaster.
Giovanni stood where he was and watched Paul's back vanish into the church's shadow. The sorrow on his face disappeared at once, like removing a garment, simple and fast. He looked up at the moon, its bright light washing his handsome face pale.
* * *
Early the next morning, before the sky had fully lightened, the monastery bell did not ring.
The monks found it strange. At this hour, the bell always rang on time to call them to morning prayer. What was wrong today? Had the monk in charge of the bell fallen ill?
They left their rooms in small groups and headed toward the church, thinking they would see an empty hall.
But they did not.
Abbot Giovanni stood before the altar in a plain monk's robe. Behind him loomed the great cross, and before him stood all the monks. No one spoke. The air in the church was heavy, so heavy it was hard to breathe.
The monks noticed something beneath the altar: a wicker basket covered with cloth. A faint stench lingered in the air, strange and unlucky.
"My brothers, today, we will not hold morning prayer."
The monks were shocked. No morning prayer? This had never happened in the monastery's history, unless the abbot had died or Florence had fallen to an enemy.
"Today, we repent."
As Giovanni spoke, he bent down and lifted the cloth. With a rustle, a basket of rotten fish was revealed. In the dim light of the church, beneath the sacred glow of the altar, the sight of decaying fish crawling with flies was grotesque, almost blasphemous.
Several young monks in the front gagged.
"Look." Giovanni pointed at the fish. "This is what we, St. Lucia Monastery, look like before the Lord. Rotten. Foul. Repulsive."
The monks exchanged looks, confused.
"Late last night," Giovanni's voice trembled slightly, "someone threw this 'offering' at our gate."
He took out the sealed note and raised it. "It says, 'This is the offering for you.'"
"For me?" He shook his head. "No. This was not offered to me. It was offered to us, to the Lord."
"This is the servants of Satan mocking us all, trampling our faith!"
His voice rose slowly, and their hearts trembled with it. They understood now. Something terrible had happened. Someone had declared war on the monastery.
Luca and the other young monks flushed red with humiliation. They wanted to rush out and hang the culprit from the oak tree, but Giovanni did not allow it.
Instead, his tone changed.
"But, my brothers, we should not be angry. We should not hunt the culprit. We should ask ourselves why."
"Why did the servants of Satan dare to do this? Why today, when we are about to hold the Firstfruits Thanksgiving? Have you thought about it?"
They fell silent.
Yes. Why?
"Because there is a hole in our sheepfold! Because our faith is no longer pure! Because among us are those who doubt the Lord's will and resist His grace!"
Giovanni placed the insulting note beside the announcement of the Firstfruits Thanksgiving.
"I declared this festival to rebuild our bond with the Lord, to free us from poverty and shame, and to let His glory shine on St. Lucia again. This is the Lord's will, passed to you through me, His humble servant."
"But some did not believe. Some said this was a scam, a trick I made up to take money. Some stirred the villagers to resist this holy celebration."
"They thought they were opposing me, Giovanni. No! They were opposing the Lord!"
"They were opening the gate of our sheepfold for the devil! They placed the knife into the hands of Satan's servants! That is why there is this basket of fish! That is why there is this humiliation!"
"This fish is not the sin of the one who threw it. It is the sin of all of us!"
"The sin of shaken faith! The sin of betrayal! The sin of giving the devil a chance to laugh at us!"
Giovanni's words burned into every monk's heart. Anger twisted into fear and shame. Some of them had doubted the festival, even if only slightly. They had heard Bartolo and others openly resist it and thought it would simply be difficult to carry out.
They never imagined it would involve the devil. Satan. A crack in faith. Nor that it would bring such direct, blasphemous retaliation.
Now, after hearing Giovanni speak, everything made sense.
They lost faith. So the devil came.
Philip, the old man chosen to record the Roll of Honor, was the most shaken. He had been too excited to sleep, treating the register as his final sacred work. Now he heard that people were resisting and sabotaging it, he felt like someone was tearing out his heart.
He looked at the rotten fish and breathed in the stench. His eyes reddened, and he was the first to kneel.
"Abbot… we were wrong…"
He wept openly. "We… we failed the Lord… we are sinners…"
Once he knelt, the others followed, kneeling in waves. They were fully stirred by Giovanni's speech, terrified by the fish and the 'holy crisis' it represented.
This was no longer a simple provocation. It felt like a sign of the end.
They believed they were sinners. Anyone who had doubted the plan was a sinner. Anyone who opposed the abbot was walking with the devil.
The church filled with cries and confessions.
Giovanni stood at the altar and coldly watched them kneel at his feet, watched these so-called servants of the Lord bend under his control. He felt no pity, only the thrill of success.
Good.
The first step was complete. The monastery now had a single, fanatical will.
Next would be those outside, the ignorant and superstitious sheep of St. Lucia village.
He raised a hand for silence. The cries faded, and all eyes lifted toward him, filled with fear and hope, waiting for the next 'revelation.'
"Luca."
"Yes, abbot."
"Ring the alarm bell."
Luca stiffened. The alarm bell? That bell was never rung lightly. Only in dire moments. Bandits. Plague. Once it rang, disaster followed.
"Now is the direst moment," Giovanni said. "Our souls are about to be tainted. The Lord's punishment is near."
"Go. Ring it. Call every villager, young or old, rich or poor, to the square before the monastery. I will judge this sin before them all."
"Yes."
Luca hesitated no longer. He stood up, wiped his tears with his sleeve, and ran toward the bell tower.
**
**
**
Thank you for reading! If you'd like access to extra chapters and want to support my work, you can visit my P@treon:
P@treon/SilverShark769
Vote with Power Stones for Bonus Chapters!
Your support means a lot, thank you!