Giovanni came alone, bringing no attendants with him. He wore a plain gray robe and carried a clay jug in his hand.
Jacob froze for a moment, unsure what to say.
"Won't you invite me in for a drink."
Giovanni smiled. His tone was exactly the same as when they were kids sneaking wine together.
Only then did Jacob react. He quickly let him inside.
The room was messy. Hooks and knives used for slaughter lay in the corner. Jacob felt embarrassed, thinking his pigsty of a home was not fit for the abbot to step into.
Giovanni did not mind at all. He found a wooden stool himself and sat down, placing the clay jug on the greasy table.
"I took this from the monastery cellar," he said. "Try it. It's better than what we used to steal."
Jacob fumbled around and found two wooden cups. He thought they were dirty and wiped them again and again with a cloth.
Giovanni personally filled both cups.
The red liquid under the dim oil lamp looked like blood.
This was the first time Jacob had ever drunk so close to a "great man." He was nervous, and his words came out clumsy.
Giovanni kept talking. He talked about their childhood, about how they hid the old monk's wig and made him conduct Mass with a bald head, and about how they shaped mud into monsters to scare timid girls.
As he spoke, Jacob slowly relaxed. He felt that the man sitting across from him was not some high abbot. It was still Giovanni, the boy who wrestled with him in the river.
"Jacob."
Giovanni drank a cup of wine, his cheeks flushing slightly.
"Do you know, since becoming abbot, wearing this robe every day, speaking to monks and villagers, holding myself up, saying what they want to hear. It's exhausting."
"Only here," he tapped his chest, "do I feel like I'm still myself."
That sentence hit Jacob hard.
The abbot saw him as a friend. A real friend.
He raised his cup, clinked it against Giovanni's, and drank it dry.
"Don't worry, Giovanni," Jacob said with the courage of wine. "No matter who you are, you are my friend."
Giovanni smiled. "Our friendship will always remain."
Those words echoed in Jacob's mind.
Friendship with the abbot would always remain.
What did that mean?
It meant no one in the village would dare look down on him again. It meant his butcher shop now had the monastery as backing.
Jacob was delighted.
Seeing his joy, Giovanni poured him another cup.
"Oh, right," Giovanni said, as if remembering something. "From now on, your butcher shop won't need to pay tithe. I'll tell the monk who keeps the accounts."
Jacob's eyes lit up at once.
No tax.
The butcher's tithe was heavy. Every quarter, the monastery came. They either took a tenth of his income or decided it was too little and led away a pig.
Each time, it hurt deeply. Now, with just one sentence, it was gone.
Jacob was even happier.
To him, Giovanni was no longer just a friend. He was like a second father.
He felt that for this friendship and this favor, he could do anything.
The wine was almost finished.
Jacob noticed that though Giovanni kept smiling, there was a trace of worry between his brows. It looked like the expression they had as children when caught stealing.
"Giovanni… no, Abbot," Jacob asked carefully. "Is something troubling you?"
Giovanni sighed and set down his cup. The smile faded, replaced by weariness and helplessness.
"I fear my time as abbot is coming to an end."
Jacob sobered instantly.
That would not do.
If the abbot fell, who would back him? Would the promise of no tax vanish? Would this hard-won friendship disappear? Would he return to being the butcher no one respected, reeking of pig blood?
Jacob panicked.
"Abbot, what happened? Who dares remove you?"
Giovanni shook his head. "Things are not smooth in the monastery. I am young. Some elders refuse to accept me. They believe I took a position meant for them."
"There is a monk named Matteo. He was close to the former abbot. He has always wanted to remove me."
"Tomorrow," Giovanni stared at the oil lamp flame dancing in his eyes, "he will go to Florence. He gathered most of the monks and wrote a joint letter. He plans to accuse me before the bishop and ask for my removal."
Jacob was not stupid. Though uneducated, years in the meat trade had taught him about people. He understood at once.
Why the abbot came alone at night. Why he spoke of childhood friendship. Why he exempted his tax.
It was because of this Matteo.
Jacob's heart began to race. This was his chance. A chance to prove loyalty. A chance to secure his future.
"Abbot, what do you need me to do?"
Giovanni lifted his head and looked into his eyes.
That gaze became the same one Jacob saw in the village during the day. Compassionate. Holy. Like a god watching suffering men.
"Jacob, Matteo is a good man. But he has been tempted by the devil. His heart is filled with envy and resentment. He has strayed from the Lord's path."
"For the peace of the monastery and the well-being of all believers in St. Lucia, he must not go to Florence to spread lies and conflict."
"He needs… to stand before God and confess his sins."
Giovanni spoke slowly and clearly.
He did not say 'kill him.' He said 'go before God to atone.'
Jacob understood. When slaughtering pigs, monks came too. They muttered prayers, saying they were cleansing the soul.
It was the same.
"Abbot," Jacob stood and bowed deeply. "I understand."
* * *
Jacob spat on the ground and tightened his grip on the hemp rope.
He heard hooves on the dirt road.
Tap, tap, tap…
Getting closer.
He peered through the pine needles and saw a man in a monk's robe riding an old mule toward the bend.
That was him.
Jacob was calm. There was no panic of a first kill. It felt like waiting for a pig penned in his yard. When the time came, it was time to slaughter.
He judged the distance.
Fifty steps.
Thirty.
Ten.
Now.
He yanked the rope back hard.
The rope hidden under soil and leaves snapped tight across the road. Matteo was lost in thought and saw nothing. The mule's front legs caught the rope. It cried out and lost balance, crashing forward.
Matteo was thrown, his back hitting the ground heavily. He tried to get up, but his limbs would not obey, and his ears rang.
He couldn't even understand what happened when a shadow fell over him.
He forced his eyes open. His vision blurred.
He saw boots caked with mud.
He saw a blade gleaming cold.
A butcher's bloodletting knife.
Before he could cry out or wonder why such a knife was here, Jacob bent down. His left hand pressed Matteo's shoulder, while his right hand drove the knife into his neck.
Then he pulled sideways, just as he did when bleeding pigs.
A hot spray burst out.
Matteo's eyes flew wide. He tried to speak, but only blood poured from his mouth. His body convulsed, then went still.
After finishing Matteo, Jacob turned to the mule still crying nearby.
Meat could not be wasted.
He raised the knife and stabbed into the mule's soft neck. Its short cries became a long wail. Its legs twitched a few times.
Then it stopped.
The forest path was quiet. Only wind whispered through pine needles.
Jacob dragged the mule and Matteo into the woods and began his work.
Soon, he emerged pulling a flat cart.
Creak. Creak.
The wheels turned slowly as he pulled the cart step by step toward St. Lucia village.
Yesterday, the cart carried fresh pork.
Today, it carried a monk and a mule.
To him, there was little difference.
**
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