Chapter 22: The Priest Who Settles Accounts

In the city square, the knights of Parma brought over the last chest of silver. Matilda gazed at the piles of silver, lost in contemplation.

She had no clear idea of the scale of Leo’s scheme. Even as a duchess, Matilda felt Leo’s actions bordered on the outrageous. Just how capable was this man? In a brief meeting, he had persuaded the Bishop of Parma to hand over such a fortune, which only made Matilda all the more curious.

The courtiers clustered around Matilda whispered amongst themselves, ignoring the distant uproar from the Jewish quarter.

“There must be over a thousand pounds of silver here.”

“My God, this is faster than robbery.”

“Do you think he might be the bishop’s illegitimate son?”

As for the knights of Parma, they too were pondering the situation. So much money, gifted away? Did the bishop have some secret held over these people?

But speculation aside, once they had finished stacking the silver, they realized the contact had vanished. The papal envoy was nowhere to be seen.

Where was he?

The knights milled about, confused, until a group of knights returned, their weapons stained with blood and the scent of carnage still clinging to them. The Parma knights could see the marks of battle upon them, and the spoils of war hung from their packs. The attendants looked more like wandering vagabonds than knights, burdened with bundles and sacks, their dignity lost.

If anything, they resembled beggars.

“You—”

The leading Parma knight was about to question them when Leo flicked a silver coin from his fingers.

Instinctively, the knight caught the coin, distracted from his interrogation.

“Thank you for your assistance. We’ll be on our way,” Leo said.

The knight stared at the coin in his hand, then at Leo. For some reason, he had the impression that Leo was leaving in haste, as if afraid of being discovered.

Could it be that the holy relic was a fake?

The knight hurriedly opened the box and examined the relic inside. It lay cushioned in layers of silk, the bone adorned with gems and gold, hardly looking counterfeit. And the box itself was indeed the one Leo had handed to Honorius earlier.

If there was no trickery, then why the rush?

The knight puzzled over it until his attendant tapped him urgently.

“Sir, look over there!”

The attendant’s voice trembled with alarm. The knight turned and followed the direction of his finger.

A column of black smoke rose from the Jewish quarter. For a moment, the knight was stunned, then acted quickly, leading his men toward the source.

Was it a street brawl among the citizens?

As knights who had long lived near Parma, they knew the citizens could be fierce.

But when they arrived, all were struck dumb.

On the outskirts of the Jewish community, citizens scavenged through the ruins, searching for anything of value left behind. The surviving Jews sat on the ground in a daze, staring blankly at the sky or clutching their heads in tears.

Yet what shocked them most was not this scene.

It was the pervasive stench of burning, and the synagogue still ablaze. The walls had collapsed under the raging flames. Through the gaps, they could see charred figures, burned into the shape of men.

No, not shapes. They were men burned into charcoal.

The knights recoiled, clutching their chests, fighting the urge to vomit.

The younger attendants, less hardened, retched outright.

Some had never seen battle, yet here they witnessed true hell on earth.

The leading knight, suppressing his nausea, approached a citizen to ask, “What happened here? Who