Chapter 52: The Burning Luka (Bonus Chapter)

Crimson sunlight spilled across the table through the window, illuminating the wine in the glass until it resembled fresh blood, as if to attest to the name of the Holy Blood itself.

The Consul and Hermann sat at opposite ends of the table, facing each other, each harboring his own calculations.

“What is this war really being fought for?” Hermann was the first to speak, voicing the most critical question directly.

“Big-bearded Godfrey is the Duke of Tuscany. He came to Italy to defend the Papacy. But somehow, we ended up being attacked by the Tuscan army ourselves—tell me, isn’t that ridiculous?”

“This… this…”

Bang! A loud crash startled the Consul. Hermann’s broad hand slammed onto the table, his expression fierce.

“Can’t you speak properly?”

“Yes, yes,” the Consul nodded hastily. “The fighting here started because the Pisans wanted the Bishop of Lucca to consecrate their bishop. But our bishop refused, and even called him a sinner.”

“Ha! The one I beat like a dog, is that your bishop?”

Hermann chuckled, then took up his wine, wetting his throat with a sip.

“So, our true enemies are the Tuscans and the Pisans. They’re in league. One wants a consecration, the other wants Big-bearded Godfrey.”

His analysis chilled the Consul to the core. When Hermann spoke those words, it was clear he was already prepared to betray his own liege.

“You wish for peace to return to Lucca, and I wish to leave quickly. So why don’t we hand them over and put an end to this war?”

“You… you mean…”

“Or do you still want to face these people? Just look at your bishop—I could see what kind of man he was at a glance!”

Hermann’s words came in a torrent, and he leaned so far forward it seemed he might devour the Consul where he sat.

“Well? Will you do it?”

“I… I…”

Unlike Hermann, the Consul was too slippery, always seeking a compromise at the moment of decision. But to Hermann, that simply amounted to refusal.

Without hesitation, Hermann drew his sword and brought it down upon the table.

“If you don’t decide now, I’ll turn this city into a sea of blood—including your family! And you can be sure I mean it!”

Hermann’s threats were utterly effective. The Consul staggered back, his breath quickening with terror.

“I agree—I agree…”

“Good.”

Seeing the Consul so thoroughly cowed, Hermann sheathed his sword. At that moment, a member of Lucca’s garrison hurried in and reported to them both.

“My lords, the Bishop of Pisa has arrived.”

At the mention of that name, Hermann cast a glance at the Consul, who lowered his head and followed Hermann out. The soldiers eyed their Consul suspiciously, completely unaware of what had just transpired in the room.

Hermann, accompanied by the guards, made his way to the city wall. As soon as he arrived, he saw Anselmo standing atop the parapet, hurling insults at those below.

But at Hermann’s appearance, Anselmo immediately fell silent.

Leo observed Anselmo’s reaction and the nobleman who had appeared beside him, and at once understood: this was the leader of the vanguard detachment, the very man whose troops had rescued Big-bearded Godfrey.

“Noble sir, may I ask your name?” Leo called up to those on the wall.

“Hermann,” came the reply. “Count Palatine of Lorraine, Count of Brabant and Ruhrgau, Hermann.”

So many titles for such a minor count, Leo thought, but kept it to himself and instead announced his own identity.

“I am Leo, Papal Legate and Bishop of Pisa,” he declared. “I have two demands: first, the Bishop of Lucca is to consecrate my bishop; second, you will surrender Big-bearded Godfrey!”

“To hand them over? Impossible!” Hermann had no intention of complying and meant to bargain instead.

Yet Leo cut him off immediately. “I am not here to negotiate, Count. If you refuse to hand them over, your companions will suffer the consequences!”

With that, Leo signaled. Enrique stepped forward, accompanied by several bound soldiers from Lorraine. These young men, conscripted from the countryside, were herded to the base of the wall.

Only then did Hermann notice the massive pile of firewood arranged before them.

What was this for? He looked around in confusion, while the guards of Lucca were visibly shaken.

What were they so afraid of?

“Count, our bishop says you have one last chance. The lives of your men and your companions are in your hands!” Enrique called up to Hermann.

“Ten thousand marks!” Hermann raised a finger, naming his price.

But Enrique acted as though he hadn’t heard, waving his hand. The soldiers pushed the prisoners onto the pyre.

“I said ten thousand marks!” Hermann shouted in desperation. “Godfrey is worth that much!”

But Leo was unmoved, no matter how frantically Hermann pleaded. Once the men were placed atop the pyre, Leo took a torch from Enrique and tossed it onto the wood. Soaked in oil, the dry branches burst into flames the instant they touched the fire.

In a moment, the blaze soared skyward, illuminating the entire city of Lucca and consuming the soldiers within. Bound hand and foot, they writhed and howled amidst the inferno.

Their screams and sobs mingled with the crackling of the fire, echoing over Lucca.

Before long, their cries faded, replaced by the stench of burning flesh that drifted through the air. Every soldier in Lucca fought to suppress his nausea; Anselmo fell to his knees and vomited his lunch onto the stone.

Hermann watched it all, his face drained of blood, fists pressed so hard into the parapet that his knuckles turned white.

“Hermann, what will it be?” Leo cocked his head.

Beside him stood another group of prisoners.

To slaughter prisoners, or even nobles, was considered immoral in the Middle Ages, but it was not unheard of. For example, William the Conqueror, who had just become King of England, would, if history took its course, spend the next twenty years wiping out England's nobility. Or Emperor Heinrich VI of the Holy Roman Empire, who, after capturing Sicily, dispatched the entire Sicilian aristocracy to the afterlife.

So long as one didn’t massacre nobles of one’s own faction, few would object. Distant Lorraine’s nobles were nothing to the Tuscan aristocracy; to kill them was of little consequence.

But to Hermann, this was hell on earth.

“You fiend! Kill us all if you dare! I curse you, demon! You will surely burn in hell after you die!” Hermann paced atop the wall, hurling curses at Leo.

Leo paid him no heed and simply waved his hand again.

Another group of soldiers was flung onto the flames. Once more, the air was filled with agonized cries and the stench of burning flesh, tormenting the nerves of the city’s defenders. The sobs of the nobles pushed Hermann to the brink of collapse.

Yes, he was breaking. Until today, he had always thought himself the cruelest man alive.

But now, Leo stood before him, torch in hand.

“Of course I won’t kill them all. I’ll let some go, and they’ll return home to tell every Lorrainer that it was Hermann who refused to save them. You, Hermann, sent them all to hell.”

With that, Leo waved his hand once more.

This time, Enrique brought forth Lorraine’s nobles and knights.

“Hermann! Hermann!”

“Save us!”

“God, I don’t want to die…”

Cries for help and helpless sobs sounded on all sides. Hermann’s breath came in ragged gasps. He knew Leo was forcing him to choose.

Would Leo really throw them into the fire? Hermann believed he was entirely capable of it.

Corsican soldiers drove the Lorraine knights toward the flames. Hermann could endure no more. He collapsed onto the parapet, all pretense of dignity forgotten, and, as if pouring out all his strength, shouted down to Leo.

“Spare them!”

Leo looked up at the wall, making no move.

Hermann, utterly spent, called out in a broken voice.

“I surrender—surrender!”