Did you know that Italy had its own mass witchcraft trial, à la Salem?

We’re in the region of Liguria, in the town of Triora—which means “Three Mouths.” In fact, the city’s coat of arms features a three-headed Cerberus, a pagan symbol of death and dark forces.

We’re off to a good start.

In 1537, famine strikes the town, and people begin dying. So, the Grand Council of Elders calls a special meeting. After an hour of brainstorming, they decide the famine must be the result of a curse—cast by some of the town’s women.

Mh. Why? Don’t they need food too? Makes no sense. Anyway…

They call in the Inquisition, and the GM of the Inquisitors can’t believe his luck! He immediately dispatches a Vicar.

The plan is simple but cunning: a little letterbox is placed in the local church—not for posting sweet letters to Santa, but for dropping anonymous accusations of witchcraft.

I can picture it:

“I’ve seen Angelina dancing the Mazurka with Satan.”

There! Next year, my sister-in-law will think twice before saying my Christmas lasagna is a bit dry.

The trials—complete with torture—almost exclusively target women (surprise, surprise), most of them midwives and herbalists in a town where finding a doctor was about as likely as winning the lottery.

Among the accused are also upper-class citizens, like Franchetta Borelli. She was 65 at the time and still beautiful, but in her youth, she had been both stunning and libertine—so much so that the police chief poetically described her as:

“She’s a colossal harlot!”

Franchetta is a master healer, and with such a resume, she couldn’t go unnoticed.

All was going smoothly, as long as they investigated the povvos. But, as soon as they started investigating the posh people, that didn’t sit well with the Grand Council of Elders. So, they called another meeting and said, “Oh no, they didn’t!” and organized a protest.

The protest worked wonderfully. As a result, they left all the accused in jail.

They freed only one: a thirteen-year-old girl, the cleverest of them all, who—like Salem’s Tituba—confessed and said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m a witch, whatever, as long as you stop this bullshit.”

Then arrived Special Agent Scribani: a short man with small eyes and an humongous ‘stache.

Scribani had a thing for small, godforsaken towns, so he showed up and began interrogating not only the population of Triora but also neighboring towns—who had done absolutely nothing, poor souls.

In the end, it turned out the famine wasn’t even real. It had all been a ruse by a group of men who wanted to sell their food supplies at inflated prices.

The Inquisitors’ GM must have felt like a right boob.