The Scribe (50 page)

She was admiring the snowcapped treetops when a noise startled her. She listened carefully but couldn’t hear anything more. Preparing to set off again, another crack made her stop in her tracks. She thought it might be an animal stalking her and took hold of her scramasax. Suddenly, a figure came out from the trees. She screamed when she realized it was Widukind, his face ablaze with anger. Theresa saw a dagger in his right hand. The other held a half-empty skin full of wine.

She was scared but she tried not to show it. She hastily glanced around her. To her left there was the river, to the right, the forest. Seeing Widukind in the state he was, she thought she could probably outrun him.

Without waiting for him to attack, she darted toward the part of the forest she judged to be less dense. Behind her, Widukind took up the chase. The ground was frozen, making her think she might slip at any moment.

As she ran, the path became narrower and more difficult to negotiate. Sooner or later he would catch up to her. She looked behind, and could not see him, so she ducked down behind some bushes, just in time to see Widukind screaming like a madman. She crouched down even lower as the man lashed out at anything that came into his path, as if possessed by the Devil.

Then he stopped to drink from the wineskin, pouring its contents down his throat until the liquid brimmed over his gums. Screaming again, he thrust his dagger into the undergrowth.

With each step he moved closer to Theresa. She knew that if she hid there much longer she would undoubtedly be discovered, so she clutched her scramasax and made ready to fight. By then, Widukind was almost on top of her. At any moment he might hear her breathing.

But suddenly the man turned away and Theresa took the opportunity to resume her escape. Widukind heard her, turned, and cursed before launching himself after her. It was almost as if he were sober. His pace was quick and he moved forward with determination. Theresa scraped against the bramble as she ran. On each side of the path there were rows of trees forming a tight passage through which to escape. The faster she ran, the more she thought she could feel him breathing down her neck. She jumped over a tree stump in her way, but then she slipped. The man dodged the stump but then also stumbled, giving Theresa time to get up on her feet and flee once more. To her right she saw a small embankment and she threw herself down in the hope that she would reach the river, her behind scraping against the brambles.

Widukind did the same, always just a few paces behind her. But Theresa knew she was a good swimmer. If she could reach the
river, perhaps she could get across. She ran with all her strength, praying to God to help her reach the water.

She had covered a short stretch when another figure unexpectedly appeared in front of her. They both tumbled to the ground as she crashed into him. Widukind looked at them in surprise.

As Theresa regained her composure, she saw that it was Olaf. He was lying on the ground now, and his wooden leg had come out of its socket. She tried to help him, but Widukind shoved her away. Olaf sensed the danger and told Theresa to get behind him. Widukind smiled at the young woman taking cover behind the lame man.

“A cripple and a whore… I’m going to enjoy ripping off your last leg—and
you
I’m going to fuck raw.”

“Theresa! The scramasax!” cried Olaf, scrambling to his feet.

She didn’t understand.

“The scramasax!” he insisted.

The young woman handed it to him.

Widukind laughed at the absurdity of the situation—but Olaf grasped the scramasax, quickly took aim, and threw it.

Widukind felt a sudden blow to the throat, then the warmth of the blood as it spilled down his neck. And after that, he felt nothing.

As soon as he had reattached his artificial leg, Olaf made sure Widukind had stopped breathing. He then convinced Theresa, to avoid any problems, that it would be best if they kept their mouths shut. She agreed. Ultimately, she thought she had been fortunate that Olaf had heard Widukind’s screams and come to help her. Now Helga would have nothing to worry about. She could bring her child into the world without that rat ever bothering her again.

Olaf stripped him in order to burn his clothes. “If we bury him and they discover his body, they will undoubtedly know it was a
murder. However, without clothes, after the wolves devour him, not a trace will remain.”

After gashing the body a couple more times so that the blood would attract scavengers, he hurled it over a sheer drop. Then he gathered the dead man’s clothes and shoes.

On the way back to Theresa’s estate, they barely said a word to each other, though before they arrived, the young woman gave Olaf her thanks.

“Any slave would have done the same for his mistress,” he said in justification.

When they reached the hut, Olaf searched the clothes before casting them in the fire. He kept the knife and shoes, which would serve him well as soon as he dyed them. He offered the dagger to Theresa, for a slave could not possess weapons, but she refused it.

“File the point and you will be able to use it without anyone accusing you,” she suggested.

Olaf thanked her for the gesture as he admired the dagger. It was a crude instrument, but made of good steel. He could modify it so that it would be unrecognizable. To show his gratitude, he bowed to Theresa and Lucile did the same. Then they prepared some dinner, for night would fall soon.

By the time they had finished eating the roe deer leg, the moon was bright in the sky, so Theresa decided to spend the night in the hut. Lucille made a space for her between the two children, and Lucille slept on the floor to her right. Olaf slept outside, covered in a cloak.

That night Theresa purged her sins again. She remembered her father, Gorgias, and speculated on his whereabouts. Perhaps he was dead, but as likely as it seemed, she would not accept it as truth. She evoked memories of Alcuin, yearning for the days of learning, for his kind words and his extraordinary wisdom. Then she thought about everyone who had died because of her: the girl in the fire, the two Saxons at Hoos’s house, and now Widukind…
For a moment she wondered whether the wealth of her land was worth all she had been through.

The howling of the wolves made Widukind’s body come to mind. Then she thought of her father and cried, picturing him being devoured by vermin.

Suddenly Theresa sprang up, causing Lucille to also wake, but Theresa told her that nothing was wrong. The young woman wrapped up warm and left the hut. Olaf was surprised because it was still completely dark. The slave came out from behind the ox he was using as a shelter and gave her a confused look as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Theresa admired the moon in silence. In a few hours the sun would come up and then Alcuin would set off for Würzburg. She took a deep breath and looked at Olaf. Then she told him to make ready. “Come with me to Fulda. But before leaving I want to make certain arrangements.”

In the early hours of Sunday morning, the abbey stables were a hive of activity. Dozens of monks ran up and down bearing food, animals, weapons, and equipment under the close scrutiny of Charlemagne’s men. The cart drivers yoked their beasts, who were lowing and thrashing their heads in protest. The maidservants prepared to bring the final supplies of salted belly pork, and the soldiers stayed busy following their commanders’ instructions.

Theresa found Alcuin as he was loading a cart with his belongings. All she had brought for the journey were a change of clothes and her wax tablets. Everything else she had left with Helga the Black, whom she had only woken minutes earlier to tell her that she was leaving. Helga would look after her land until she returned, and Theresa promised she would be back even if it was just to collect the rent that her friend had promised to pay her.

When Alcuin saw Theresa, he walked angrily over to her. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” she responded without looking at him. She threw her bag onto the cart.

“Remove your bag at once! Do you want me to call the soldiers?”

“And do you want me to walk to Würzburg alone? Because that’s what I’ll do.”

“You’ll end up in a ditch.”

“Then so be it.”

Alcuin took a deep breath through clenched teeth. Never in his life had he come across such an obstinate creature. Finally he murmured something and turned away.

“Pox on you. Get in the cart!”

“What?”

“Did you not hear me? I said get in the cart!”

Theresa kissed his hand, not knowing how to thank him.

At dawn, Izam of Padua appeared, sporting a striking robe of red serge and gleaming chainmail. He was followed by a large group of soldiers that would escort the Roman delegation. When the engineer spotted Theresa, he made as if to go and greet her, but stopped when he saw another young man approach her first.

Theresa let Hoos embrace her and he kissed her on the lips. Izam looked on with a perplexed expression, which Hoos happened to notice.

“How do you know him?” Hoos asked when he saw Izam walk off.

“Who? The one in the chainmail?” she asked, trying to act normal. “He works for Charlemagne. He helped me with the slave I told you about. The one with the wooden leg.”

“He seems very interested in you.” He smiled and kissed her again, making sure Izam could see.

Theresa thought it odd that Hoos was not surprised to see her, for at no time had she told him of her intention to travel to
Würzburg. On the contrary, she was a little surprised to see him since she had thought that they would both stay in Fulda and continue their relationship in peace, and yet, there they were: abandoning themselves to whatever fate awaited them without any kind of plan. Hoos explained to Theresa that her friend the engineer had hired him as a guide.

“You should have seen their faces when I told them that snow still blocked the passes. They screamed and shouted like madmen. That’s when I suggested they travel to Frankfurt first and sail upriver from there. The thaw has already begun down there, so with a bit of luck we’ll be able to reach Würzburg by ship.”

“And you were going to leave without telling me?”

“I was certain you would come,” he said with a smile. “And anyway…”

Theresa gave him a wary look.

“Anyway what?”

“If necessary I would have dragged you myself.” He laughed and lifted her into the air.

Theresa smiled, happy in Hoos’s strong arms. She felt that while he was near, nothing bad could happen to her.

Theresa counted around seventy people who had assembled for the journey. A dozen or so belonged to the papal mission, around twenty looked like men-at-arms, and the rest were cart drivers, servants, and townspeople. As she expected, she was the only woman, but it didn’t concern her. Aside from the men, the delegation was furnished with eight ox-driven wagons and as many lighter carts pulled by mules.

At Izam’s signal, the whips cracked against the beasts, which lowed in pain and then laboriously set off in the direction of the city walls. Alcuin traveled on the first wagon with the papal mission. Theresa sat swaying on the second cart with her attention on
Hoos, who navigated the march, while Izam brought up the rear of the convoy along with the main body of soldiers, setting course for Frankfurt.

During the journey, Hoos and Theresa traded news. He told her that in Würzburg folks were dying of hunger, which was why twelve carts were transporting grain, and that in Frankfurt they would gather whatever provisions they could fit on the ship. She spoke to him of Alcuin and how he had solved the case of the poisoned wheat.

“I’ll say it again: Don’t trust him. That monk’s sharp as a needle, but as shady as the Devil.”

“I don’t know… he’s been good to Helga. And he’s given me work.”

“It makes no difference. When this is over and they pay me, you won’t have to work anymore.”

Theresa nodded unenthusiastically and admitted to him that all that mattered to her was finding her father alive. When Hoos pointed out how difficult it would be to fulfill her wish, she refused to listen to him and curled up under a blanket.

The delegation trudged on wearily all morning. Two riders equipped with torches led the way in front, ensuring the carts could negotiate any obstacles in their path. Just ahead, four servants wearing gloves removed the stones that would hinder the progress of the convoy, while the cart drivers, with whip and oath, toiled to keep the oxen away from the sheer drops in the embankments. Alert to any dangers, another pair of well-equipped outriders guarded the rear.

After passing a muddy section where the men had to do as much pulling as the beasts, Izam called a halt. He judged that the road had opened up sufficiently to provide a safe place to make camp, so the men positioned the wagons in a row along the bank of the stream before tethering the horses to the first cart and unloading the fodder for the animals. A servant lit a fire over which he
arranged several joints of venison, while Izam assembled the rest of them into organized watches.

Once all the arrangements for their camp were complete, they made themselves comfortable around the fire and drank until the meat was well roasted. Theresa helped the cooks, who celebrated the presence of a woman who was skilled with the pots. A couple of lookouts returned with some rabbits, much to the delight of the papal mission. The less fortunate had to make do with oatmeal porridge and salt pork—but the wine was shared with all, and the men gabbed and laughed as they emptied their tankards.

As Theresa cleared up some bowls, Izam came up behind her. “You’re not drinking wine?” he said, offering her some.

She turned around, startled. “No, thank you. I prefer water,” she said, taking a sip from her cup.

Izam was surprised. While traveling most people chose to drink watered-down wine, or failing that, beer, for both were less likely to cause illness than contaminated water.

He insisted. “This stream can’t be trusted. Its bed is not stony, and it flows from west to east. Plus, we passed a settlement of tenant farmers a couple of miles back—no doubt all their waste is flowing downstream.”