The Scribe (52 page)

He was pondering the situation when suddenly he made out a dark object upriver floating among the ice plaques. He was unable to identify it, for the current quickly dragged it under, but gradually the blot slid toward the prow of the ship.

Izam took a harpoon, jumped overboard and stood on one of the ice plaques until the blot floated near. Then he thrust the harpoon at it, feeling it sink into something. Sharply pulling on the shaft, he cried out in horror when he realized the blot was the head of the lookout, horribly mutilated.

The hour was almost up when the first crewmen appeared in the distance carrying the provisions. They were slowly trudging along when one of the oxen gave out a low bellow and then collapsed as if it had been struck by lightning.

Izam knew the attack had begun. He immediately ordered his men to ready themselves in their positions behind their bows. The returning group took cover behind their sleds. Izam’s archers released a volley that crossed paths with another volley launched by their assailants from the banks. A couple of men left the cover provided by the oxen and started running toward the ship, but both were brought down within a few paces. Alcuin and Flavio crouched behind the sled. Hoos managed to crawl from the ship over to them. “Stay here until I say otherwise,” he ordered.

Alcuin and Flavio nodded.

Hoos ducked down behind the wounded ox and cut the tether that bound it to the healthy one. Then he called to the clerics. “Let’s go! Get behind the ox. When I strike it, run alongside it, using it as your barricade.”

“Flavio won’t be able to,” Alcuin objected.

Hoos looked at Flavio and saw that an arrow had pierced his thigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” he said, handing Alcuin the rope that was attached to the ox. “Let’s go, quickly.”

“And the provisions? asked Alcuin, seeing that Hoos had cut the harnesses.

Hoos crouched behind the sacks as arrows rained down on them from all sides. “I’ll drag them with us. Now run,” he said, and he struck the beast on the back.

The animal bolted off with Alcuin hanging on to its rope. Hoos shouted to him to take cover and the monk obeyed. One of the oarsmen tried to follow the animal, too, but just as he was about to reach it, a spear knocked him off his feet.

Hoos called to another man to help him. Flavio lay on the sled, protected by some wooden boards. Then, crouching down, the remaining men started pushing it in the direction of the ship.

“Those bastards are bombarding us!” bellowed Hoos as they approached the boat.

“Is Flavio all right?” asked Izam from the deck.

“Just a scratch on the thigh.”

“And the provisions?”

“In the carts,” he said, pointing behind him toward another group of men now arriving under the cover of two wagons.

“Good. Make haste! Load up the supplies and let’s push the boat off.”

Though he was exhausted, Alcuin joined the men who were trying to refloat the boat from the port side. Hoos and the rest of the group soon joined them.

“Get Flavio onboard! He’s badly wounded,” cried Izam, with the arrows continuing to rain down on them.

Some oarsmen hoisted the provisions on board, made Flavio comfortable on the deck, then went below to continue to push the boat.

“For God’s sake! Push, you wretched bastards!” screamed Izam.

The men heeded his instruction and on the second attempt, the ship moved.

“Again! Harder! Push!”

Suddenly the ice started breaking up with a deafening crunch. The men leapt away, terrified, and the boat began sinking as though the Devil were dragging it to hell.

“Get back quickly! Get away!”

At that moment the surface opened up and the boat plunged into the water down to the gunwale. Several oarsmen fell into the river, tangled in the ropes.

“On the boat! Get on, you wretches, get on!” Izam ordered with arrows showering down around him.

Hoos managed to clamber up first. The other survivors dropped their bows and clung to the gunwale. Alcuin hung on for his life, half his body submerged in the river.

“There are men trapped down here,” said Alcuin, holding on to a wounded oarsman.

“There’s no time, get on.” Hoos held out his arm from the parapet.

“We cannot just leave them there,” he insisted, still gripping tightly to the one he held.

“Get on, damn it, or I swear I’ll come down and hoist you up myself!”

But Alcuin didn’t budge.

Hoos jumped overboard and onto the ice alongside Alcuin. He drew his sword and ran it through the man the monk was helping. Then he stood up to finish off another oarsmen who had been struggling to escape the freezing water.

“No need to wait now. We’re off!” Hoos announced.

Alcuin looked at him in a daze. He held out his arm, and a couple of oarsmen helped him clamber onboard.

The ship progressed upriver until the sun hid behind the mountains. Before long, it stopped in a small pool.

“We’ll drop anchor here,” Izam declared.

Alcuin took the opportunity to tend to the wounded, but since he had no ointments he was limited to cleaning and bandaging arrow wounds.

A weak voice came from behind him. “Can I help?”

Alcuin looked at Theresa with a concerned expression. He accepted her offer with a grim face and the young woman crouched down to assist him. When they had finished with the wounded, Theresa withdrew to a corner to pray for the dead.

Hoos approached Alcuin with a piece of bread in his hand. “Here, eat something,” he offered.

“I’m not hungry. Thank you.”

“Alcuin, for the love of God. You saw it yourself. The boat was already on its way and those poor wretches were trapped. There was nothing else I could do.”

“You might not have thought the same had it been you trapped there,” he responded angrily.

“Don’t fool yourself. I might not be the kind of person you would share an evening of poetry with, but I saved your life.”

Alcuin nodded and walked away in irritation.

As soon as the sun came up, one of the oarsmen was lowered from the prow to assess the damage. After a while he reappeared, sour faced. “The hull’s ruined,” he informed them as they dried him off. “I doubt we’ll be able to repair it here.”

Izam shook his head. He could moor the boat to the bank to procure some timber, but it was an unnecessary risk.

“We’ll keep going for as long as the ship lasts.”

Alcuin awoke to the splashing of the oars. Beside him slept Flavio, half-covered in a blanket, and Theresa, curled up beside her father’s bag. Alcuin decided to wake them lest they freeze to death. While Flavio woke up, the young woman fetched a little wine and a slice of rye bread.

“They’ve rationed the provisions,” she informed them. “It would appear that much of the food was lost in the attack.”

“My leg hurts,” Flavio complained.

Alcuin lifted his robe. Fortunately, the Roman was a stout man and the arrow had embedded itself almost entirely in fat.

“We’ll have to remove it.”

“The leg?” he asked, alarmed.

“No, good Lord, the arrow.”

“Best we wait until we reach Würzburg,” Flavio suggested.

“All right. In the meantime try this cheese.”

Flavio took the cheese and bit into it. Suddenly Alcuin grabbed the arrow and pulled it out in one jerk. Flavio’s scream echoed around the mountains. Alcuin paid no attention, proceeding to pour a little wine on the wound. Then he covered it with some bandages that he had ready.

“Damned novice of a surgeon.”

“That wound could have developed complications,” he argued calmly. “Now get up and try to walk a little.”

Flavio obeyed begrudgingly, and soon he was staggering over to his belongings, dragging his feet as if they were in chains. He noticed one of his chests sitting in a puddle of water. He screamed hysterically and, with Alcuin’s help, moved the chest to a higher position.

“Judging by your face, it must contain something important,” Alcuin remarked, slapping the chest.

“
Lignum crucis
… a relic that travels with me,” an anguished Flavio explained.

“
Lignum crucis
? The wood from the Cross of Golgotha? The relic kept at the Sessorian Basilica?”

“I see you know what I speak of.”

“Indeed. Though in truth I’m pretty skeptical.”

“What? Are you implying—”

“Good God, no. I apologize,” he cut in. “Naturally I believe the authenticity of the
lignum crucis
, in the same way that I give credence to the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, or the cape of Martin of Tours. But you will recall that there are many abbeys and bishoprics where all kinds of little bones have by chance been found.”

“
Breve confinium veratis et falsi
. It will not be me who disputes the authenticity of relics that contribute to drawing souls to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“I don’t know. Where matters of God are concerned, perhaps we should trust more in His commandments.”

“I see you have a gift for controversy.” Flavio tried to dry the chest with a damp cloth. “The talent of someone who wastes his breath without knowing the reason for his arguments. Do you know the true power of relics? Are you able to distinguish between the Lance of Longinus, the Holy Shroud, and the blood of a martyr?”

“I know that classification—but in any event, I repeat my apology. I did not wish to question—”

“If you do not wish it, then do not do it,” Flavio said loudly.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Alcuin responded, taken aback. “But, if it is no trouble, permit me to ask a final question.”

Flavio looked at him wearily, as if he could not be bothered to answer. “Yes?”

“Why are you taking the relic to Würzburg?”

The prelate seemed to think it over. Finally he responded. “As you will know, for years Charlemagne has been trying to subjugate the pagan Obodrites, Pannonians, and Bavarians. However, neither his continual campaigns nor his exemplary punishments have altered the fact that they remain Godless in the depths of their souls. The pagans are crude folks, stuck in the ways of polytheism, of heresy, of concubinage… with these people, the force of arms is necessary, though sometimes it is not enough.”

“Please continue.” Alcuin was already not sure he agreed with Flavio’s premise.

“Damned wound.” He paused to reposition his bandages. “Well, eight years ago Charlemagne and his host went to Italy in response to the Holy Pontiff’s entreaty. As you might know, the Lombards, not satisfied with ruling over the former Byzantine duchies, had invaded the cities of Faenza and Comacchio, besieged Ravenna, and subjugated Urbino, Montefeltro, and Sinigaglia.”

“You speak of Desiderius, the Lombard king.”

“That man, a king? For the love of God, don’t make me laugh. He might have called himself one, but he was nothing more than a serpent in human form. The king of treachery. That should have been his title.”

“But didn’t a daughter of Desiderius marry Charlemagne himself?”

“Indeed. Could you imagine a more heinous offense? The Lombard took it upon himself to wed his pup to Charlemagne and then, believing himself immune, attack the Vatican territories. However, Pope Adrian persuaded Charlemagne that he needed his help, and the king, after crossing the Great Saint Bernard Pass with his troops, surrounded the traitor at this lair in Pavia.”

“Without question the gesture of a good Christian.”

“In part, yes. But do not be fooled. Charlemagne wishes to contain the expansionist ambitions of the Lombard king as much as the pope did. After all, following his foreseeable victory, not only would Charlemagne return to the papacy the usurped territories under the
liber pontificalis
, but also benefit himself by appropriating the Lombard duchies of Spoleto and Benevento.”

“Interesting, to be sure. Please, do continue.”

Theresa was listening attentively.

“The rest you will know. Desiderius refused to leave Pavia, forcing Charlemagne to begin a siege. However, after nine months, Charlemagne’s host grew impatient. It would appear that they
feared for their crops—and there was news of another revolt in the Saxon lands. Meanwhile, Desiderius remained trapped, so Charlemagne started to consider how he would end the siege.”

“But Charlemagne was victorious,” Theresa cut in, proud that she knew the story.

“That’s right, but not thanks to his troops. As soon as he learned of the situation, Pope Adrian ordered the
lignum crucis
—kept until then at the Roman Basilica of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem—to be taken to Charlemagne’s camp. And within a week of its arrival, a sudden epidemic began to decimate the Lombards. Desiderius surrendered, and Charlemagne took the city without shedding a single drop of blood.”

“And now Charlemagne plans to use the power of the
lignum crucis
in his war with the Saxons.”

“Indeed. The monarch asked the pope for his help, and the pope did not hesitate to send him the relic. And now that he has it, he intends to deposit it in a safe city.”

“It’s curious,” said Alcuin. “Please forgive my forwardness, but as the guardian of such an important relic, why have you embarked on this dangerous and unnecessary journey? You could have waited in Aquis-Granum until Charlemagne began the next campaign.”

“And leave the inhabitants of Würzburg at the mercy of their ill fate? I don’t know about you, but I would consider that neither charitable nor Christian.”

“Viewed in that way, you are right. Incidentally, shouldn’t you open the chest to check its condition?” Alcuin remarked as he started to lift the lid.

Flavio swooped down on the chest and slammed it shut again. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he hastened to say. “The chest is lined with greased leather. What’s more, the
lignum crucis
is protected by a lead coffer that acts as a reliquary.”

“Ah! Then we have nothing to worry about. Particularly if the coffer you speak of is large and with thick panels.”

“It is. And now, if you will allow me, I will rest a while.”

Alcuin watched Flavio as he leaned back against the chest. He wondered whether his abrupt behavior was due to his lack of sleep or the recent attack, but the question still remained how such a light chest could contain a heavy lead coffer.