The Scribe (57 page)

Without stopping to reflect, she left Rutgarda standing there and ran outside, covering herself with an old habit. As a group of servants were leaving the fortress, she mingled with them to pass through the gates and head to the granaries.

The royal storehouses stood on a hilltop in the northernmost part of the city, protected by a thick wall and connected to the fortress via an underground passage. Access was normally gained through that passage, and the gates that opened onto the streets of the citadel were only used when needed. When Theresa arrived in the area, a crowd had gathered at the entrance, waiting for the rations to be distributed.

However, it was too late to go back. Hoos would be inside the storehouse, and the only way to get in would be to wait until the gate was opened. Without realizing what was happening she found herself dragged along by the swarms of people pressing toward the entrance. Equipped with bags and sacks, the mass was shouting and threatening to break down the gates. Now and then, violent shoves created gaps in the crowd that were quickly filled in
again by the mob. At one point, Theresa felt herself a mere rag doll at the mercy of the jostling. She thought she might be crushed to death. Then all of a sudden her hood came off and someone recognized her.

As if by magic, a space opened up around her. The townspeople stopped pushing and stared at the figure of Theresa. She didn’t know what to do, until suddenly from within the crowd came an ominous voice. The head parchment-maker screamed at the crowd to make way for him as he approached Theresa, who had frozen like a mouse faced with a snake.

When he reached her, Korne bent down as if he were bowing to her, but instead he picked up a stone and hit her round the head with it. Fortunately a group of townsfolk stopped him from doing it again, while some women took Theresa to the storehouse gate. There two soldiers took over and it wasn’t long before Hoos appeared, accompanied by Zeno, who had been called for because Theresa’s head wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The physician took some filthy scissors from his bag and attempted to cut her hair, but Theresa wouldn’t allow it. So he used a carved comb to separate her hair, which revealed a small gash. Zeno confirmed that it wasn’t serious, but applied some liquor, which made her cry out in pain. Then he covered the wound with a compress of cold water.

While the physician pressed the cloth against her head, a necklace of gems that Theresa had seen before flashed in front of her eyes. She waited for Zeno to move away before she tried to confirm what she had seen, but the man was fidgeting and she was unable to get a clear view of the jewelry. Finally, bending down to pick up his instruments, the rubies were revealed again. Theresa’s heart missed a beat: It was her father’s necklace.

After Zeno had finished and was walking away, Theresa waited for Hoos to be distracted before running after him. She reached Zeno in the corridor that connected the storehouse to the fortress.
In the underground passage, the light flickered intermittently from torch to torch. The physician was distractedly ambling along with his usual air of drunkenness and apathy. When Theresa approached him, Zeno turned in surprise, but his surprise turned into astonishment when Theresa grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Where did you get it?” she blurted out.

“What in the Devil’s name?” He shoved her away, making her fall to the ground.

The young woman stood up and threatened him once more.

“Damned madwoman! Has that stone to your head unhinged you?”

“Where did you get that necklace?” she repeated.

“It’s mine. Now get out of the way or you’ll be picking up your teeth off the floor.”

Theresa fixed her eyes on him. “You know Hoos Larsson, right? He’s there, right at the other end of the tunnel.” Then she tore violently at her dress until one of her breasts was exposed. “Answer me now or I’ll scream until he comes and kills you.”

“For God’s sake! Cover yourself. You’ll have us both burnt at the stake.”

Theresa tried to scream, but Zeno covered her mouth. However, the physician was trembling like a beaten dog and he looked the young woman in the eyes, begging her to be quiet. He did not let go until she had signaled she wouldn’t scream.

Removing his hand cautiously he admitted, “Your father gave it to me. Now leave me in peace, wretched girl.”

But, before he could leave, Theresa made him explain the circumstances of his meeting with her father. Reluctantly, Zeno told her that, at the request of Genseric, he had attended to Gorgias at an abandoned granary. He added that he merely wished to help, and he promised Theresa that her father had given him the necklace as payment for his services. He refrained from mentioning the
amputated arm, however. When Theresa asked where her father was, he didn’t have an answer. So she demanded that he take her to the place where he had tended to him. Zeno tried to wriggle out of it, but the young woman wouldn’t let him.

Suddenly the physician’s expression changed. “Nice tits,” he said with a silly little laugh.

Theresa stepped back, covering up her chest. She would have slapped him if she could. “Listen to me carefully, you filthy goat turd! You will take me to that place now, and if you dare touch me, I swear to God I will have you burned alive.”

Theresa doubted the weight of her threats, but when she added that she would accuse him of having robbed her father, the physician stood up straight as if someone had just impaled him. The stupid smile was quickly wiped off his face and he agreed to escort her.

After tidying up her habit, the young woman snatched Zeno’s bag from him so she could pretend to be his assistant. She followed the physician and they left the fortress through a side door without any more trouble.

She walked along behind Zeno in a state of anxiety, as if she only wanted to return to the granary and put an end to the whole pantomime once and for all. When they were in the vicinity of the abandoned stables the physician stopped. He waved his arm at it and made as if to go back, but Theresa made him wait.

The young woman approached the shelter that was half-devoured by the undergrowth and looking as if it would collapse at any moment. When she pushed the door open, a swarm of flies accompanied the stench that wafted out from inside. She entered slowly, waving her arm at the cloud of insects buzzing around her. Her stomach turned and she retched. Feeling unable to contain her nausea, she vomited, yet continued into the darkness in search of a clue that would lead her to her father.

Suddenly she stumbled on something. She looked down and her heart pounded. Among the fallen leaves, a putrefying arm, peppered with insects, was propped upright as though baying for vengeance.

Theresa left the building in horror and vomited again. Hatred and pain overcame her. “You killed him, you bastard.” She thumped against Zeno’s chest with her fists. “You killed and robbed him,” she said, crying inconsolably.

Zeno tried to calm her down. He had forgotten that they had left the amputated arm on the ground, so he was left with no choice but to tell her the truth. While he recounted the events, Theresa listened in bewilderment.

“I don’t know what might have happened afterward,” he said apologetically, “but Gorgias was still alive. Genseric asked me to take them somewhere else. I obeyed and then went back to town.”

“Where did you take him?”

Zeno spat and looked fixedly at Theresa.

“I’ll take you, then I’m off.”

They skirted the walls of the fortress until they reached the point where the defenses adjusted to the quirks of a rocky outcrop. Zeno pointed to the place where the thick ivy obscured an entrance. On the other side of the wall, the outline of a building could be seen and Theresa guessed that it must be part of the fortress. At that moment the physician turned, leaving her alone in front of the door.

She struggled to force her way in since the damp had made the wood swell until it pressed against the stone jamb. On the third attempt, however, the door gave way, opening into a chapel room that was in such disarray it looked like a fight had taken place. The light from the entrance spilled onto the furniture, which was strewn across the floor, while the draft from the open door lifted
scraps of parchment into the air in little eddies as if they were dead leaves. She examined every nook and cranny without finding anything of use, until suddenly she noticed the small door to the cell where her father had been imprisoned. Cautiously she went in, and there she found an untidy pile of writing equipment, which she quickly recognized as belonging to her father.

On tenterhooks, she rushed over to the codex with the emerald cover, where her father would keep important documents.
If anything ever happens to me, look inside it
, he had often said to her.

She took it without looking closely at it, then gathered all the pieces of parchment she could find in the room. She also took a stylus, pens, and a wax tablet. Then she took a last look around and ran out of there as if the Devil were after her soul.

When she arrived at the fortress entrance she had to notify Alcuin to let her in. When the monk asked her where she had been, she lowered her head and tried to slip away, but he took her by the arm and led her to a quiet corner.

“Looking for my father! That’s where!” the girl responded, shaking his hand off.

Alcuin believed her. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her in one spot for long.

“And what have you found?”

She shook her head. Alcuin then noticed the wound on her head. And Theresa told him about the stone Korne had thrown at her.

Alcuin asked her to follow him to the scriptorium. He waited for her sit down, then paced back and forth in silence, as if debating whether to tell her everything that was going on.

“All right,” said Monk, having made up his mind. “I made you promise something once and you went against your word. Now I need to know whether you are prepared to keep an extraordinary secret.”

“Another miracle? Sorry, but I’m sick of your lies.”

“Listen to me.” He sat down. “There are certain things you do not understand yet. Love is neither pure, as you imagine it, nor tainted, just because I say it is. Men are not wicked and sinful, nor innocent and compassionate. Their actions depend upon their ambitions, their desires and longings, and sometimes, more often than you can imagine, on the presence of evil.” He stood again and wandered around the scriptorium. “There are as many nuances as there are variations in the sky. Sometimes it is warm and bright, sometimes icy and tempestuous—like one’s mortal enemy. What is real and what is a lie? The accusations Korne makes against you, confirmed by his relatives and friends, or your claim that you possess the absolute truth and are blameless? Tell me, Theresa, is there not a little bitterness within you? Does your soul not harbor a shadow of resentment?”

Theresa knew full well who was to blame, but she decided to keep silent.

“As for the miracles,” Alcuin continued, “I can safely say that I have never witnessed one. Or at least, not of the kind these fools imagine. But think about this: How can we be sure you were not resurrected? How can we ignore the fact that a protective force got you out of that inferno and guided you through the mountains? And sent you to Hoos, who saved you once, and then to that trapper who saved you again? Or even to the prostitute who took you in, or to me, when you sought a healer?” He looked fixedly at her. “Ultimately, all that I have done was done to protect you. The miracle was technically a lie, yes, but I assure you that I was guided by the hand of the Almighty. He has designed a fate for you that you are unaware of and that will now be revealed to you. A fate that Gorgias, your father, has been involved with since the beginning.”

Theresa listened, absorbed. He spoke of things she didn’t understand, but his words seemed sincere.

Alcuin approached the desk that her father used and pressed both of his palms to its surface. When he lifted them, his handprints were visible in the dust.

“Your father worked here, in this very spot. Here he spent his final weeks preparing a document of inestimable value to Christendom. Now answer me: Are you prepared to swear an oath?”

Theresa was frightened, but she agreed. She repeated after Alcuin that she would never, under pain of eternal damnation, reveal what she would soon learn about the document. She swore it on a Vulgate that she then kissed reverently. She promised that Hoos would never learn anything about it.

Alcuin took the Bible and placed it near his handprints. Then he eyed the prints in the dust left by Gorgias’s styluses and asked Theresa to look at them closely.

“According to Wilfred, your father disappeared a couple of months or so ago, and Genseric was found dead two weeks ago. Now, look at these marks. What do you see?”

Theresa examined them carefully. There were Alcuin’s handprints on the table, a row of styluses, and two small elongated marks.

“I don’t know… prints in the dust.”

“Yes, but look closely: The handprints I have just made are fresh, and yet the other two,” he said, pointing at the elongated marks, “whose shape undoubtedly corresponds to two styluses—they are already covered with a thin layer of dust. And even then…”

“Yes?”

“They are not identical. Not only in their shape, which is obvious, but also in the quantity of dust they have accumulated. The one on the left, which is a little bigger, has more than the one on the right.”

He walked over to the drawer where Wilfred kept the stylus they had found driven into Genseric’s stomach. He picked it up
and positioned it perfectly over the smaller print. “As you can see, this print was made from this stylus, but the veil of dust over it is finer than the dust covering the print left from the bigger stylus. This tells us that the stylus I am holding—the one that ended Genseric’s life—was taken from the desk later than the bigger one, which lay in this other mark.”

He then went over to a nearby table where there were several books and picked one up. “The marks from these books, on the other hand, display a similar amount of dust to the mark left by the bigger stylus. Wilfred assured me that on the day your father disappeared, so did the codices and styluses. However, the thinner layer of dust that has settled over the print of the smaller stylus, again, the one found stuck in Genseric, suggests that it was actually taken from the scriptorium quite a few days later.”