The Scribe (69 page)

“But why didn’t Theodor just follow him? Or force him to disclose my father’s whereabouts?”

“Who says he didn’t? No doubt he attempted to, but a child could put that big oaf off the scent. I suppose that, in his rage, Wilfred poisoned Genseric when he next saw him. Then he must have had Theodor follow him to discover the hiding place. He returned to
the fortress to inform Wilfred, who immediately ordered him back to the crypt to free Gorgias. But by then the coadjutor was dead and Gorgias had disappeared.”

“So, it was Theodor who dragged Genseric’s body off and stuck the stylus in him.”

“Precisely. Wilfred ordered him to take Gorgias’s stylus and fake the murder so there would be a reason to find him quickly. From that point forward, you know the rest of the story: the voyage on the river, your falsified resurrection, and the disappearance of the twins.”

“Now that, I still don’t understand.”

“It’s not difficult to deduce. With Genseric dead, Flavio needed another agent. So he moved onto Korne, a man of loose morals, which his love affair with the wet nurse confirms. No doubt Hoos informed Flavio of Korne’s weaknesses, so by offering him titles, and no doubt Gorgias’s head, too, he persuaded the parchment-maker to abduct Wilfred’s daughters.”

“Intending to blackmail him to retrieve the parchment?” Theresa asked, still trying to fit the pieces together.

“I would imagine so. The document written by your father he had given up for lost. However, he knew that at that time you were working on transcribing another one. Flavio decided that by extorting Wilfred he could obtain the document that you were working on. At any rate, it did him little good, because Wilfred then poisoned Korne with the mechanism in his chair.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. What would Wilfred have to gain from killing Korne?”

“The knowledge of where he was keeping his daughters, I suppose. He was sure that he could get that information from him in exchange for giving him the antidote to the venom. However, it didn’t work out as planned. Korne, who did not know where the girls were, ran off in fear and soon died during the singing in the service.”

“So why did Flavio and Hoos leave the little girls at the mine?”

“I can’t answer that. Perhaps they were alarmed by Korne’s strange death. Or maybe they thought someone might discover them there. I don’t know. Bear in mind it’s not easy to watch over two girls. How could they feed, hide, and guard them in secret? To do this, they were counting on the parchment-maker, who was now dead. In fact, I believe they drugged them to make it easier.”

“And they took them to the mine—not to abandon them, but so they could be found?”

“That must have been their intention. Remember that the next day they organized a search, from which they emerged as heroes instead of outlaws.”

“And incriminating my father while they were at it.”

Alcuin nodded and gestured for Theresa to wait. He went to the door and asked for more food.

“I don’t know why, but all this talking is making me hungry,” he said upon returning. “Where were we? Ah, yes! I remember now. They tried to implicate your father from the beginning. I discovered, you should know, that Hoos did not just work for Flavio. He worked for himself and his own benefit first and foremost. Do you recall those youngsters who were stabbed to death? I had the opportunity to speak to their families, and they told me that when they enshrouded them, they found that they had black hands and feet. Does that remind you of anything?”

“The grain in Fulda?” she suggested incredulously.

“That’s right. The poisoned grain. Although Lothar never admitted to it, after I tried to account for all the poisoned grain, I realized there was still a batch hidden somewhere. Do you recall that when Hoos disappeared from Fulda, he was still wounded—and he was traveling on horseback, wasn’t he?”

Theresa lowered her head and admitted she had found him the horse.

“Helga the Black told me,” Alcuin continued, “but according to Wilfred, Hoos arrived in Würzburg in a wagon. So it would appear that someone else also helped him escape Fulda: Rothaart the redhead, maybe, or Lothar.”

“Why do you assume that?”

Alcuin rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a handful of grain. “Because in the stables where they amputated your father’s arm, I found the missing batch of contaminated wheat.”

He explained that it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think that Hoos would attempt to do business with it, taking advantage of the famine in Würzburg. “The youngsters who died were hired by Hoos for various tasks,” he informed Theresa. “He must have paid them in wheat, which he did not eat himself having been warned by Lothar not to. Perhaps he didn’t know that the poison would take effect so quickly, but suddenly he found himself with two very sick young lads threatening to expose him, so on the spur of the moment he decided to murder them.”

“And again incriminate my father.”

“Indeed. He had to find him, and if he was held responsible for several deaths in Würzburg they would help to find him. I don’t know whether Hoos found out that your father was hiding at the mine. Perhaps he suspected it, or maybe it was fate. The fact is that his presence no longer suited anyone. Flavio and Hoos wanted him dead, for if Gorgias survived, he could transcribe another parchment.”

“And you, too, in order to cover up his discovery.”

“What do you mean?” asked the monk, surprised.

“I bet you wanted him dead, too, since my father had uncovered the hypocrisy of the document.”

Alcuin frowned. At that moment the servant returned with his requested food, but Alcuin shooed him away with an irritable gesture.

“I have told you that I was fond of your father. But let’s not talk about that. Whatever I could have done for him, or didn’t do for him, I could not have prevented his death.”

“But he didn’t have to die like a dog.”

Alcuin didn’t blink. He picked up a Bible and found the Book of Job. He began to read it out loud as if to justify his behavior. Then he added, “God demands sacrifice from us. He sends us afflictions that perhaps we do not understand. Your father offered his life, and you should be grateful to him for it.”

Theresa looked him in the eyes with steely determination. “If there is something I should thank him for, it is that he lived long enough to show me that you two are as different as night and day.”

She left the room, leaving Alcuin standing there.

On the way to the ship, Izam told her why the monk had accused her of stealing the parchment. “To buy you a little more time,” he explained. “If he hadn’t, Flavio would have done away with you in an instant. It was Flavio that you heard in the tunnel. Hoos killed the young sentry, but it was you he was looking to kill. He found the emerald Vulgate and took it, believing it contained the parchment you were working on. Then, realizing it was just a Bible, he discarded it in the cloister so nobody would know he had stolen it.”

“And that’s why Alcuin had me imprisoned in the meat safe? Why he allowed me to be thrashed? Why he intended to have me burned alive?”

“Try to stay calm,” said Izam. “Alcuin thought that in the meat safe, awaiting the execution, at least you would be safe for a little while. Wilfred was the one responsible for thrashing you. And Alcuin couldn’t intervene without arousing suspicion of his plan, of which Wilfred was completely unaware.”

“Plan? What plan?” Theresa asked, taken aback.

“For me to challenge Alcuin himself.”

Theresa didn’t understand, but Izam continued. “He’s the one who came to me with the idea,” he said, referring to the monk. “He came to see me and informed me of everything I have already told you about. Alcuin didn’t know how to protect you and at the same time unmask the murderers, so he asked me to challenge him to a trial by ordeal. When I did so and Alcuin requested a champion, Flavio gave his connection to Hoos away by suggesting him as the champion.”

“And you believed Alcuin? In God’s name, Izam! Think about it. If Hoos had defeated you, you would be dead and they would’ve burned me alive.”

“That never would’ve happened. Drogo knew everything. Even if I had died, he still would have freed you.”

“Then… why did you fight?”

“For you, Theresa. Hoos is in large part responsible for the death of your father, and he hurt you. He deserved to be punished.”

“You could have died,” she said, bursting into the tears.

“It was a trial by ordeal—God’s judgment. That wouldn’t have happened.”

Three days after the funeral, a conclave exonerated Wilfred of the charges against him. Drogo, as supreme judge, ruled that Korne and Genseric had paid fair punishment for the wickedness of their deeds with their deaths, and all present applauded the verdict. But Alcuin could not let Wilfred go completely without blame—and he condemned the ambition that had driven his Christian, yet murderous, aspirations.

Coming out of the meeting, Alcuin found Theresa surrounded by bundles of clothes and books. They had arranged to meet to say farewell. Alcuin once again proposed that she transcribe Constantine’s document in exchange for money, but she flatly refused, and the monk had to finally accept her answer.

“So… are you sure you wish to leave?” he asked.

Theresa hesitated. The night before, Izam had asked her to go with him to Aquis-Granum, but she had not answered him yet. On the one hand, she wanted to begin a new life, to forget everything and follow him on the ship bound to set sail the next day. But on the other hand, her heart told her to stay with Rutgarda and her nephews. It felt as though all that she had learned to value from her father—his eagerness for her to become an educated and independent woman—had died with him. For a moment she saw herself following Rutgarda’s advice: staying in Würzburg to marry and have children.

“You could still stay and work with me,” Alcuin suggested. “I will be at the fortress for a while to organize the scriptorium and wrap up certain matters. As punishment, Wilfred will be sent to live in a monastery, so you could help me for now, and decide later about your future.”

But she had already made up her mind. Working among parchments was what she had always wanted, but now she longed for a different world, the world Izam told her about and that she yearned to discover for herself. Alcuin understood.

As he helped her pack up her bundles, he asked her again about Constantine’s document. “I am interested in the first transcription,” he explained. “The one your father made while he was held captive. He must have nearly completed it.”

“I never saw such a document,” the young woman lied, recalling the parchment she had found in her father’s bag. But it didn’t matter. She had long since destroyed it.

“It would be monumental if it exists. If we found it, we could still present it to the chapter’s council,” he insisted.

“I’m telling you that I don’t know anything about it.” She reflected before adding: “And even if I did know its location, I would never deliver it to you. In my mind there’s no place for lies,
or death, or ambition, or greed—even if you wield it in the name of Christianity. So you stick with your God, and I’ll stick with mine.”

Theresa said a polite farewell without another thought of the parchment.

As she walked to the wharf, she recalled the strange symbols that she guessed her father had drawn in the meat safe and she wondered for a moment about the intensity with which he had etched those beams.

She found Izam on the riverbank helping his men caulk the ship. As soon as he saw her, he dropped his bucket of pitch and, with his hands still black, ran to help her with her belongings. She laughed when he took her face in his hands, leaving streaks of black across her cheeks. Cleaning herself with a cloth, she kissed him, then rubbed the pitch on his clean, dark hair.

APRIL

32

The day’s voyage passed pleasantly, with the quacking of ducks and wildflowers festooning the banks as if they had been arranged by a welcoming committee. They disembarked in Frankfurt, where they parted company with Drogo to join a caravan leaving for Fulda.

When they arrived back in Fulda, they found Helga the Black with her belly rounder than any Theresa had ever seen. Recognizing them, Helga dropped the haystack she was carrying and tried to run to meet her friend, wobbling like a cantharus. She hugged Theresa so hard that the girl thought she would burst. When Helga heard that they planned to settle in Fulda, she gave so many leaps of joy that it seemed as if she might give birth right there.

On the way to Theresa’s lands, Helga asked her surreptitiously whether she was going to marry Izam. The young woman gave a nervous laugh. He had not asked her, but she knew that one day he would. She spoke to her of her plans to plow more lands and build a large, solid house, like those constructed in Byzantium, with several rooms and a separate latrine. Izam was a resourceful man and had some funds saved, so she thought it would be well within their means.

When Olaf saw Theresa and Izam arriving, he ran to them like a little boy. Izam was surprised at how well the slave moved with
his wooden leg, and he asked how the joint was working. While they became engrossed discussing contraptions, horses, and land, Theresa and Helga went to the rudimentary hut that Olaf and his family had transformed into a cozy home. The children had put on weight and Lucille greeted them with food on the table.

That night, crammed together, they did not sleep well, despite Olaf spending the night outside. The next day they surveyed the sown fields, which were already beginning to germinate, as well as the uncultivated land. In the afternoon, they went down to Fulda to buy timber and tools, and over the next few days they began to build what would become the family home.

On the fourth day, while Olaf and Lucille were in town, Izam took the opportunity to speak to Theresa alone. He put down the firewood he was carrying and approached her from behind, tenderly embracing her. She could feel the sweat of his brow on her neck, and she turned to kiss his sweet, plump lips.

Izam stroked her hands, which were now covered in blisters. “They used to be so delicate,” he lamented.