The Scribe (22 page)

After clearing the table, Theresa retired to the loft to tend to Hoos. She reapplied some poultice, but the fever was still devouring him. That night Hoos vomited three times and Theresa hardly slept.

As she lay awake she thought of her father and Rutgarda and longed to be with them. Not a night went by in which she didn’t miss them sorely. She imagined them sad and downtrodden, and she felt terrible for letting them down. Sometimes she considered returning, but fear and shame held her back. She often consoled herself by imagining that they were well, daydreaming about how she would let them know where she was. She promised herself that she would find a way to contact them, to explain what had happened so that one day they might forgive her.

In the morning she was woken by Althar’s puffing and panting as he attempted to hitch the horse to the cart. Theresa helped Hoos, still confused and delirious, to the stable latrine. While he relieved himself, Theresa cut a slice of the pie that Helga had made for the apothecary. She asked Althar if he would take them to the abbey before he departed, and the old man happily agreed.

Theresa didn’t bother to say good-bye to Helga, for she was so drunk she couldn’t even get out of bed. In the stable, Theresa noticed that Althar’s cart looked good as new: The blacksmith, in addition to repairing the wheel casing, had also sanded it down. In the cart she positioned herself next to Hoos, covering him up with a blanket, to protect him from the dew.

Althar cracked his whip and the animal set off at a slow trot down the crowded streets as the earliest risers were preparing to leave their homes to head for the fields. Following the barber’s directions, they made for the southern side of the abbey, where, he had said, they would find the apothecary working in the orchard. It must have been still very early, because they could not see any workers in the fields yet through the wattle fence. Althar
dismounted from the cart and helped position Hoos so he sat on a nearby tree stump.

“We’re here,” the old man announced.

A shiver ran down Theresa’s spine and she didn’t know whether it was because of the frosty morning or because she was about to find herself alone again. She gave Althar a look of gratitude and when he held out his arms she hugged him.

Then she stepped away with tears in her eyes. “I’ll never forget you, bear hunter. Nor Leonora. Tell her.”

He rubbed his eyes before rummaging around in his clothes and pulling out a pouch of coins, which he offered to Theresa.

“It’s all I could get.”

She was speechless.

“For your bear head,” he added. Then Althar waved good-bye to Hoos and urged on the horse. Slowly he disappeared down the mud-covered streets.

It was a short while before the bells rang for Prime, announcing the beginning of activity in the monastery. Soon a door opened and several monks came out to mill around the garden paths. The younger one began to lazily rake and weed, while the eldest, a tall, gangling monk amused himself by examining the shrubs, bending down from time to time to caress them. Theresa thought the tall one must be the apothecary, not just because of his age, but also because his habit was made of serge instead of than the coarser material worn by novices. The tall monk meandered from plant to plant, inspecting them in no great hurry, until he arrived near where Theresa stood partially hidden in the shrubbery.

She called to him with a “
Psst
.”

“Who goes there?” the monk asked, trying to see through the bramble. Theresa shrank back like a frightened rabbit.

“Brother Herbalist?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Who seeks him?”

“Maurer the barber sends me. For the love of God, help us.”

Pushing aside the bramble, the monk saw Hoos slumped over, sitting on the tree stump.

The monk immediately ordered two novices to carry him into a nearby enclosure. Theresa followed without questioning, crossing through the animal pens to a squat building protected by a door with a crude padlock. The monk took a key from his sleeve and after a couple of attempts pushed open the door, which gave way with a creak. The novices cleared several bowls from a table and lay Hoos on top, then following the elderly monk’s instructions they returned to the garden to continue weeding and repairing the fences. Theresa waited in the threshold.

“Don’t stay out there,” said the monk as he cleared away the pots, jars, flasks, and vials that were balanced precariously on either side of the table around Hoos. “So the barber sends you? And he told you I would help?”

Theresa thought she knew what he was hinting at.

“I brought you this.” She offered him the meat pie that Helga the Black had prepared.

The monk glanced at it and set it aside without paying it any more attention. He turned back to the table and continued to tidy the jars while he interrogated Theresa about the cause of the fever, biting his lip when he heard about the problem with the lung.

He moved an alembic to one side, ducking under a wooden press that seemed to be tilting slightly. Then he picked up some hand scales and a flask, which he filled with water from an indoor well, carefully measuring out the quantity, and then turned to a great dresser, where he began to search through dozens of ceramic containers. By the way he squinted, Theresa could tell that he was struggling to read their written labels.

“Let’s see: Salix Alba… Salix Alba,” he said, his nose up against the jars. “You know, health is the whole body, the balance of nature
based on heat and moisture. That’s what blood is. Hence we say
sanitas
, as though we were saying
sanguinis status
.” He picked up a jar, examined it, and put it back in its place. “All illnesses originate in the four humors: blood, bile, melancholy, and phlegm. If they exceed their natural levels, illnesses occur. Blood and bile cause acute conditions, while phlegm and melancholy are the sources of chronic ones. Where have they put the willow bark?”

“
Salix Alba
. Here it is,” said Theresa.

The monk looked at her as if caught off guard. He turned toward the jar that the young woman was pointing at and saw that it was the right one. “You can read?” he asked incredulously.

“And write,” she responded with pride. The monk arched an eyebrow but said nothing for a while before picking up where he left off. “He has phlegm in his lungs,” he explained. “And there are multiple treatments and remedies for that problem. But there are so many tinctures, incantations, and potions that it will take some time to find the right one. Take this remedy, for instance,” he said, removing a piece of bark from the jar. “It is true that willow infused in milk reduces fever, but so does barley flour dissolved in tepid water, or saffron with honey. Each remedy behaves differently, depending on the proportions of its ingredients—and each patient responds differently, just as the organs that make up the person are different in nature. Weak or badly wounded hearts sometimes heal as if by magic, while others, by all appearances more vigorous and healthy, swell without reason with the arrival of spring. Incidentally… what is this young man’s trade?”

“He possesses lands in Aquis-Granum,” she explained, and she informed him that they were staying with Helga the Black until she could find work.

“Interesting,” he said and put down the jar of willow bark before crossing the room to a stove, which he lit with a candle. “God sends us illnesses, but he also provides the remedies we need to get better. Just as we must study His word to reach paradise, we must
also study Empedocles, Galen, Hippocrates, and even Pliny to find cures, whether it be in the powdered mineral of an alum, or in the glands of a beaver’s foreskin. Hold this tincture,” he instructed.

The young woman grasped the container in which the monk had poured a dark liquid. She was concerned he was talking too much, and that the church envoy that Maurer had mentioned might appear at any moment and expel them from the monastery before the apothecary could complete the treatment.

“If there are several remedies, why not use them all?” she asked.

“
Alibi tu medicamentum obligas
. Pass me that.” The monk added a pale powder to the dark liquid and whisked the solution until it was whitish in color. “
Medicine
comes from
measurement
, or in other words, from moderation, which is the premise that must guide our every action. The Greeks were the fathers of this art, which Apollo introduced, and his son Aesculapius continued. Later it was Hippocrates who adopted this wisdom and developed it with his careful, learned approach. It is to him that we owe our understanding of healing that is based on reason, experimentation, and observation.”

Theresa was growing impatient. “But how will you cure him?”

“The question is not
how
, but
when
. And the answer is, it does not depend on me, but on him. He must therefore remain here until that happens. That is, if it happens at all.”

“To be honest, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The barber told us that a foreign monk sent by Charlemagne arrived at the abbey last week, and if he’s as strict as they say, I fear he may find reason to reproach you.”

“And what is it that he would rebuke me for?”

“I don’t know. Your behavior. Isn’t the abbey supposed to only look after its own sick? If this man finds out you are helping a stranger…”

“What is his name?”

“I don’t know. I just remember that he’s a foreign friar.”

“I meant the patient.”

“Sorry,” she answered, red-faced. “Larsson. Hoos Larsson.”

“Well, then, Sir Larsson, a pleasure to meet you. And now that we have been introduced—problem solved.”

Theresa gave him a smile, but she insisted: “If for any reason that man expels Hoos before he is cured, I could never forgive myself.”

“And what makes you think he would do that? From what I know, this newcomer is no devil. He only wishes to impose order in the abbey.”

“But the barber said—”

“For goodness’ sake, forget the barber. In any event, for your own peace of mind I can assure you that this envoy of Charlemagne’s will not get wind that Hoos is staying here in the apothecary.”

“Please try to understand me. I’m so worried. Can you promise that if Hoos stays here, he’ll get better?”

“
Ægroto dum anima est, spes est
. While there is life, there is hope.”

Theresa supposed that all this kindness would not come cheap, so she offered him the pouch of coins that Althar had given her.

But the monk paid that as much attention as he did the pie. “Keep your money. You can make it up to me some other way. In fact, come back tomorrow morning after Terce and ask for the cellarer. Tell him Brother Alcuin is waiting for you. Perhaps I can find you a job.”

When she told Helga what the monk had said, the woman could hardly believe her ears.

“I doubt the apothecary has good intentions,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Wake up, lass. Bad intentions, toward you.”

“He seemed honest. He didn’t eat the pie himself but gave it to the novices.”

“Who knows, he could have just eaten and been stuffed already.”

“But he’s thin as a rake!” Theresa said with a nervous laugh. “What kind of job do you think it could be?”

“Well, if the apothecary behaves like a good Christian, perhaps he will employ you as a maidservant. Monks may do a lot of praying, but they’re dirty as pigs. Or you might be lucky and he’ll employ you as a cook, which wouldn’t do you any harm, for you could put on a pound or two. But if you want me to be honest, there are dozens of lasses prepared to clean latrines, so I don’t understand his interest in hiring such a prissy young woman. So tread carefully and watch your backside.”

Theresa and Helga spent the rest of the morning cooking and tidying the tavern. In the main room there were several barrels that served as tables, some stools, a long bench, and a drape to separate the customers from the kitchen. By the fireplace they arranged an iron stove, two trivets, various pans and skillets, a stewpot, wooden spatulas, some chipped pitchers and jars, and an array of tankards and plates, stacked and ready to be washed with the water from the well. Helga explained she kept the wine in the loft, since it was frequently pilfered when stored in the kitchen. She plied her other trade in the storeroom, which was located at the back—half animal pen, half henhouse.

At midday they ate some of the food they had prepared to serve in the hostelry, and their conversation turned again to the events at the monastery earlier that morning. When they finished their meal, Helga proposed going to the main square to see The Swine, a prisoner accused of a terrible crime. She suggested they do their hair and amuse themselves watching the youngsters throw cabbages and turnips at him, and on the way they could buy some perfume to scent their bodies. Theresa accepted the invitation, and singing softly to themselves they left for the market square.

12

Though the blows dealt by the guards had turned The Swine’s body into a mass of battered flesh, his wrinkled, beardless face that gave him his nickname could still be made out. The man was curled up on his knees, tied to a plank of wood and guarded by two men armed with swords. Theresa thought he must be a half-wit, for his little eyes were trembling in fear, as though he were trying to understand what was happening to him. A crowd surrounded the captive, threatening and cursing him. A boy attempted to set a dog on him, but the animal turned and ran away.

Helga bought a couple of ales from a peddler and looked for some place where they could watch the spectacle, but several women were pointing fingers at her, so she finally decided to retreat somewhere more discreet. “He was born an idiot, but for thirty years nobody imagined he could be dangerous,” she told Theresa, leaning against a wall.

“Dangerous? What happened?”

“He had never made any trouble before. But last week they found the girl he had a habit of pestering, naked and sprawled out on the riverbank. He’d cut her throat.”

Theresa could not help but remember the incident when the Saxons had tried to violate her. She drank her beer quickly and asked Helga if they could go home. The woman reluctantly agreed.
It had been a long time since a murderer in Fulda had been taught a lesson, but she would settle for enjoying the celebrations on execution day.