The Scribe (37 page)

“What’s the matter?” Theresa asked, speaking up.

“It’s this damned plague. I think your friend may have infected me,” she answered, still scratching herself.

“Helga?” Theresa’s hands pressed against her mouth.

“Don’t even think about going near her,” Favila said, pointing to an adjoining room before submerging her arms in a basin of cold water. Theresa ignored her and ran toward the chamber. She found Helga the Black prostrate on the floor. She was trembling like a fawn and her legs were turning blue.

“God almighty! Helga! What has happened to you?”

The woman did not respond. She merely carried on sobbing.

“Get up! You must go to the abbey. They will look after you there.” She tried to pull her up but could not. “He told me not to bother. That they would not take in a prostitute.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your friend the monk. That damned Alcuin. He ordered me to stay here until he found me somewhere to go.”

Theresa returned to the kitchen and asked Favila for her help, but the woman refused, still washing her arms in cold water. Theresa snatched the basin and threw it against the wall, making it smash into pieces.

“Alcuin said—” Favila began.

“I don’t care what Alcuin said. I’m fed up with that man,” she cried. Then she turned and left the kitchen. As she walked in the direction of the palace, she cursed the British monk over and over again. Now she better understood Hoos Larsson’s warning about him. Alcuin was a cold-blooded man, concerned only with his books and nothing else. She remembered that if she hadn’t refused to continue writing, he would never have agreed to help her friend Helga the Black. But all of that was about to end. It was about time Lothar knew just what kind of a man Brother Alcuin was.

When the old secretary saw her appear, he tried to stop her, but he was unable to prevent her from bursting into the bishop’s chamber. Theresa stumbled upon Lothar urinating with his back to her. She turned to avoid seeing him but did not leave the room. When she heard the trickle subside, she counted to three and then wheeled back around.

Lothar turned around and looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and irritation. “May I ask what the devil you are doing here?”

“Forgive me, Your Eminence, but I needed to see you.”

“But who…? You’re not that girl who follows Alcuin around everywhere, I hope! Get out of here immediately!”

“Father. You must listen to me.” An acolyte tried to expel her, but Theresa shoved him away. “I must speak to you about the Plague.”

On hearing the word
plague
, Lothar simmered down. He arched an eyebrow and adjusted his breeches. Then he donned a robe and looked at her skeptically.

“What plague are you referring to?”

“The one that has gripped the city. Alcuin has uncovered its source and we know how to stop it.”

“Sin is the source of the Plague, and this is our only cure,” he said, signaling toward a crucifix.

“You are wrong. It’s the wheat.”

“The wheat?” He gestured for the secretary to leave them. “What do you mean the wheat?”

“According to the chapter’s polyptychs, some batches of contaminated wheat were acquired and transported to Fulda nearly four years ago—during the pestilence of Magdeburg. Until recently whoever acquired it was selling it at long intervals so that nobody would link the illness to the wheat, but lately the perpetrator has flooded the markets. The sick and dying are rapidly increasing and nobody is doing anything to prevent it.”

“But what you’re telling me is… are you sure?”

“We found something at Kohl’s mill. A poison that corrupts the cereal.”

“And Kohl is responsible?”

“I don’t know. Alcuin suspects two individuals: the prior Ludwig and Kohl himself.”

“By God’s bones! And why didn’t he come to me himself?”

“That is what I asked him. He mistrusts even you. He is obsessed with catching the culprit, but all he does is wait while folks continue to die.” She broke into tears. “Even my friend Helga the Black has fallen ill.”

“I will speak to him immediately,” he said, putting on his shoes.

“No, please. If he finds out that I told you, I don’t know what he’ll do to me.”

“But we must do something. Did you say Boethius, Kohl, and Ludwig? Why those three and no one else?”

Theresa told him everything she knew. After answering Lothar’s questions, she felt better, for the bishop seemed like he was keen to put an end to the problem. “I will give the order to arrest the suspects. As for your friend… what did you say her name was?”

“Helga the Black.”

“That’s it, Helga. I will request that she is taken to the chapter infirmary with orders that they do everything they can for her there.”

They agreed that Theresa would return to the scriptorium but remain in the episcopal palace should Lothar need her. When she came out of the bishop’s chambers, she noticed the secretary looking at her as if he wanted to thrash her.

Before going back to the scriptorium, Theresa decided to check up on Helga. She didn’t know whether they would be able to find a cure for the sickness, but she assumed that the news of her imminent transfer to the hospital would at least console her a little. However, when she arrived at the kitchen, Helga was not in the room. She asked everyone she could find, but nobody knew where she had gone.

The rest of Theresa’s day proceeded without her hearing from either Lothar or Alcuin. She was relieved not to see the monk. But Helga the Black’s disappearance concerned her greatly. Before dinner she decided to leave the palace to wander for a while. She had not eaten for some time, but the truth was that pangs of remorse had taken away her appetite. She didn’t know whether
she
had done the right thing, but at least she could hope that Lothar would
do the right thing and close the mills, making the Plague disappear forever.

As she walked she could not stop thinking about her friend Helga. She had searched for her in the kitchens, in the pantries, at the infirmary. She went back to her abandoned tavern and to the house of the neighbor who had taken her in the day that Widukind had beaten her so severely. She even asked around the streets where the most bedraggled prostitutes plied their trade, but there was no trace of her to be found.

Nothing. It was as if the earth had swallowed her up. Then she remembered Alcuin, and her stomach tightened. She didn’t know why she was filled with so much unease since she had acted out of good conscience.

Suddenly, she longed to be with Hoos Larsson. She missed his smile, his sky-blue eyes, his little jokes about the size of her hips, and his entertaining stories about Aquis-Granum. He was the only person who made her feel good, and the only person she could trust. She yearned for him so much she would have given everything she had to feel his caresses for even one moment.

Her walk ended in front of the city’s great gates, an impressive lattice of timber, hawthorn, and metal beams that protected the main entrance into Fulda. At the top, sharpened tree trunks stood in a line like a row of teeth flickering in the reddish glow of the torches. The many repairs that had been made to the gates gave them the appearance of a dying structure.

Though there were other entrances, they were less well defended. On either side of the gates, a stone wall was erected to protect the city. Inside the walls, numerous homes were built directly up against it so that the city’s fortifications served simultaneously as one of the walls of their home. This design made it difficult for the garrison to guard the wall with ease. However, the defenses only encircled part of the town, the oldest quarter. The original wall was built when the town was just the monastery and its orchards.
But with the city’s continual expansion, a proliferation of buildings had spilled into previously empty fields. The new expansion of the wall would protect the extensive suburbs from any possible attack.

Each night the secondary gates were barred and only the main entrance was left open. However, that evening the main gates were also closed, turning the city into an impregnable bastion. Theresa thought that perhaps the bishop had ordered them shut to prevent the criminal from escaping. But one of the guards told her that late in the day several peasants had spotted armed strangers, and though they were probably just bandits, they had decided to take precautions.

Lost in thought, Theresa suddenly became aware of a clamor of frightened folks banging on the other side of the gate, demanding entry to the town. She watched as the guards discussed it with their superior. Then one of the guards left the turret and went down to open the gate. Theresa watched as another guard threw buckets of water on the people who were trying to squeeze through before the gates were opened. Another two guards positioned themselves on each side of the gate armed with spears. The guard on top of the gate shouted down to the unruly mob, warning them that he would not open the gates if they didn’t settle down. This seemed to have a temporary calming effect. But as soon as the bolts were released, the mob pushed through the entry, making the sentries retreat in alarm. Theresa stood aside as a flood of people shoved their way past. Men, women, and children loaded with belongings and animals stormed into the enclosure as if the Devil were pursuing them. When the last person was inside, the guards closed the gates and went back up to the turret.

One of the townsfolk approached Theresa, eager for conversation. “Many have stayed outside thinking they won’t attack, but they won’t catch me unawares again,” he said, showing her an old scar on his belly.

Theresa didn’t know what to think. Those who had just gained entry seemed like they were fleeing the Apocalypse, and yet they were only a small fraction of everyone who lived outside the protection of the city walls. When she asked the man why everybody didn’t want entry, he told her that not everyone believed an attack was imminent.

Fear made Theresa decide to return to the abbey. But first she went by Helga’s old tavern, in case she had decided to return to her former home. She found it still empty, so she made for the episcopal palace to check the kitchens before retiring for the night. But, yet again, there was no sign of her friend. She only found Favila, who reproached her for bringing a prostitute to the chapter. “I knew that she would do the dirty on us at the first opportunity,” she declared, without giving her a chance to reply.

Theresa left without saying a word. In the stables, she pondered the events: a young woman murdered, dozens of townspeople poisoned, a monk she didn’t know whether to trust, and her only friend suddenly gone as if by magic. In her prayers she remembered her family. She thought of Hoos and Helga the Black. Then she made herself comfortable among the hay bales and waited for dawn.

But at midnight she was awakened by a sudden racket. From every direction she heard shouting and hurried footsteps, some running. Several clerics came into the stables bearing torches to saddle a couple of the animals.

Frightened, Theresa rose and ran to Favila’s chambers, where she found the woman pacing up and down, her flesh dancing about under a simple robe. She was about to ask what was happening when the banging of drums interrupted. The two women ran upstairs to the roof terrace with views of the entire city and found themselves looking down on a surprising scene: All along the main street, which was illuminated by dozens of torches, amid cheers and applause, rode a procession of riders led by a man clad in steel,
escorted by a troupe of drummers. Despite the late hour, dozens of onlookers greeted the horseman as if he were God Himself and His cohorts. Favila crossed herself and ran downstairs crying out with joy, while Theresa followed behind, still feeling clueless.

Back in the kitchen while lighting the stoves, Favila said, “Don’t you know? The great monarch has arrived. Our King Charlemagne.”

18

Theresa had never imagined that the king’s presence could cause such a stir. That night she had to vacate the stables, since the clergy used it to accommodate the royal horses and servants. She moved to the room that Favila had in the palace pantries. However, not long after she tried to retire for the second time that night, the king’s cooks took over the kitchens, filling them with geese, pheasants, and ducks that honked and quacked like demons for the rest of the night.

The next morning, the chapter was a hive of activity. Clerics ran to and fro, laden with plants with which to adorn the cathedral for the holy services. The busy kitchen staff prepared dishes of roasted meats, vegetables, and delicate pastries. The maidservants cleaned every nook and cranny. And Lothar’s acolytes rushed to move the bishop’s belongings to an adjoining chamber—for his room would be occupied by Charlemagne.

When Favila ordered Theresa to join the other servants in the refectory, Theresa felt there was little point in trying to explain that she only received orders from Alcuin. She tried anyway, but her argument fell on deaf ears. With a shove Favila ushered her into the refectory to help the others.

When Theresa walked into the dining hall she found it decked out with religious tapestries in sumptuous reds and blues. The
central table had been replaced by three long boards laid on U-shaped trestles, opposite the entrance. Theresa arranged a row of green apples on the colorful linen tablecloths, already adorned with centerpieces of cyclamens, garlands, and violets—the winter flowers that were cultivated in the gardens. Several rows of stools lined each side of the tables, except for the central area, cleared to accommodate the throne and other armchairs that the king and his favorites would use.