The Scribe (38 page)

The cooks had prepared a feast for a legion of hungry men, with no shortage of capon and duck still with their plumage, scrambled pheasant eggs, grilled ox, lamb shoulders, pork ribs and fillets, kidney stews, offal, accompaniments of cabbage, turnip, and radish dressed in garlic and pepper, boiled artichokes, an array of sausages and cold meats, bean salads, roast rabbit, pickled quails, strudels, and a myriad of desserts made with honey and rye flour.

On the way back to the kitchen, Theresa heard the head cook asking Favila if she had any
garum
. Seemingly, the monarch loved the condiment, but the expedition had left their stocks behind in Aquis-Granum. Favila explained hesitantly that she had started the process some time ago, but then gave up when she tasted it. Bringing it out, the head cook, Theresa, and Favila all took a sample and all three immediately spit it out.

“I know how to fix it,” Theresa said, remembering what Leonora had taught her about how it could be doctored up with spices. “With your permission, of course.”

Before the man could object, Theresa ran to the pantry and returned laden with aromatic herbs from the garden along with some salt. After following the steps just as Leonora had shown her, she poured the liquid into a large spoon, which she then handed to the cook.

“How is it now?”

The man tried it and looked at her in amazement.

“Well, blow me down! Charlemagne will be pleased! Let’s see, you two,” he snapped, addressing a couple of servants. “Leave those dressings and come and help this girl prepare more
garum
. I must say, if your stews are as good as your condiments, I’m sure you will have no trouble finding a wealthy husband.”

Theresa blushed and thought of Hoos Larsson. She hoped that he would be her husband. Even though she wasn’t sure if he had money, her heart fluttered when she thought about how handsome he was.

When the cook told Favila that Charlemagne wanted to congratulate the person who had made the condiment, Favila started trembling, insisting it was Theresa who should get the credit. She smoothed Theresa’s hair, pinched her cheeks until they lit up like a newborn’s, and gave her a clean apron to wear. Then she ushered her off, calling her a cheeky rascal. However, Theresa took her by the hand and forced her to go to the refectory with her.

As the women approached, they were surprised by the sheer number of waiters, maids, and servants milling about near the entrance. The cook showing them the way pushed past some glaring onlookers, clearing a path through the crowd to the door of the dining hall. He told them to wait until the lector had recited the psalms.

While the cleric read, Theresa observed Charlemagne standing in the center of the hall. The monarch’s colossal stature made the young woman next to him seem like a dwarf. Charlemagne was dressed in a short cloak as substantial as a napkin on his great body, a woolen overcoat, baggy trousers, and leather boots. His face, shaven in the Frankish way, sported a large unruly moustache that contrasted with the rest of his hair, neatly gathered into a long ponytail. Behind him, Alcuin and Lothar waited patiently at the
front of his retinue, which included a cohort of elegantly attired prelates.

When the lector finished, they all sat and started to breakfast, which was when the cook asked Theresa to follow him. They crossed the room and he introduced her to the king, whom Theresa acknowledged with a ridiculous curtsy. Charlemagne regarded her as though he did not understand what was happening.

“The
garum
girl,” the cooked informed him.

Charlemagne’s eyes widened, surprised by her youth. Then he congratulated her and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. Before she could even think of something to say, Theresa felt the cook grasp her arm and pull her toward the exit.

She was about to return to the kitchens when Favila suggested she wait and help her clear the tables. The two women stood together at one end of the room, observing the dignitaries devouring their feast as if it were their last meal. While the guests breakfasted, dozens of clerics, vassals, landowners, and artisans paraded through the refectory to pay tribute to the monarch.

Theresa noticed the entrance of the refined, little man who had bought Althar’s bear. Behind him followed a rosy-cheeked servant holding a tray as if it were a dish of food, but on it was the head of the beast that she had hunted herself during her time at the bear caves. The little man crossed the hall and bowed before the king. Then, after a brief explanation, he stepped aside so the servant could place the animal’s head among the plates of food. Charlemagne stood to admire its beauty. He said something about the bear’s eyes, to which the little man responded with more bows. The king thanked him for his gift, which he had someone position at one end of the table, and then he dismissed the man who retreated backward, bowing repeatedly.

Since the head had ended up near Theresa, she decided to examine it to see what had caught Charlemagne’s attention. She could see that one of the eyes had come loose in its socket, making
it appear a little less fierce. She thought that it wouldn’t be difficult to repair, so she took hold of a knife and—without waiting for permission—started to cut the stitching that ran to the damaged eye. She had almost opened it fully when someone grabbed her from behind.

“May I ask what the devil you are doing?” It was the little, rich man, shouting so that everyone could hear him.

Theresa explained that she was trying to fix the eye, but the man gave her a slap that made her fall flat on her face. One of the cooks ran toward Theresa to drag her out before the little man could do her any more harm. But right then, the king stood and asked them to pick her up. “Come here,” he ordered.

Theresa obeyed, trembling.

“I was only…” she fell silent, ashamed.

“She was trying to ruin my bear head,” the little man interrupted.

“You mean,
my
head,” Charlemagne corrected him. “Is that true? You wanted to ruin it?” he asked Theresa.

When the young woman tried to answer, all she could manage was a thin, little voice. “I was just trying to put the eye back in place.”

“And that’s why you were slitting the face open?” said the king in surprise.

“I was not slitting it, Your Highness. I was just cutting the stitching.”

“And a liar, too!” interjected the little man. At that moment, Alcuin whispered something to the king, who nodded.

“Cutting the stitching…” Charlemagne examined the head closely. “How could you have cut it, if the stitching isn’t even visible?”

“I know where it is because it was me who sewed it,” she declared.

Hearing her response, everyone except Alcuin burst into laughter.

“I see that I will have to agree with you,” the king said to the little man who had branded her a liar.

“I promise you I am not lying. First I hunted the bear, then I sewed it,” Theresa insisted. The laughter stopped, replaced by a stunned silence. Not even those closest to the king would dare to make such a joke. Charlemagne himself changed his condescending expression.

“And I can prove it,” she added.

The monarch arched an eyebrow. Until then the young woman had seemed likeable, but her effrontery was starting to verge on foolishness. He could not decide whether to order her flogged, or to simply dismiss her, but something in her eyes stopped him.

“In that case, show me,” said the king, ordering silence. Only the chewing of food could be heard in the hall.

Theresa looked at Charlemagne with resolve. Then, in front of the amazed faces of everyone present, she told in full detail the story of the hunt in which she helped Althar bring down the animal. When she had finished the story, not even a belch could be heard in the room.

“So you killed the bear by shooting it with a crossbow? I must admit that your fable is truly fabulous, but all it proves is that you are a bare-faced liar,” declared Charlemagne sententiously.

Theresa understood that she had to convince him soon or they would remove her from there with force. She quickly took the animal’s head in her arms. “If what I am saying is false, then how is it possible that I know what it contains?”

“Inside?” Charlemagne asked, intrigued.

“Inside the head. It is filled with beaver skin.”

Without waiting for permission, she broke the stitching and pulled out a ball of fur, which she let fall onto the table. She unrolled it so that everyone could see that it was a damaged beaver pelt. Charlemagne looked at her gravely.

“So it was you who killed it.”

Theresa bit her lip. She looked around her until her eyes fell on the pile of weapons where the men-at-arms had left them before eating. Without saying a word, she crossed the hall and took hold of a crossbow that was lying on a chest. A soldier drew his sword, but Charlemagne gestured for him to hold off. Theresa knew she had just one chance. She recalled how, after the bear hunt, she had practiced with Althar and developed some skill in handling the weapon. However, she had never managed to load one by herself. She placed the end on the floor and held it down purposefully with her foot. She grasped the string and tensed it with all her strength. When the string was a mere whisker from being secured into place, it slipped through her fingers.

There was some commotion from the onlookers, but Theresa didn’t give them time to react. She clasped it again and pulled hard, feeling the fibers digging into her fingers. She thought of the fire in the workshop; of her father Gorgias; of Althar; of Helga the Black and of Hoos Larsson. There had been too many mistakes in her life. She clenched her teeth and pulled harder. The string snapped loose, resting safely in its slot.

Theresa smiled with satisfaction. Finally, she loaded a dart. Then she looked at the king, awaiting his approval. Upon receiving it, she raised the weapon, aimed carefully at an empty plot of ground, and released the arrow. The dart cut through the air, whizzing across the room and landing with a thump into the ground between the legs of the rich man himself.

A murmur of astonishment ran through the refectory. Charlemagne stood and called the young woman over. “Impressive. I can see that Alcuin was right to advise me to believe you.” He looked at the woman sitting to his right. “After breakfast, come to my chambers. It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my daughter.”

At that moment Lothar stood and asked for silence. He donned his miter and raised his cup in a solemn gesture. “I think it is
time for a toast,” he proposed. Everyone at the table also lifted their drinks. “It is always an honor to welcome our beloved monarch, Charlemagne, who as you all know I am bound to by blood and friendship. However, we are also honored by the presence of the Roman legation that accompanies him, led by his eminence Flavio Diacono, the pope’s holy prelate. I am therefore pleased to announce that, as a gesture of respect and loyalty toward human fortitude,” he bowed toward Charlemagne, “unconditional submission to divine justice,” he did the same to the Roman Curia, “this afternoon we will finally hold the execution of The Swine.”

At the conclusion of his speech, those present toasted without their cups coming into contact with each other. Theresa thought this strange.

Favila explained to her that not touching cups was a sign of trust. “In the olden days, when a king wanted to control another nation, he would marry his son to the princess of his coveted kingdom and invite the father of the bride to a feast in which he would offer him a poisoned cup of wine. To prevent this barbaric practice, they would touch cups, mixing their wine together so that if one should die, so would the other. That’s why it’s the custom here, as a sign of trust, to never touch cups.”

Upon hearing this, Theresa looked over at Alcuin and felt ashamed, knowing deep down that she had betrayed him. At that moment, the monk took his leave from Lothar and went over to Theresa. When he reached her he greeted her quite naturally. “I did not know about your expertise with condiments. Is there anything else I should know that you have not yet told me about?”

Theresa froze, seeing that Alcuin had read her thoughts. The monk suggested they talk in private.

“I don’t suppose it’s a good day to go to the scriptorium,” Theresa said while they walked down the corridor. “I mean, because of the execution.”

Alcuin merely nodded. They continued past the scriptorium and made for the cathedral. Inside, he walked past the crossing, heading for the sacristy. There, he took a key from a small alcove and opened the gate that led to a damp smelling room presided over by a great crucifix. Alcuin took a seat on the only bench and invited the young woman to do the same. Then he waited for Theresa to calm down.

“When did you last confess?” asked the monk softly. “A month ago? More than two months? Too long, if something should happen to you.”

Theresa started to panic. She glanced at the gate but knew that Alcuin would stop her if she tried to escape.

“Naturally, I trust that you have kept your word,” the monk continued. “I’m referring to the secrets I have shared with you. Do you know what happens to those who break their promises?”

Theresa shook her head and started to cry. The monk offered her a handkerchief, but she refused it.

“Perhaps you would like to confess.”

Theresa then accepted the rag and rubbed her eyes, leaving them red. When she had mustered enough courage, she began confessing her sins. The young woman left out the incident with the fire in Würzburg, but she told him about her sinful union with Hoos. The monk reproached her, but when Theresa admitted that she had been to see the bishop, Alcuin became infuriated.

“Please forgive me. There were so many sick, so many dead.” She burst into tears again. “And then there was Helga the Black. I know she was a prostitute, but she loved me. When she fell ill and disappeared… I didn’t want to deceive you, but I couldn’t just stand by.”

“And that’s why you went to Lothar with what I had discovered?”

The young woman wept, but Alcuin did not seem affected. “Theresa, listen to me. It is essential that you answer truthfully. Did you tell Lothar who the suspects were?”