The Scribe (41 page)

As she struggled to sort through her thoughts, Alcuin went into his cell. But, before the guard locked him in, he turned to Theresa, and taking her hands into his, he said in Greek: “
Return to the episcopal scriptorium and reexamine the polyptychs
.”

Then the guard closed the door, giving Theresa an arrogant look. She turned and ran toward the kitchens, pressing against the key that Alcuin had just given her to her chest.

19

When she reached the kitchens, Theresa found Favila wrestling with a chicken. “So you heard the news of the postponed execution too? Truly, I don’t know what they are waiting for to bring that murderer to justice,” she said as a greeting to Theresa as she continued to pluck feathers from the bird.

Theresa nodded without making a fuss, but she felt annoyed that Favila and everyone else took for granted The Swine had killed the miller’s daughter.

“Have you seen Helga?” she asked halfheartedly.

The woman shook her head no as she jointed the chicken.

“I didn’t think you would have,” she added, then took a piece of cheese and said good-bye to the cook.

She had to wait for the congregation to gather in the refectory before she could access the episcopal scriptorium without being seen. Though she had been in that room dozens of times, fear constricted her throat. She inserted the key in the lock and turned it until the bolt popped, then she quickly went in and closed the door behind her. She was comforted by the smell of the fire, still burning in the hearth, glad that the bishop had instructed one be built in such a cold room.

On the table she found several unfurled documents that looked as if they had been worked on recently. She ran a finger across the
ink and found it still wet. Written within the hour, she estimated. She looked through them but could see nothing important. Mostly they were various
epistolae
signed by Lothar exhorting other bishops to follow the precepts of the Rule of Saint Benedict.

She put down the documents and went to the bookshelves where she found the polyptych that she had already reviewed so many times. However, when she tried to take it down, she realized that it had been chained to the shelf, so she pulled it out as far as she could and opened the cover to examine its contents. Due to the proximity of the neighboring volumes, she could barely turn the pages. Still she managed to locate the summaries of the grain transactions settled almost four years earlier with the nearby town of Magdeburg.

The text was all the same in the same handwriting—the exact same sentences as before. She read them over again without finding anything new. But on the altered page, she could only read the paragraphs that someone had tried to pass off as the original entry. She couldn’t examine the hidden text that she had discovered earlier.

While she continued to study the pages, she wondered again what she was doing in the scriptorium trying to help Alcuin. She did not even know whether the monk was guilty or innocent. If they discovered her, they would think she was in cahoots with him, an accomplice in a murder, and she too would probably end up on the pyre. She decided she must leave and quickly put the whole affair behind her.

She was about to close the book when suddenly some words jumped out at her:
In nomine Pater
. She looked at the letters closely, reading them slowly over and over again.
In nomine Pater
. Why did it catch her attention? It was nothing more than the standard way to begin a letter.

In a flash, she understood. Good God! That was it! She gave a cry of joy and ran to the documents spread out on the table. She
frantically searched through the epistles signed by Lothar, unfurled them with trembling hands. There it was.
In nomine Pater
.

The same inclination… the same stroke… the same handwriting!

The amendments made to the polyptych in which the grain sales were recorded had been written by Lothar’s hand. She crossed herself and then shivered, taking a step back. If it was Lothar who had made the corrections… perhaps he was also behind the murders.

She had to take the evidence to the king.

Tidying the documents on the table, she returned to the polyptych on the bookshelf, but try as she might, she could not free it from its chain.

She was trying to figure out how to work it loose when she heard the door creak. Terrified, she crouched among the books just in time to see the stout figure of Lothar walk into the scriptorium. Theresa put down the polyptych and crawled to the end of the bookshelf. There she hid behind a large chair.

Lothar went to the table and looked at the documents before approaching the hearth. Then he walked over to the polyptych and unchained it. He hesitated for a moment, glancing from side to side as if he feared being watched. Then he leafed through the codex and finally cast it into the flames, where in the blink of an eye it burned like a parched bale of hay.

Moments after Lothar departed, Theresa left, too. She needed to speak to Alcuin to tell him all that had happened, but when she reached his cell she found it empty. On the way there she passed by the kitchens, where to her surprise, she found Helga the Black. Astonished, Theresa didn’t know what to say. But Helga gestured to her to stay silent and led her to a storeroom where they could speak in private.

“I thought you were dead,” Theresa said sharply. Then she gave her friend a strong embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” Helga said. “I didn’t want to worry you, but Alcuin made me do it.”

“Made you? Made you do what? And what about your legs? Are they all right?” She remembered seeing them blue from the sickness.

“It was fake,” she said, ashamed. “Alcuin made me put tincture on them. He told me that if I didn’t do it, he would take my child from me when it’s born.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. He wanted you to see me like that, and then for me to disappear. That man is the Devil. I warned you.”

Theresa slumped into a chair, dispirited. Why had Alcuin forced Helga to do something so strange? Clearly he wanted her to think she was sick, but why? Alcuin was not the type of person to do things randomly, so she tried to think of a sensible reason for his actions. She recalled that, after thinking that Helga the Black had fallen ill, her indignation had made her confess to Lothar. Had that been Alcuin’s intention? And if that were the case, why had the monk wanted Lothar to know his plans? She was still confused, but determined to uncover the truth. She kissed Helga and told her to look after herself. Then she left in the direction of the church, where she assumed they had taken Alcuin.

At the entrance of the church, a guard confirmed that they were assembled there, but that she could not enter. Theresa tried to persuade him, but the guard would not yield. At that moment she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She turned to find herself face to face with Lothar, who apparently had arrived for the conclave at that moment. She feared she may have been discovered, but to her relief the bishop gave her a friendly smile.

“Perhaps you would like to join us,” he even suggested.

Theresa sensed a certain darkness in his words, but thought that it would give her an opportunity to inform Alcuin of Lothar’s involvement in the falsification of the polyptych. She accepted his
invitation and the bishop told her to make herself comfortable. Everyone resumed the same positions, just as they had before the break, reminding Theresa of a painting she had seen before.

The spectators whispered to each other about Alcuin’s guilt, while the monk, some distance from them, paced up and down like a caged animal. When he saw Theresa, it seemed to unnerve him. He nodded to her almost imperceptibly and kept pacing as he studied his wax tablet. Moments later, Charlemagne appeared, attired in the impressive cuirass he normally wore for summary trials. They all stood until the monarch took his seat. After giving his permission for them to do the same, Charlemagne told Alcuin to resume his testimony. However, Alcuin continued to look over his tablet, until the king cleared his throat to call attention to the delay.

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I was rereading my notes.”

Charlemagne gestured to him to continue as silence descended upon the hall.

“It is time to reveal the truth,” Alcuin finally began. “A difficult truth, incestuous, and wicked. A truth that has on occasions led me down a path of lies, through ravines of sin that I have had to negotiate in order to reach a place of enlightenment.” He paused to scrutinize the eyes of those gathered. “As you all know, strange events have afflicted the city of Fulda. All of you have most likely lost a sibling, a parent, or a friend. My own assistant, Romuald, a strong and healthy lad, died, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. Perhaps it is for this selfish reason that I swore to uncover the truth behind what was happening. I investigated every death. I spoke to all who fell sick. I inquired about their habits, their behavior. All in vain. There was nothing connecting the deaths, which were as unjust as they were strange and sudden. Then I remembered an epidemic that ravaged York many years ago when I was a magister. On that occasion the cause of the epidemic was rye, yet here, in Fulda, many of the dead had not recently eaten
rye. My inquiries led me toward wheat, surmising that if the symptoms were so similar to the rye epidemic, perhaps there could be a link.” He paused to reread his notes. “Everyone knows that there are three mills in Fulda: the abbey’s, the bishopric’s, and Kohl’s. I searched the first two mills and found nothing to confirm my suspicions. So then I went to Kohl’s mill with the intention of obtaining a sample of wheat. It is true that I proposed a deal to Kohl, but it was only to see if he had the contaminated grain.”

“That’s all good and well,” said the king, “but your account thus far doesn’t alter Lothar’s version of events.”

“If you will allow me to continue?”

“Proceed.”

“To my surprise, in a sample that my assistant Theresa provided, I discovered the capsules that caused the sickness. I must admit that I immediately blamed Kohl. However, though the wheat found at his mill suggested he was involved, in reality those tiny, poisonous bodies did not prove that he was guilty.”

“Forgive me,” Lothar interrupted, “but what does all of this have to do with your lies? With your attempt to poison me? With your written confession in which you recognize Kohl’s guilt and with your refusal to stop the poisonings?”

“For the love of God… let me speak!” Alcuin sought the approval of Charlemagne, who gave his assent with an impatient gesture. “We knew that the contaminated wheat had passed through Kohl’s mill.”

“It was at Kohl’s mill!” Lothar specified cleverly. “Are you choosing to ignore the fact that an official has found all the batches of contaminated wheat hidden on Kohl’s property?”

“Oh, yes! The official! I had forgotten… It is this person we have before us, is it not?” said Alcuin, pointing at a timid little man. “Your name, please?”

“Ma… Maar… tin,” he stammered.

“Martin. A memorable name… would you mind coming closer?”

The little man stepped forward.

“Tell me, Martin, have you been an official for long?”

“Not lo… long, sir.”

“How long? A year? Two? Three, perhaps?”

“Not thaaaat long s… sir.”

“Less? How long then?”

“Two… m… months, I don’t know… sir.”

“His brother died from the sickness, and he assumed his post,” Lothar explained.

“Ah! Naturally, that is a good enough reason. And of course, you appointed him.”

“I am always the one who appoints the official.”

“Very good. Allow me to continue: Martin, tell me,” he said, dipping his hand in his pocket to pull out a fistful of wheat, which he then appeared to divide between his two hands. Holding out both closed fists to Martin he asked, “In what hand is the wheat?”

The official smiled, revealing a row of chipped teeth. “In th… at one,” he indicated.

Alcuin opened the hand he had indicated, showing it to be empty.

“In th… th… at one,” he said, pointing to his other hand.

But once again, it was empty. Martin was left wide-eyed. His face was like that of a child whose apple had been stolen. “You… you’re… a… demon.”

Alcuin let his arms drop and from his sleeves fell the handfuls of wheat.

Martin smiled.

“May I ask what this buffoonery is about?” Lothar interrupted in indignation.

“Forgive me,” said Alcuin, “Forgive me, Your Majesty… it was just a joke. Permit me to continue.”

Charlemagne agreed with some reluctance. Alcuin bowed and turned back to the little man. “Martin, tell me… is it true that you found the wheat?”

“It… it is… sir.”

“I see! But as I seem to recall, Lothar announced that it was very, very well hidden.”

“That’s right… s… sir. Ve… very well hiiid… en. It to… took all… all morn… ing to f… f… find it.”

“But in the end you discovered its whereabouts.”

“Yes… sir.” He smiled like a young boy who had caught a very slippery eel.

“And tell me, Martin, if the wheat was so well hidden, how was it possible that you found it, if you aren’t even able to find a fistful in my hands?”

Except for Lothar, everyone, including Martin, roared with laughter. However, the little man’s smile froze when he noticed Lothar’s cold stare. “He… he help… helped me,” he said, signaling the bishop.

“Well, I never! I hadn’t heard that part of the story before.” He turned to Lothar. “So the bishop told you where to search for the wheat?”

“What did you expect?” the bishop retorted. “Have you not seen that he is a half-wit? What matters is not whether I helped him, but the fact that it was found.”

“Of course, I don’t doubt it.” He paced up and down. “And tell me, my good Lothar, how did you know that the wheat was contaminated?”

The bishop hesitated for a moment, but then quickly answered: “Because of the grain that Theresa told me about.”

“This grain?” said Alcuin, putting his hand in his pocket and showing him another fistful of wheat with clearly visible tiny black balls intermixed.

Lothar looked at it without much interest, then his glassy eyes looked back up at Alcuin. “Exactly like that, yes,” he confirmed.