The Scribe (45 page)

He pondered the role that Genseric had played. At first he had assumed he was acting by himself, had even assumed it was Genseric who had attacked him, but the unusual circumstances of his death and the fact that Wilfred was keeping watch over Rutgarda made him doubt those assumptions. And who was the serpent man? Certainly, it must be someone aware of what was happening. What’s more, from the way he had threatened Genseric, he undoubtedly appeared to outrank him.

Resting against the barrels, Gorgias noticed that the hen was examining the bandages on his shoulder with her pea-brained curiosity, and he smiled bitterly. He had lost his right arm, his writing arm, because of a despicable document. He took the parchment out of his bag and studied it closely. For a moment he was
tempted to tear it to pieces and offer it to Blanca as feed. But he resisted. After all, if it was so valuable, perhaps they would pay him to recover it.

It has stopped raining, so he got up to wander about the area and create a list of priorities. First he had to find a way to survive, a problem that was still unresolved despite the best efforts of the hen. On the way back to the mine, he had passed through a walnut grove. Nuts and berries could supplement the eggs, but even so he would need more food. He considered trying to catch some animal using Blanca as bait, but he soon decided that the idea would surely lose him his hen.

Hunting would be difficult. With just one arm, and without the necessary traps, even a duck could get away from him. But perhaps fishing would be possible. In the mine he had twine and thread, pieces of metal to bend into hooks, and enough worms to offer up a banquet. The river was close and while he waited for the fish to bite, he could make more hooks. He felt pleased to have resolved the problem of finding food. Then he remembered his wife Rutgarda, and he yearned to see her again.

He didn’t know how long they would keep her under watch and he tried to think of someone who could help him, someone to tell her what he was doing and how he was faring. He would be satisfied if he could just let her know that he hadn’t forgotten her. But he feared being discovered, so he decided to wait for a better opportunity. Rutgarda was doing well, and that was all that mattered.

After a while he took out the document and examined it carefully. Its transcription was perfectly finished, and he read it repeatedly, focusing on the parts that had surprised him while he made the copy. There was something dark in that parchment, something that perhaps Wilfred had not even noticed.

He put it in his bag and looked for somewhere to hide it. If he was captured, he might be able to negotiate with it. He inspected
his surroundings until he found a beam that he considered suitable. Then he climbed up on to some barrels and hid the document behind it. Then he rolled away the barrels so nobody would have reason to even suspect. He looked up at the beams and was satisfied. Then he unleashed Blanca so she could go eat worms while he prepared the fishing hooks.

A week passed which Gorgias spent in terrible pain. His temperature rose, keeping him bedridden for a while, but just as quickly, the fever was gone. He amused himself with Blanca, giving her slack so she could search for worms by day, and bringing her in at night so that she would lay her eggs nearby. He found some old blankets, which he used to make himself comfortable. Sometimes he would climb to the top of the hill to look over the city, or admire the mountains in the distance, their snowy peaks beginning to thaw. He told himself that when the passes were clear, he could flee to another city with Rutgarda.

As the days went by, his arm improved. Gradually he began to move his shoulder without excruciating pain. The stitches fell out and the scar took on a pinkish tone like the rest of the shoulder. One morning the stump stopped hurting, and it never bothered him again.

At the beginning of the third week he decided to explore the tunnels that went down into the mine. In the nearest one, he found steel and enough tinder to light the torches that were mounted throughout the tunnels. Further down he found some strips of iron that he could use as cooking utensils. During his excursions he categorized the tunnels into caves, passages, and pits. The first two tunnels, which he thought had entrances prepared for moving animals and materials, he judged to be useful shelters. The rest of the tunnels were so slippery that he decided he would only use them if he were in danger.

In time he began to plan his return to Würzburg. He was growing thinner with each passing day, and was certain that if he stayed at the mine much longer, sooner or later he would be discovered. He was convinced that he could parley with Wilfred and reach some agreement. After all, the count was a cripple. Perhaps if he could find him alone, he could approach without risk. And he might be willing to exchange the document in return for guaranteeing the safety of him and his family. All he had to do was watch the count’s movements in order to find the right moment.

He had spent the previous day preparing a beggar’s outfit, which he easily achieved given the condition of his clothes. He had added a hat that he had found in the tunnels and a threadbare woolen cloak. He was about to don his outfit when he heard the pealing of bells in the distance sounding an alarm. It was the first time they had rung since the fire, and given that the entire city would be in a state of alert, he decided to wait until nightfall to avoid arousing suspicion.

As he descended the hill he feared the reason for the bells might have been a Saxon attack, but he continued regardless. However, when he arrived at the city gates, he found them closed. He spoke to a guard, saying he was a poor wanderer looking for some shelter, but the soldier suggested he go back to where he came from.

Despondent, he explored the unusually quiet streets of the outlying poor quarter. An old man peered out from the shack he was hiding in. When Gorgias asked him what was happening, the old man bolted his window shut, but Gorgias pressed him and he finally informed him that several young lads had been stabbed to death. Then added, “It’s some man called Gorgias. The same one who murdered Genseric not long ago.”

Gorgias was dumbstruck. He pulled his hat down over his ears and, without even saying thanks, fled toward the mountains.

FEBRUARY

21

The days went by and Helga the Black’s belly swelled. Touching it, Theresa was surprised to find that she wished for Hoos Larsson to give her a child. However, the problems and complications of pregnancy made her push the idea from her mind, and she was content to stand by and admire the way Helga devoured every bit of food within reach.

But it was not just her belly that had changed. Pregnancy, it appeared, had transformed the slovenly woman into an industrious worker, for a few days earlier she had traded her tavern for a larger house near the chapter. She no longer caked her face in makeup and her attire began to resemble that of any respectable woman. And yet, what astonished Theresa most was the ease with which Helga labored in the kitchens. Favila said she had a gift for stewing, to the point that she had stepped back from the pots to leave that responsibility to the new cook. Theresa told herself that, ultimately, all that would remain of the old Helga was the terrible scar that her lover had left on her face.

Helga, however, only seemed to care about the future of her child. She rocked her great belly as if it were a cradle, sung made-up melodies to it softly, explained to it the secrets of a good roast pheasant. She knitted tiny hats that would keep the baby’s head warm. She prayed for the child that she suspected was a girl,
and she visited Nicholas, the old carpenter who, in exchange for some pastries, was building a beautiful cot for the baby in his free time.

Despite her belly, Helga did not neglect her duties in the chapter kitchen. Indeed, that night a dinner was to be held as an apology to Alcuin of York, that was to be attended by the king and his entourage. For the occasion, Helga had prepared capon and pigeon, grilled pheasant and freshly killed venison, which alongside an ox stew and the cheesecake made by Favila, would surely delight the guests. Generally dinner was served in the refectory after the None service, but on this occasion Ludwig, Lothar’s secretary, had commandeered a smaller chamber located above the calefactory, for there would not be a large number of diners.

For Theresa, the banquet would have just been another dinner, were it not for the fact that she had been invited.

“The king insists,” Alcuin had informed her.

From that moment, Theresa had been a bundle of nerves, trying to memorize the
Appendix Vergiliana
, Virgil’s epic poems that Alcuin had told her to recite during the feast.

“You don’t have to learn them by heart,” the monk had explained, “but you must practice them several times so that you find the right intonation.”

However, Theresa’s greatest concern was whether the dress that Helga had bought for her that afternoon in the textile district would fit properly.

When she had finished her work in the scriptorium, she set off for Helga’s house trembling like a chicken up until she put on the dress and saw herself transformed into a lady of refinement. She was dying to show it off, but Helga made her wait for the final touches to be made. Finally, her friend stepped back to check the fit, tightened the dress a little more, and then hugged her affectionately. “It’s too close-fitting, isn’t it?” Theresa said, embarrassed.

“You look beautiful,” Helga the Black informed her, telling her to run along to the dinner.

When she reached the dining hall, she saw that the guests were already settled in their seats. She was received by Alcuin, who apologized for her lateness. Theresa curtsied to the monarch, then ran with dainty steps to the place that had been reserved for her, beside an elegantly dressed young woman. The girl greeted her with a smile that revealed tiny white teeth. She looked about twenty years old, though later Theresa discovered that she was around fifteen. A servant whispered to Theresa that it was Gisela, the eldest daughter of Charlemagne, and this was not the first time she had visited Fulda because, aside from the battlefield, she accompanied her father wherever he went. Theresa counted another twenty or so people, most of them the king’s men, as well as five or six tonsured fellows she assumed belonged to the diocese. Charlemagne presided over the long rectangular table, which was covered in impeccable linen tablecloths and decorated with winter flowers. Several trays full of game competed abundantly for space with plates of cheese, cold meats, and fruit, while dozens of jugs of wine sat packed in among the food signaling a celebration fit for kings.

At the monarch’s signal, they all raised their cups and started eating like ravenous animals. As the dinner progressed, Theresa noticed that some of the diners, their appetite for food sated, turned their attention to her curves. Embarrassed, she loosened her belt so that the dress did not cling to her so tightly and then she positioned a centerpiece of flowers between her and the ogling eyes. Gisela realized what was happening and added another couple of bunches to hide Theresa even more.

“Don’t worry,” the girl said with a smile. “All men are the same—except if they drink. Then they’re worse.”

When the desserts arrived, Alcuin approached Theresa and told her to stand, an event which some men approved of vociferously. A cleric too drunk to applaud got up from his chair and attempted to
say a few words, but all he managed to do was belch before losing his footing and collapsing onto the table. After they had removed him, Charlemagne stood and asked Theresa to read.

Before beginning she prepared herself by taking a swig of wine. The long draft gave her courage. She dodged the scraps of food scattered around the floor and went over to the lectern that Alcuin had prepared for her. She opened the codex and took a deep breath. As soon as the first word left her mouth, the room fell silent. She read slowly, calmly—sometimes whispering, sometimes impassioned. When she had finished, nobody said a thing. Charlemagne was still standing, transfixed, looking at her oddly. For a moment Theresa thought he was about to reprove her, but to her surprise, the king filled his cup and offered it to her in admiration. She accepted it, but when he told her that he wanted to see her in his private chambers, the cup slipped through her fingers, causing wine to splash all over her new dress.

After the dinner, Theresa told Helga what had happened.

“Consider yourself fucked,” she responded.

Theresa regretted having worn the dress. She was scared, but she didn’t believe the king could force her to do anything like that. She decided to speak to Alcuin before going to meet the monarch. However, try as she might, she could not find him anywhere.

As two guards led her to Charlemagne’s chamber, Theresa prayed he would be asleep. To her relief, Alcuin opened the door. The monk invited her in and stood beside her as they waited for Charlemagne to finish washing.

“Ah! You’re here! Come in and take a seat,” said the king.

As he dried his torso, Theresa admired him. Though he was of a mature age, he was the biggest man she had ever seen. Bigger still than the largest of the Saxons.

“Excellent. So has Alcuin informed you of my intentions?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she stammered.

“He has told me that you are very clever. That it was you who discovered the contaminated wheat.”

Theresa looked at Alcuin, red-faced, but he merely nodded.

“The truth is that it happened by chance,” she said.

“And that you also found the hidden text in the polyptych?”

The young woman looked to Alcuin again. For a moment she thought that Charlemagne was trying to implicate her, but Alcuin reassured her.

“Well, I went over the polyptych several times, but the credit should go to Brother Alcuin. It was he who insisted on it.”

“Modest as well as bold. Let’s not forget your role in obtaining the final piece of evidence.”

She blushed. It was true she had taken a risk when she tore out the page from the polyptych, but she hadn’t expected the king to acknowledge it. She was still suspicious of the reasons for this praise.