The Scribe (53 page)

By midafternoon, the water was flooding the ship quicker than the oarsmen could bail it out, so Izam ordered them to moor the boat immediately. After positioning the lookouts, he divided the men into two groups, one that would guard the ship and another that would disembark. Then he approached Flavio and Alcuin to inquire after the health of the Roman prelate.

“We’ll remain anchored for four hours,” he informed them. “Enough to carry out some repairs. How is your injury?”

“It still hurts,” Flavio responded.

“If you wish, you can wait on board. We have work to do on land.”

“I’ll go down,” Alcuin announced. “And you should do the same,” he said to Flavio. “That leg needs some movement.”

“I would rather wait here,” he said plaintively.

Theresa joined the group disembarking, for she needed a few moments of privacy that she wasn’t afforded while on the ship.

On land, Izam divided the responsibilities among the men into those responsible for the repairs and those who would carry out guard duties. The first group patched up the hull with planks taken from the deck itself and caulked it with pitch that they had onboard. The rest established a defensive perimeter around the boat to prevent another attack.

Theresa took the opportunity to go off and wash in peace—something she hadn’t been able to do since they’d set sail. She was
still squatting when Hoos appeared. She stood up, embarrassed, but he tried to take her in his arms anyway. Theresa protested, but Hoos persisted, laughing stupidly. When she moved away, he shoved her unceremoniously. At that moment Izam appeared.

“The lookouts need you,” he said to Hoos drily.

Hoos looked at him out of the corner of his eye and reluctantly obeyed, though not before stealing a kiss from Theresa and slapping her on the behind. When he had gone, she finished straightening her skirt, visibly angered. Izam picked up a clasp from the ground for her and she thanked him. Then she apologized for Hoos, as though she were responsible for his behavior. They walked for a while in silence, until Theresa noticed that Izam seemed perturbed.

“We’ve never talked about it,” she said, “but you’re not from these parts.”

“No, I’m not. I was born in Padua—I’m Italian.”

She was glad he had finally said something. “Would you believe me if I told you that I suspected it?” she joked. “I met some Roman monks on their pilgrimage to Constantinople. Their Latin was similar to yours, though their accent was sloppier. I was born there. Did you know?”

“In Constantinople! Well, I never! A beautiful city, by Januarius!”

“I don’t believe it—you’ve been there?” she asked in astonishment.

“I have indeed. I spent a few years there. My parents sent me to learn the art of war. A magnificent metropolis in which to buy, sell, and love. Though it’s not so good for solitary pursuits and meditation. I have never known such talkative folks.”

“That’s true,” she laughed. “They say a Byzantine can speak for several hours even after death. Do you not like a good conversation?”

“I wouldn’t prefer to say except that I can count with the fingers on one hand the number of times a discussion has proved to be edifying.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She reddened.

“No. I don’t mean you,” he hastened to add. “And you, what are you doing here? I mean, in Franconia, and now here with us on the ship.”

She looked at him. He wore his hair gathered up under a beaver-skin hat that contrasted with his green eyes. She surprised herself by staring at him without answering, so she quickly responded somewhat clumsily recounting the events that had led her to this point. She intentionally left out the events in Würzburg and the reason for her being on the boat, but she spoke of her childhood and flight from Constantinople. Izam, meanwhile, paid her little attention. He was busy looking from side to side like an animal stalking prey.

“A busy life,” he finally said.

Suddenly, he swooped down on her, violently pinning her to the ground. She didn’t even have time to scream. She just heard a swarm of arrows whistling around her and felt a throbbing at her temple.

Izam raised the alarm as several men dropped to the ground. The young man rose and readied his bow, but another volley of arrows forced him to take cover. He noticed that Theresa had hit her head and was lying unconscious. All around him people were crying out in pain.

He called for his men to cover him. On his signal, they all fired. Then, he picked up Theresa and ran like a madman toward the ship. Flavio and Alcuin pulled the young woman on board. The rest of the men jumped on board however they could, then they all fell upon the oars. Under a barrage of arrows, the boat started to move. Finally it gathered momentum, and gradually it made headway upriver away from the danger.

24

The oarsmen rowed the battered ship toward the breakwater at Würzburg’s port, turned it clumsily to the side, and, after pitching a couple of times, drove it abruptly into the riverbed at the wharf. Immediately, a throng of peasants threw themselves into the water wanting to help with the disembarkation.

Izam positioned himself at the prow to oversee the mooring, while the rest of the crew jumped into the river and pushed from the stern to refloat the hull. When the ship finally dropped anchor, the cries of jubilation drowned out the church bells that welcomed the newcomers to Würzburg.

Gradually the arriving trickle of people turned into a stream of desperate scavengers, prepared to kill for a piece of bread. The crowd grew on the bank, competing for the highest and best spots. Children climbed trees and the elderly made do with cursing whoever shoved them aside. Some sang in joy and everyone thanked the heavens. Suddenly, it was as though the days of hunger and hardship were already melting away.

A boy went too close to the provisions and was jostled away by a crew member. Another youngster saw this and laughed and the first lad threw a stone at him.

Soon Wilfred’s soldiers arrived. A peasant jeered at them and then had to run off before he was discovered. The rest of the townspeople respectfully made way for the soldiers.

Wilfred’s men roughly made way through the crowd, opening up a path for the carts. Once they reached the wharf, they positioned archers along a corridor from the ship to the wagons.

Then Wilfred appeared on his wooden chair, pulled by his dogs. “Listen carefully, you bunch of scavengers!” he called out to the impatient crowd. “The first person to touch a single grain will be executed. The provisions will be taken to the royal granaries, where they will be inspected, and once they have been inventoried, they will be distributed, so move aside and let these men do their job.”

The count’s words riled some of those present, but they were soon appeased when the first supplies were unloaded.

Wilfred whipped the dogs and they pulled his contraption. The crowd stepped back even further as if that cripple could decide the fate of all those present with a mere glance.

As he reached the gangplank, Wilfred ordered two of his men to take him onboard, which they did by lifting him into the air and carrying him onto the deck of the ship. There he greeted Alcuin and Flavio, inquired about events during the voyage, checked the condition of the provisions, and looked sidelong at the wounded, instructing his servants to tend to them. It was some time before Izam approached him. He hadn’t known that the count of Würzburg was a cripple.

“Würzburg, at last.
Deum gratia
,” said Alcuin, and he passed his hand across Theresa’s brow. The young woman had not yet regained consciousness.

“No change?” Flavio Diacono asked him.

“I’m afraid so. Let’s get her off the ship. I hope her family is waiting for her.”

“She’s from Würzburg?”

“She’s the daughter of Gorgias, a Byzantine scribe.”

One of the peasants helping with the unloading stopped and looked at them openmouthed. He began to tremble. The bale of grain he was carrying slipped through his fingers overboard and into the water.

“Useless fool!” Wilfred bellowed. “That grain is worth more than your life.”

The peasant fell to his knees and crossed himself. Visibly shaken, he pointed to where the monks were standing.

“Lord help us! The scribe’s daughter! The dead girl has been resurrected!”

Not even the Volz woman’s cow giving birth to a two-headed calf had caused such a huge stir in Würzburg. When the calf was born, folks spoke of the Devil’s intervention, and there were those who attempted to burn the farmer along with her bicephalous monster. A resurrection was something that even the most fervent believers could not have imagined.

Tidings of the miracle spread like seeds to the wind. Before long, whispers turned into murmurs, which rippled through the crowd to every corner of the city. The boldest milled around the ship to try to see her with their own eyes, while others jostled for a spot near the gangplank.

Hearing the rumor left Alcuin feeling stone cold. He was still wondering what had caused all the commotion when the feverish crowd forgot about Wilfred’s threat and began to climb onto the ship. Wilfred deployed his men, but the mob ignored his soldiers. It was as though some collective madness had taken hold of them. At the count’s orders, an archer fired. The peasant at the front of
the mob staggered and fell overboard as the arrow hit him. The rest of them stepped back. When a second arrow was released, they all left the boat.

Yet Wilfred felt just as disconcerted. He had walked over to where the girl lay so he could confirm her identity. At first he didn’t recognize her, but as he came closer, his eyes widened as though he were looking at the Devil himself. He was in no doubt. The young woman was Theresa, the scribe’s daughter.

He was so riled that when he attempted to cross himself, his nerves prevented him. When he finally calmed down, Alcuin suggested they take Theresa on land and Wilfred agreed. Between them Hoos and Alcuin improvised a stretcher on which to bear the young woman.

Wilfred had his servants unload him and his wooden carriage, ordering his men to make way for them as they began their return. As they proceeded, the people started going down on their knees, begging for mercy in the wake of the miracle. Some tried to touch the resurrected woman, while others prayed that her reappearance was not the work of the Devil. The procession traveled along the town’s streets in the direction of Wilfred’s fortress. Once they had arrived, the crowds once again thronged the walls.

A group of skeptics led by Korne the parchment-maker went to the cemetery to exhume Theresa’s body. They did not know exactly where she had been buried, so they dug up the most recent graves, but could not find her. Then they returned to the fortress and demanded to be allowed to join the deliberations that Izam, Flavio, Alcuin, and the count had begun.

By then Wilfred had informed Alcuin of the fire. He also spoke of Korne’s obsession with avenging the accidental death of his son. Without telling anyone, Alcuin hatched a plan to protect Theresa.

Wilfred eventually allowed Korne’s presence in order to prevent a disturbance outside. The parchment-maker asked to see the revenant, but Alcuin objected. The monk argued that Theresa
was unconscious and that he would answer any of his questions. He explained what his relationship with the young woman was and informed them that, thanks be to God, he could explain the miracle.

Wilfred tapped his fingers nervously. Then he cracked his whip and the two dogs pulled the mobile contraption toward one of the windows so he could look out and contemplate the mob.

Alcuin continued to stare at him, still taken aback that a cripple could move around with the help of nothing more than a couple of dogs. Then he realized that everyone was staring at him, waiting for his explanation. “First we must verify that this young woman really is who she appears to be,” he said. “I know those present say they recognize her, but what do the young woman’s relatives say? Can we be sure when she hasn’t confirmed it herself?”

“For the love of God! Try to be sensible,” Korne suddenly cut in. “How is the young woman going to confirm her own identity if she is unconscious? We’ll have to wait for the stepmother to arrive and see if she can clarify anything.”

“And her father, the scribe?” Alcuin inquired.

“He disappeared a couple of months ago. We haven’t found him yet.”

For a moment there was silence, then Zeno appeared after having examined her condition.

“How is she?” Izam asked the physician.

“Cold as ice, but the warmth from the hearth will soon revive her.”

Izam turned to the fireplace, a sort of oven adjoining the wall of one of the rooms, instead of the usual fireplace dug into the ground.

Korne cleared his throat. Nobody wished to bring up the subject of resurrection.

“Well,” the parchment-maker announced, “it seems obvious that the girl never died in the fire.”

Alcuin stood. His great height projected a long shadow that slid toward the parchment-maker. “Let’s get one thing clear. The only undeniable thing is that the young woman here now lives. Whether the woman you refer to died in the fire is what we want to ascertain. Remember that, after the disaster, her parents recognized the body.”

“It was an unrecognizable body. Zeno can confirm it,” Korne said adamantly.

Alcuin looked at Zeno, but the physician took a swig of wine and looked away. Alcuin pulled a Vulgate from among his belongings and his skinny fingers slowly opened the cover and traced the volume as if he were reading something. Then he closed the book, lifted his gaze, and fixed his eyes on Korne. “Before beginning this discussion, I briefly made my way to the fortress chapel to pray to God to enlighten me. I prayed after touching the relics of the Santa Croce and suddenly I had a vision. An angel appeared before me from the darkness. From his neck came a resplendent crown that bordered his long and immaculate head of hair. He was floating gently, like a leaf on still water and his eyes emanated the eternal peace of the Almighty. The harbinger showed me Theresa’s body consumed by flames, and beside her another perfect body was formed by a whirl of blinding light, which swelled and gleamed until a new Theresa was fashioned, alive and without sin.”