The Scribe (60 page)

“Have him buried outside of the cloister,” was all he said in response.

“You don’t understand,” he persisted. “At this time of year there are no reptiles.”

“Würzburg is full of serpents,” he answered, turning to look elsewhere.

Alcuin could not comprehend his indifference after he had pointed out the strange, identical nature of Genseric’s and the parchment-maker’s deaths. And not only that, but he had also informed him of Korne’s gray hairs, the fact that his head was shaven, and—more important—that each morning, after breakfasting in the kitchens, Korne had accompanied the twins to their singing lessons. It seemed useless to explain that, in all likelihood, it was Korne who had abducted the twins. Anyone else in his place, crippled or otherwise, would have jumped with joy, and yet Wilfred remained impassive, as if his fate had already been decided.

Wilfred dismissed him without looking up. But as Alcuin left, the monk saw tears in the count’s eyes.

On the way to his chambers, Alcuin wondered what might be behind Wilfred’s strange reaction. In his mind, such melancholy could only be explained by temporary dementia caused by the loss of his daughters, even if, curiously, his delirium did not seem to be affecting the rest of his faculties. Consequently, it would be sensible to assume that his behavior was not random but premeditated, as if he had prior knowledge of a link between the deaths of Genseric and the parchment-maker.

He decided to visit Korne’s room in the fortress, for since the workshops had burnt down that was where he resided. The chamber was not unlike the one Alcuin was staying in. It had an old bed, a crude table with a stone bench under the window, some shelves with a work habit on top, some skins, and the usual bucket for emptying the bowels. He looked inside the container and recoiled in disgust. Then he crouched down to scour the floor, both examining it with his eyes and with his hands until he came across what seemed like a necklace bead. However, in the light he could see that the little white pebble with a blue circle painted on it was in fact an eye from one of the twins’ dolls. He was at pains to admit that the smell of incense had led him down the wrong path, believing the culprit to be a man of the church.

He immediately made for the scriptorium, where he found Theresa working in an uncharacteristically clumsy manner. Normally the young woman would practice the text she had to copy on some old parchment before doing the final version, but that afternoon she was smudging her writing as if she were painting with a brush. Although Alcuin reprimanded her, he sensed that her mistakes were owed not to incompetence, but because of something worrying her.

“It’s Hoos,” she finally confessed. “I don’t know if it’s because you reproached him, but ever since the night we were together…” She reddened. “I don’t know, he seems different.”

“I didn’t say anything to him. What do you mean by different?”

Tears rolled down the young woman’s face, and she told him that Hoos had been shunning her. That morning, after bumping into him, he had snubbed her cruelly.

“I even fear he might strike me,” she sobbed.

“Sometimes we men behave coarsely,” he said, trying to console her. “It’s a question of nature. If circumstances sometimes mar the souls of those at peace and cloud the minds of the learned, who knows what they might do to men who give in to their most sordid desires?”

“It’s not that,” she complained, as if Alcuin understood nothing. “There was something strange in his expression.”

Alcuin relented, patting her on the back. As he gathered up his notes, he thought to himself that he had enough on his plate with the disappearance of the twins to also have to try to reason with a young woman in love. Instead, he asked her how the parchment was progressing.

“I’ve almost finished it,” she answered. “But I must admit there is something that has me worried.”

“I’m listening.”

Theresa went to find something and returned with an emerald-colored codex, which she placed in front of Alcuin.

“Aha! A Vulgate,” said the friar as he leafed through it.

“It’s my father’s Bible,” she said, stroking it with tenderness. “I found it in the crypt where he was imprisoned.”

“A nice copy.”

“That’s not all.” She picked up the Vulgate and opened it approximately from the middle. “Before the fire my father told me that if anything happened to him, I should look inside his book. I didn’t know what he was referring to at the time, in fact, I couldn’t even
imagine that anything would happen to him. But now I believe that, while he was working for Wilfred, he began to fear for his life.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

She lifted the codex and forced the spine until a gap appeared between the gatherings. Then she inserted her fingers and pulled out a piece of parchment that she unfolded, and read from: “
Ad Thessalonicenses epistula i Sancti Pauli Apostoli
.
5.21
.
Omnia autem probate, quod bonum est tenete
.” She translated: “Examine it all, retain the good.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?” he asked in surprise.

“On the face of it, nothing, so I did what it said in the quotation: I examined the Bible until my eyes hurt. Now look at this,” she said, pointing at a paragraph.

“What is it? I can’t see it.”

“It’s barely visible. My father must have diluted the ink with water so that it would barely leave a mark, but if you look carefully, you can see that between each line, as faint as morning dew, there are notes.”

Alcuin pressed his nose against the page but still could not make out a thing.

“Interesting. And what do the notes say?”

“I’m still confused. They provide information on the Donation of Constantine. But I believe my father discovered something strange in the text.”

Alcuin coughed and looked taken aback. “In that case it’s best I deal with this codex,” he decided. “And now, try to finish your work. I will keep searching for your father.”

When the monk left, she felt abandoned, and longed for a shoulder to lean on, for someone she could trust. Without intending to, she thought of Izam. He was so different than Hoos! Ever attentive and polite, always willing to help. She felt a little dirty thinking of him in such a way, but it was not the first time her thoughts had
turned to him. His deliberate way of speaking, his warm voice, his kind eyes… Though she loved Hoos, sometimes she caught herself thinking of Izam, and it made her feel uncomfortable.

She considered Hoos’s strange conduct again, wondering why he was behaving in such a way. She trusted him. She truly loved him. She thought they would go to Fulda together, where they would start a family, and have strong and healthy children who she would raise and educate. Perhaps they would buy a large stone house, with stables outside, even. She even thought about decorating it with drapes so that Hoos would find it comfortable, and perfuming the rooms with rosemary and lavender. She wondered whether he had thought about such things, or if there was another woman, and that perhaps he had forgotten about Theresa’s love. Finally she turned to her parchments to continue copying, but she only got to the second line before thinking of Hoos again, and she knew that until she spoke to him, she would not be able to do anything well. She stopped writing, cleaned her instruments, and left the scriptorium intent on reclaiming the man she loved.

The soldier guarding the scriptorium informed her that Hoos Larsson could be found in the tunnel that connected the storehouses to the fortress. When Theresa arrived, she found him loading sacks of wheat onto a cart. At first Hoos appeared reticent to talk, but when she insisted, he stopped what he was doing and turned to her.

She spoke of her hopes and her needs. She told him that she dreamed of waking up beside him each morning, sewing his clothes, cleaning the house, and tending the vegetable garden, learning to cook so she could serve him as he deserved. She even asked him to forgive her, lest—without intending it—she had done something wrong.

Hoos acted distant, however, and impatient for her to finish. When she demanded a response, he said only that he had slept too few hours because he had been searching for her father. He told her he had interrogated half the city, scoured every nook and cranny, but it was as if he had been swallowed by the earth.

His words moved her. “So, you still love me?”

His only response was to kiss her, making all her fears fade away. Theresa felt happy. Still in his arms, she told him what had happened with Zeno and how he’d shown her to the crypt.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he said, stepping back in surprise.

Theresa argued that he was always busy. And she was terrified that someone might overhear and attempt to capture her father.

“He’s accused of murder,” she added as a reminder.

Hoos nodded, but Theresa insisted that her father was innocent. Zeno had amputated his arm and could testify to it. Then she began to cry inconsolably. Hoos was attentive, embracing her tenderly. He stroked her hair and promised her that from that moment on everything would change, he even asked her to forgive him for his foolish behavior. He explained that events had overwhelmed him, but that he loved her with all his soul and would help her find Gorgias.

“I’ll visit the crypt you speak of. Does anyone else know its location?”

She told him that only Alcuin was aware of its existence.

Hoos shook his head, repeating to her that she should not trust the monk. Then he asked her to go back to the scriptorium, promising that as soon as he discovered anything, he would come for her.

On the way to the scriptorium, Theresa recalled that, according to Alcuin, Genseric was already dead when he was stabbed, and she
thought to herself that Hoos should be made aware of this fact. She had sworn to Alcuin that she would not tell anyone, but in reality that oath concerned the document, and not a matter that might prove vital for finding her father.

Turning around, she returned to the part of the tunnel where she had left Hoos, but all she discovered were a few abandoned sacks of grain. Surprised, she looked around and saw a side door, through which she could hear voices. She pushed the door open and walked down a narrow corridor, at the end of which she thought she could make out two faintly illuminated figures. One of the appeared to be a cleric. The other was Hoos Larsson. She continued until, to her surprise, she heard them arguing about her.

“I’m telling you, that girl is a problem. If she knows where the crypt is, she could tell anyone. We must eliminate her,” the cassocked man asserted.

Theresa’s heart thumped.

“And the rest of them? The girl trusts me and will do what I say. She doesn’t know about the twins—or about her father and the mine,” said Hoos. “When she has finished the document, then we’ll get rid of her.”

The cleric shook his head, but then agreed.

Hoos Larsson brought their conversation to a close, and without saying good-bye he made for the door.

When Theresa realized he was heading her way, she ran down the corridor toward the exit. But as she ran, she tripped over a sack of grain and fell to the floor. When she tried to stand up, Hoos was there.

He reached down and grabbed hold of her arm. “What are you doing here?” he asked without releasing her.

“I came back to tell you I love you,” she lied, trembling.

“From the floor?” Hoos had noticed the door that she had left ajar, but he said nothing.

“In the darkness, I tripped.”

“Tell me then.”

“Tell you what?” she asked, red-faced.

“That you love me. Wasn’t that why you came back?”

“Ah, yes!” She was shaking as she forced a smile.

Hoos pulled her to him without letting go of her arm. He kissed her on the lips, and she didn’t protest.

“Now get back to the scriptorium.”

When at last he released her, Theresa’s soul was filled with hatred for that man and his serpent tattoo.

She could not comprehend it. The idea that Hoos—the man she had given herself to—intended to murder her made it impossible to think straight. She ran to the scriptorium without looking where she was going, like an outlaw pursued by a pack of wolves. She tried to understand how it could have happened, but she could not find an explanation. Images of her father at the mine swirled around with the images of Hoos making love to her. As she ran, tears clouded her vision. Who was the cleric she had seen from the back? Alcuin himself, perhaps?

When she reached the scriptorium she found it empty, but the sentry allowed her in because he knew her. She searched for the document she had been working on but couldn’t find it, so she assumed that Alcuin or Wilfred had gone off with it. However, under some parchments, she found her father’s emerald-colored Vulgate. She took it along with a couple of pens and left, intending to flee the fortress.

Avoiding dark corners, she moved along the corridors as if she feared someone would jump on her at any moment. As she passed the armory, a cassocked man suddenly stood in her way. Theresa’s blood froze, but the cleric merely pointed to a pen that she had just dropped. The young woman picked up, thanked him, and walked on, her pace quickening with every step. She went down the stairs
and turned down the passage that connected the entrance hall to the cloister. From there she would go out into the courtyard and then to the fortress walls.

She walked with her head bowed, trying to conceal herself with her cloak, when suddenly she saw Hoos and Alcuin talking on the other side of the cloister.

Hoos saw her, too.

She quickly averted her gaze and kept walking, but she saw him take his leave and quickly head toward her. Theresa was almost at the exit. She went out into the courtyard and broke into a run, but as she reached the fortress wall she realized in horror that the gates were closed. She looked behind her and saw Hoos in the distance advancing slowly but deliberately. Her heart pounded. She turned again, desperately seeking another way out.

At that moment she saw Izam on horseback by the stables. She ran toward him and asked him to lift her up. Izam was puzzled but gave her his arm and hoisted her onto the hindquarters. Crying, she begged him to take her away from the fortress. Izam asked no questions. He spurred on the horse and shouted an order for the gates to be opened. Moments later, with Hoos cursing his bad luck, they had left the walls and the citadel behind.