The Scribe (65 page)

“With Hoos? When? In the tunnel? I can assure you that wasn’t me.”

“And later in the cloister.”

“I think you’re raving.” He went to put his hand on Theresa’s shoulder, but she fended it off violently. “Stop taking me for a fool,” she warned.

“I will repeat that I never met Hoos in the tunnel, so you can forget about that. It’s true that I saw him in the cloister—as I did Wilfred, a couple of servants, and two prelates. But to conjecture that from my presence there that I am involved? For God’s sake, woman! When Genseric died, we were still on the ship. What’s more, why would I have told you how they were murdered?”

“Then why won’t you release my father now?” she cried. “Or are you hiding something?”

Alcuin looked at her sadly, smoothed his gray hair, and clenched his teeth. Then he asked her to sit down, using a tone she had never heard him use. The young woman refused, but she sensed he was about to confess something big.

“Sit down,” he insisted as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a cloth. He fell silent for a moment. “I think I can safely assert that Wilfred murdered Korne, as he did Genseric.”

“I don’t believe you. Wilfred’s a cripple.”

“He is, and his misfortune is his best ally. Nobody would suspect him… nor any of his devices.”

“What do you mean?”

“Four days ago, Wilfred showed me how one of his contraptions works. He did so when I showed an interest in how the dogs are attached to the chair. He triggered a spring that released their reins as if by magic. I had already noticed that the chamber pot was also equipped with an ingenious mechanism, so I went to see the blacksmith who admitted that he had built them. At first he refused to say anything more, but a few coins were enough to get him to tell me that he had installed an astonishing device in the rear handrail
on the chair. Specifically, two small curved nails that were inserted in the grip, which when operated, shoot into the palm like two little darts. The blacksmith swore he never knew their purpose, which is understandable given how unusual the task was.”

“And Wilfred uses this mechanism…”

“To administer the poison. The nails must have been soaked in some evil solution. Viper’s poison, perhaps. I imagine that was how he killed Genseric—and also the parchment-maker.”

“But why would Wilfred commit these crimes? He has access to the document. And the murdered boys? Why would he accuse my father of killing them?”

“I don’t have all the answers yet, though I hope to have them soon. And now that you know the truth, and you know that I know your father is no murderer, I would ask you to please get back to work.”

Theresa looked at the document, with just three paragraphs left to complete. Then she fixed her eyes on Alcuin’s.

“I’ll finish it when you release my father.”

The monk looked away, then suddenly turned back to her, with an expression full of menace. “Your father, your father! There are more important things than your father!” he shouted. “Do you not understand that those who seek the parchment might still get their hands on it? To catch them I need them to think that I already have a culprit. Your poor father is innocent, yes, but so was Jesus Christ, and he give his life to save us from ourselves, did he not? Now answer me this: Do you think Gorgias is better than Christ? Is that what you think? Have you by any chance asked him whether he accepts his sacrifice? If he could speak, I am certain he would be grateful and more than willing. Moreover, let’s stop being frivolous. We both know he is inevitably, and imminently, going to die. How long has he got left? Two? Three days? What does it matter if he dies in a bed or in a dungeon?”

Theresa sprang to her feet and slapped him.

Alcuin was immobile as his cheek flushed red. He reacted as if he had just been woken up. Standing, he went to the window, his hand going to his face.

“I’m sorry, I should not have said those things,” he said. “But even so, take a step back. It’s difficult to hear, I know, but your father will die soon either way. Zeno has confirmed it, and nothing we can do will alter that fact. The future of this document depends on us. I have already explained its significance, and for those reasons I implore you to accept my stance.”

Theresa held back her tears. “I will tell you what,” she said, finally breaking down, “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if they steal the parchment from you and we all end up in hell. I will not stand by and allow my father to perish in that hole.”

“You don’t understand, Theresa. I’m about to—”

“You’re about to kill him, and sooner or later you will do the same to me. Do you think I’m stupid? Neither my father nor I have ever mattered to you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Really? Then tell me—where did you get the Vulgate? Or did it fly here?”

Alcuin looked at her with a distressed expression. “Flavio Diacono found it left in the middle of the cloister.” He closed the Vulgate and handed it back to Theresa. “If you don’t believe me, you can go and ask him yourself.”

“So why will you not release my father?”

“For God’s sake! I’ve explained that already! I need to find out who is after the document.”

“A document as false as Judas,” she replied, standing her ground.

“False? What do you mean?” His tone changed again.

“I know full well what you’re scheming. You, Wilfred, and the Papal States—a deluge of fraud and trickery. I know everything, Brother Alcuin. The document you go to such lengths to extol, on which you have placed hopes, ambitions, and desires… my father
uncovered its duplicity. That’s why you want him to die—so that your secret will go with him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

“Are you sure?” She took the tablets from her bag and flung them on the table in front of him. “They’re copies of the text written between the lines in his Vulgate. Don’t bother trying to find it in the Vulgate because I scraped them out with a knife.”

“What do they say?” he asked, his expression hardening.

“You know as well as I do.”

“What do they say?” he repeated as if consumed by fire.

Theresa pushed the tablets closer to him. Alcuin contemplated them and then looked back at her.

Theresa continued. “My father knew about Byzantine diplomacy. He knew about epistles, speeches, exordiums, and panegyrics. Perhaps that’s why you hired him, but also you say because he was a good Christian. And as such, he discovered that Constantine never wrote the document. That none of the donations are legitimate and that the lands in fact belong to Byzantium.”

“Silence!” the monk bellowed.

“If the document is authentic, tell me, Alcuin, why is it that the document refers to Byzantium as a province, when it was just a city in the fourth century? Why does it mention Judea when that didn’t exist at that time? Not to mention the use of terms like
synclitus
instead of
senatus
,
banda
rather than
vexillum
,
censura
in place of
diploma
,
constitutum
for
decretum
,
largitas
for
possessio, consul
instead of
patricus
…”

“Quiet, woman! What do those mere details prove?”

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “In the
introductio
and the
conclusio
the handwriting of the imperial era is poorly imitated, and the
formulae
are from another time. How would you explain the fact that in a fourth-century document, the passage on Constantine’s conversation is based on the
Acta o Gesta Sylvestri
, or explain the references to the decrees of the Iconoclastic Synod
of Constantinople against the veneration of images, which you know was held several centuries later?”

“The fact that the document contains errors does not prove that the donation is false,” he retorted, striking the table. “The difference between real and genuine is as slight as it is between false and spurious. How could you, a descendant of the sinner Eve, have the authority to judge the morality of an act guided by the Holy Spirit?”

“Do you truly believe that is what they will say in Byzantium?”

“You are playing with fire,” he warned her. “I would never harm you, but there are many who would. Remember Korne.”

The chiming of bells sounding an alarm interrupted them.

“Release my father, and I will finish the document. Make something up. Whatever you want—another miracle, whatever springs to mind. After all, you’re a real expert at inventing lies.” Then she gathered her tablets and told him to send his answer to Izam’s boat. And she left without giving Alcuin a chance to argue.

On the way to the wharf, a crowd of townsfolk swarmed around her, leaping and dancing and shouting “Supplies!” Surprised, she followed a family until she realized that the commotion was due to four newly arrived boats that were at that moment mooring at the docks. One of them, painted red and lined with shields, was notably bigger than the rest, making the other boats look like mere shallops by comparison. She looked for Izam and finally found him on the last boat. She tried to board, but was stopped. However, as soon as Izam spotted her, he came down to meet her. As he approached, Theresa noticed he was limping.

“What happened?” she asked, alarmed. Without thinking about it, she threw herself into his arms. He stroked her hair and soothed her.

They moved away from the crowd to a solitary rock. Izam explained that he had gone out to meet the
missus dominicus
since a scout had informed him of his arrival.

“Unfortunately, it seems they also warned the owner of this arrow,” he joked, pointing at his leg.

Theresa saw they had cut off the end of the arrow, but a hand’s width of the shaft still protruded. She asked him if it was serious, though it didn’t seem so.

“If an arrow doesn’t kill you straightaway, rarely does anything come of it. It’s curious, but the opposite is true of a sword wound. And you? Where have you been? I told Gratz to keep you on the ship.”

Theresa told him what had happened with Alcuin. When she finished, Izam looked uneasy but didn’t respond right away. Instead he pulled out the arrow with some pincers. He placed the bloody arrowhead to one side and then sealed the wound in his leg with some herbs.

“I always carry them with me,” he explained. “They’re better than bandages.”

He held the herbs in place with his fingers and asked why she had disobeyed his orders. She told him she feared he would not return.

“Well, you weren’t far off the mark,” he said with a smile, casting the piece of arrow into the river. However, when Izam learned the details of her conversation with Alcuin, his smile quickly turned to concern. He insisted that the English monk enjoyed Charlemagne’s favor, and that going against him was suicide.

When the commotion on land subsided, they went back to the first ship so that his wound could be cauterized. He was limping a little, so she helped him by putting her arms around his shoulders. While they were preparing the iron, Izam confessed that he had spoken to the
missus
about her.

“Well, not about you, exactly. About your father and his predicament. He didn’t promise anything, but he told me that he would speak to Alcuin to find out more about the crime he’s accused of.”

He explained that the
missi dominici
were officials that Charlemagne sent throughout his lands to supervise the administration of justice. They tended to travel in pairs, but on this occasion there was just one. His name was Drogo and he seemed an upright man.

“I’m sure he will agree to our requests.”

30

The man responsible for cauterizing the wound handed Izam a stick to chew on before sinking the red-hot iron into his thigh. After withdrawing the iron, he applied a dark ointment, and finally wrapped the wound in some fresh bandages.

Izam and Theresa ate fresh fish and pork sausages while the seamen unloaded the supplies from the hold. In total the supplies consisted of four oxen, some goats, a few chickens, dozens of game, plenty of fish, and several consignments of wheat, barley, chickpeas, and lentils, which they loaded onto carts to transport to the fortress. When the unloading was complete, a mob of peasants followed Drogo and his men down the twisting narrow streets.

Izam stayed on board, for his leg was still uncomfortable. He also felt safer knowing that Theresa was on the ship instead of surrounded by strangers on land. He was pondering how best to help her when a servant sent by Alcuin appeared at the wharf, asking for the young woman.

With the gangplank removed, the servant had no way to board, so he called out a request that she disembark. Izam advised her to stay onboard, but Theresa kissed him on the cheek and, without giving him a chance to object, she climbed down a ladder.

On land, the servant informed her that Alcuin had agreed to her demands and had sent him to escort her to the citadel. Theresa
thought about telling this to Izam, but she decided not to, for fear he would try to prevent her.

At the fortress, the servant showed her through the kitchens, a hive of activity with people preparing food for the feast to be held that night in honor of the
missus dominicus
. Theresa felt like she was somewhere new, for all around her were people she didn’t recognize. They left the storehouses behind them and headed for the meat safes. There, the guard dropped the ladder into the hole where Gorgias was captive. Theresa carefully climbed down. She found her father shivering, lying under a rotten animal skin. The guard pulled up the ladder, but Theresa didn’t care. She crouched alongside her father and kissed him tenderly. His face burned like a lit torch.

“Can you hear me, Father? It’s Theresa.”

He half opened his rheumy eyes. Although he was looking at her, Theresa knew he could not see her.

Gorgias raised his trembling hand to stroke the crying angel’s face, and as his fingers brushed against her, he seemed to recognize her. “My child?” he sputtered.

She wet his hot forehead with dirty water she found in a jar. Gorgias thanked her in a whisper. Then he forced a smile.