The Scribe (66 page)

Theresa promised they would soon free him. She spoke to him of Rutgarda and his nephews, the four little urchins he adored so much. She invented a story in which Alcuin had sworn he would give him back his position with all manner of honors. And she also lied about what Zeno had said, telling him he would recover from his wounds. She cried when she realized that the life was draining out of him before her eyes.

“My little one,” he murmured.

Theresa squeezed his hand. She combed his thin hair with her fingers and Gorgias thanked her. Suddenly he began to cough. In a moment of lucidity he remembered Constantine’s document. He wanted to tell Theresa that he had hidden it on a beam in the slave
huts at the mine. He had worked so hard, but the words did not come. His vision was fading. “Where are my books? Why aren’t they bringing my inks?”

He was dying.

“They’re here. Just as you like them,” she lied as she stroked his forehead.

Gorgias looked around him and his face lit up as if he could truly see them. Then he held Theresa’s hand tight.

“Writing is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Very much so, Father.”

Then his hand went limp as his final breath left his body.

Two men pulled Theresa out of the hole. Then they hoisted Gorgias’s body up with a rope and took him to the kitchen as if he were a sack of broad beans. More and more people were gathering around her, murmuring and whispering with no consideration for her terrible pain. Before long, barking announced Count Wilfred’s arrival. Theresa clumsily wiped her tears away, then stood face to face with the dogs, their breath on her face.

“Is he dead?” inquired Wilfred without an ounce of compassion.

Theresa bit her lip, throwing a look of hatred at that cripple who seemed to be enjoying the bitterness that overwhelmed her. Out of respect for her father she chose to be quiet, but at that moment, one of the dogs nuzzled its snout against her father’s body and started to lick him. Theresa gave it a swift kick that resounded around the kitchen. The dog spun about and bared its fangs, but Wilfred held it back, grimacing sardonically. “Careful, lass. My hounds are worth more than the lives of many people.”

The livid young woman contained herself. She would have slapped him had she not known that the dogs, without a doubt,
would tear her apart. The count laughed at her. “Take her to the meat safe,” he ordered, his expression changing.

Theresa didn’t understand, until suddenly two soldiers grabbed her and started dragging her toward the dungeons. She demanded an explanation, but not only did the men not listen to her, but they hit her with a stick to force her down into the hole. After the ladder was removed, Theresa looked up and estimated it would take the height of three men standing on each other’s shoulders to reach the hole, making escape impossible. Soon she saw the dogs’ snouts poking over the edge—and moments later, she saw Wilfred’s face.

“Do you know, lass, I am truly sorry about your father. But you should not have threatened Alcuin, and—more important—you should not have stolen his parchment.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t taken anything,” she responded with surprise.

“As you wish. But I must warn you: If you haven’t confessed by dawn, you will be charged with theft and blasphemy, meaning you will be tortured, and then burned to death.”

“Damned cripple! I’m telling you I haven’t stolen anything.” She threw an empty bowl at him, which ricocheted off the wall with a hollow thud before falling back down on her.

Wilfred didn’t respond. Instead he cracked his whip and the dogs dragged the chair back until he disappeared from sight.

When she was sure he had gone, Theresa slumped onto the same piece of ground where her father had died only moments earlier. She could hardly think, but she didn’t care about the accusations. She had returned to Würzburg for Gorgias. She had fought for him and even been bold enough to challenge Alcuin. But now that he was dead, nothing mattered. Crying bitterly, she lay on the scraps of straw that felt like needles and wondered which cemetery they would bury him in.

She cursed the document. It had caused the death of Genseric, Korne, a young sentry whose name she did not even know, the wet
nurse… and Gorgias, a father for whom any daughter would give her own life. She cried inconsolably, and with the pain came the cold, until she was frozen numb.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a pebble hit her on the cheek. She thought it had just crumbled away from the edge, but another blow to her leg made her sit up. She looked skyward but couldn’t see a soul. Again a stone came in through the hole in the wall up above where the snow was poured in from the stables. She examined the duct: It had the diameter of a small barrel and was protected by bars. She pricked up her ears and heard a “Psst.”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“It’s me, Izam,” she heard in the distance. “Are you all right?”

Theresa lay down and went quiet as a sentry poked his head over the edge. The guard glanced at her a couple of times and then went away.

She sat up again, picked up a little stone, and threw it at the opening.

“Listen,” Izam said. “There are guards out here.” He paused. “I’m going to get you out of this place. Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she responded, and she waited for him to continue. But he didn’t speak again.

She could no longer sleep, so she stayed awake waiting for the cocks to announce the arrival of dawn. A faint glow seeped through the snow duct, reminding her where her only hope lay. She looked at the opening, willing Izam to appear, but he never came. Then she noticed some marks on the rock that seemed to illustrate a collection of buildings. Looking closely, she couldn’t recall seeing them on the day that Zeno tended to her father. She looked closer at the illustration, and noticed a repeated horizontal line that looked like it might represent a crossbeam.

Before long, the ladder was lowered and two sentries ordered her to climb out. Theresa obeyed. As soon as she emerged from the hole, they gagged and blindfolded her. Then, after tying her hands,
they led her through the kitchens, which she recognized from the smell of baked bread and apple cake. From there they went to the atrium—where she felt the biting cold of the morning—and then they continued to the main hall where Wilfred was waiting. She assumed it was him, for the dogs were growling as if they wanted to devour her. Suddenly a blow from a stick tore her shoulder. The sentries demanded to know where the parchment was, and she repeated that she did not know. They lashed her several times and continued to interrogate her until they grew tired.

Theresa awoke in a pool of her own blood, the blindfold no longer covering her eyes. She looked around and saw that she had been taken to the scriptorium, where a guard was staring at her with a stupid smile. She realized that her hands and feet were chained. At that moment Hoos Larsson came into the room. He handed some coins to the sentry, who then left. He crouched down beside Theresa. He looked at her with such contempt that it seemed as if there had never been anything between them. “The lashes look good on you,” he whispered, touching her earlobe with his tongue.

She spat in his face.

He laughed and gave her a slap that left her cheek bright red. “Come on, be a good girl,” he continued. “Don’t you remember what a lovely time we had?” He ran his tongue across her face. Then he tied her hands together and gagged her so she couldn’t speak. He lowered his mouth to her ear again. “They’re saying that you stole the parchment. Is it true?” he asked with a smile. “Funny how things turn out. A few months ago I had to stab your father in order to get it—and now you’ve gone and stolen it, just like that.”

Theresa wriggled as though she had been bitten by a snake, but Hoos kept laughing. He informed her that, from what they had told him, she would not even have a trial.

“It looks like you’ve really fucked up. They’ve already prepared the gallows for you.”

As the door opened, Hoos immediately moved away. Alcuin, Wilfred, and Drogo—the
missus dominicus
—appeared in the room. Wilfred was surprised to see Hoos beside Theresa.

“I wanted to see her alone one last time,” explained the young man. “She and I…”

Alcuin attested to the fact that the couple had been in a rather unchristian relationship. Wilfred nodded and ordered Hoos to leave the room. When he had gone, he urged on the dogs, which pulled him near Theresa. “In the name of God and His son Jesus Christ, for the last time, I exhort you to reveal to us the whereabouts of the document. We know that you understand its significance—so confess, and we will be generous enough to end your suffering. But persist in your attitude and you will feel the torment of fire on your flesh,” he threatened.

He noticed that Theresa wished to speak. He requested that the gag be removed, but Alcuin objected. “If she wanted to, she would have confessed already.” He pulled down her dress to reveal the bloody slashes on her back. “Let us wait until the flames lick at her feet, then we’ll see whether her tongue remains idle.”

Drogo agreed. Alcuin had informed him of everything that had happened, and they decided to burn the young woman following dinner, straight after the None service. Then they left the room, leaving her in the company of a sentry who was instructed to prevent anyone from approaching her.

Izam heard what was happening from Gundrada, a barrel-bellied cook who had confided in Gratz when he had helped with the provisions for the kitchens. In addition to preparing the order for the ship, the woman sent a gourd pie for Izam. While wrapping it, she told Izam that the execution would take place at the fortress, for
according to Alcuin, the townspeople would not approve of the execution of a young woman who had been resurrected only a few days earlier.

“I heard the last bit when I hid behind a curtain,” she said with a laugh, pleased with herself, while she added an extra apple. “I for one don’t understand it. If she was such a miracle, how can she now be such a criminal? I like that lass, though of course, all I know about is cooking. Try the pie.” And she laughed again raucously, proud of what she knew.

Izam bit into the pie, which he found to be hard and tasteless. He paid her for the food and calculated the time. Then he prayed that his plan would be better than the cook’s gourd pie.

He left the food in the storehouse and made for the tower, where—according to Urginda—they would burn the young woman. The imposing stone tower sat on a crag at the top of the fortress, making it the last stronghold. From the tower one could see not only Würzburg but also the entrances to the town, the Main Valley, and the ravines in the hills. Once he was at the foot of the tower, he discovered that its age and insufficient maintenance meant that the watchtower was propped up against a great timber beam, the top end of which rested against the inside of the fortress wall.

He grimaced when he saw a pyre in the entrance courtyard. The area was difficult to access, surrounded as it was by a precipice with the fortress moat at the bottom. Izam crouched behind a stack of firewood and waited for the procession to arrive.

It started to rain. He wrapped himself in his cloak and consoled himself with the thought that the water would make lighting the pyre more difficult. Soon the bells rang to signal the end of Vespers. While he waited, he examined the strange tree trunk that shored up the tower, bridging the gap. He thought to himself that one could use it to climb right over the huge hole between the tower and the walls.

After a while Wilfred’s carriage appeared. He was followed by Drogo, Alcuin, and Flavio Diacono, richly attired. Behind them trudged Theresa, who was guarded by a pair of sentries. Izam crouched lower when the dogs pulled the contraption closer to the pyre. The servants assisting Wilfred drove their torches into the ground. The rain continued to grow heavier. At the count’s signal, the guards grabbed Theresa, who seemed half-asleep. They were about to lift her on to the pyre when Izam stood up.

“What in hell’s name!” sputtered Wilfred when he saw him. The sentries took up their weapons, but Drogo stopped them.

“Izam, is that you?” the
missus
asked in surprise.

The young man bowed to him.

“Magistrate, this young woman is innocent. You cannot allow this.”

When he tried to approach Theresa, the guards blocked his path. Wilfred roused his dogs, who barked as if possessed. Then he ordered his soldiers to light the pyre. But Izam pulled out a dagger and threw it. The weapon cleaved through the air and thumped into the chair directly under Wilfred’s genitals. He took another dagger from his belt and took aim again. “I assure you that if you have a heart, my dagger will find it,” he threatened.

“Izam, don’t be a fool,” the
missus
warned. “This young woman has stolen a document of vital importance. I don’t know what force is guiding you, but I have already decided that she will pay for her crime with her life.”

“She has not stolen anything. She has been by my side since she left the scriptorium,” the engineer replied without lowering his weapon.

“That is not what Alcuin has told me.”