The Scribe (67 page)

“Then Alcuin lies,” he emphatically declared.

“Heretic!” bellowed the monk.

The rain continued to pour insistently while the men stood unsure of what would happen next. Izam took a deep breath. It
was time for his final ploy. He took a few steps forward, gripped the crucifix that hung from his neck, and fell on his knees before Drogo.

“I call for a trial by ordeal!”

They all fell silent, amazed. A trial by ordeal invariably ended in death.

“If you are trying to save her…” Wilfred warned him.

“I demand it!” He pulled his crucifix from his neck and held it up to the heavens.

Drogo cleared his throat. The
missus
looked at Wilfred, then Flavio, and finally to Alcuin. The first two shook their heads, but Alcuin argued that it was impossible to survive an ordeal.

“So, you will be judged by God, will you? Approach,” Drogo ordered. “Do you know what you are getting yourself into?”

Izam nodded. He knew that the usual way these trials went was to force the accused to walk barefoot on red-hot bars: If his feet burned, he was guilty, but if by divine mediation they were unharmed, then he would be proclaimed innocent. Or, they might cast him into the river with bound feet and hands: If he floated, he would be absolved of his sins. However, Izam’s plan was to insist on trial by combat, which was a possible option when there were two opponents. He challenged Alcuin.

“But he is not being accused,” Wilfred objected.

“Alcuin claims that Theresa stole from him, but I say that he is lying. In which case, only God can decide who is the lost sheep.”

“What utter nonsense! Have you forgotten that Alcuin is the shepherd and Theresa is the sheep?”

At that moment, Alcuin approached Izam, looked him in the eyes, and snatched the crucifix from him.

“I accept the ordeal.”

After agreeing that they would meet at the pyre at dawn, they all went back inside. Izam returned to the ship having been promised by the
missus
that nothing would happen to Theresa. Meanwhile Wilfred, Flavio, and Alcuin discussed the ordeal.

“You should not have accepted,” Wilfred repeated, incensed. “There was no reason why you—”

“I know what I’m doing, I promise you. Think about it. In reality, what you believe to be an act of insanity is the perfect way to justify an execution, which, in the eyes of the populace, would be controversial.”

“What do you mean?”

“The masses idolize Theresa. They believe she has come back from the dead. To put her to death now makes no sense, especially if we are accusing her of a crime that we can’t really talk about. A trial by ordeal, on other hand, would mean that God has justified it.”

“But you know nothing of arms. Izam will send you to hell.”

“That may be, but God is on my side.”

“Don’t be a fool, Alcuin!” Flavio Diacono cut in. “Izam is a skilled soldier. At the first thrust, he will strew your intestines across the yard.”

“I trust in God.”

“For goodness’ sake! Perhaps you shouldn’t trust Him quite so much.”

Alcuin seemed to ponder it. After a while, he stood up, newly animated. “A champion. That’s what I need.”

He reminded them that in an ordeal, the offended party could designate a defender. “Theodor, perhaps,” he suggested. “He’s strong as a bull and a full head taller than Izam.”

“Theodor’s useless. If he had to peel an onion, he would lose his fingers with the first cut,” Wilfred said. “We have to think of someone else.”

“What about Hoos Larsson?” Flavio Diacono suggested.

“Hoos?” said Wilfred, surprised. “I agree he is able, but why would he want to help us?”

“For money,” Flavio declared.

Alcuin admitted that the young man in question had the required vigor and skill for the duel, but he was not confident that he would willingly take on the risk. However, not only was Flavio sure of it, but he offered to be the one to convince him, so Wilfred and Alcuin agreed.

Before the dawn of the next day, an emissary appeared at Izam’s ship to inform him that he was required at the fortress walls. The order was confirmed by a tablet with Drogo’s seal, so Izam picked up his crossbow and several darts, belted his scramasax, protected himself from the rain with a fur overcoat, and followed the envoy to the gates. Inside, the emissary led him around the moat until they reached the point nearest the parade ground at the foot of the tower.

At the base of the tower, the remains of the scaffolding climbed steeply up to the trunk of the beam that acted as a support between the tower and the walls. When the servant informed Izam that he was to climb the scaffolding, Izam didn’t believe him.

“Why should we have to fight up there?” he inquired.

The emissary shrugged and pointed to the top. Izam looked up to see Drogo looking down onto the parade ground from a considerable height. The
missus
signaled to him to climb the scaffolding. But before he began, the emissary asked him to hand over his crossbow. Izam complied, then crossed himself before beginning the climb.

At first the scaffolding seemed solid, but as he ascended, the framework of poles and ropes creaked as if on the verge of collapse, so he made sure to step on only the most secure joints. His wounded leg throbbed, but his hands clasped the projections like
claws. The higher he ascended, the more it swayed. Two-thirds of the way up, he stopped to catch his breath, with the rain and wind lashing against his face. Far below in the moat, a bed of rock seemed to be waiting for his strength to fail. He sucked in some air and continued to climb to the top, right to where the wooden trunk buttressed the watchtower to the wall.

When he reached the top, he had no time to recover. On the other side stood Wilfred, Flavio Diacono, Drogo, and Alcuin.

Far below them Izam could see two soldiers guarding Theresa, who was not hooded but still gagged. Despite the distance, he could see the terror in her eyes. Standing next to Izam was a tall man carrying an axe. His heart skipped a beat. At that moment Drogo stepped forward and asked Izam to swear.

“In the name of the Lord, cross yourself and prepare for combat. Alcuin puts forward a champion,” he shouted, pointing to the man with the axe. “Because he is the offended party, this is his right. Now swear loyalty to God. May He guide your weapons.”

Izam swore. Then Drogo turned to the champion, and told him to make ready. “Honor for the winner, and hell for he who falls!”

Izam realized that they had intended for the duel to take place on the trunk that spanned the void. He quickly studied the trunk, observing that the top had been crudely planed. It looked as though some time ago it had served as a bridge between tower and wall. Even so, keeping balance would be difficult in the pouring rain. He also noticed that halfway along the trunk, secured to its flat surface, were several small wineskins. He couldn’t think what their purpose might be, nor what they could be possibly be filled with that made them bulge the way they did.

He lifted his gaze and saw his opponent preparing to climb over the tower’s parapet to reach the trunk. The man used his axe as an aid. His torso was protected with a leather jerkin, and he wore studded boots. Without a doubt, Izam could tell that it was Hoos Larsson. The tattoos gave him away.

But Izam was swifter than Hoos and reached the trunk first. He made his way along it toward the wall, withdrawing his dagger and preparing for combat.

The others quickly made their way to the bottom of the tower. From the parade ground, Drogo ordered Hoos to lose the axe. With one blow, Hoos Larsson drove it into the trunk and then drew his scramasax. He advanced toward Izam without even looking where he trod. Izam moved forward, too, noting with concern the stabbing pain in his leg.

They approached each other like two cornered beasts. Izam’s face was wet with rain. Hoos was unperturbed, as if going hunting. The trunk creaked as they both drew close to its center. Hoos made the first feint, but Izam parried the thrust without stepping back, responding with a jab that Hoos easily blocked.

Hoos smiled. He was an expert with the knife, and his studded boots kept him steady on the trunk. He lunged again, making his opponent retreat. Izam readied himself, but Hoos suddenly stepped back, too, as if he wanted to enjoy what was about to happen. At that moment, Drogo ordered his archers to shoot, and a number of arrows flew through the air, piercing the little wineskins between the combatants.

“What do you reckon?” snickered Hoos. “Will it hurt when you hit the rocks down below?”

This time Hoos treaded more carefully, for the perforated wineskins oozed oil onto the trunk, turning it into a deadly trap. Taking advantage of Izam’s surprise, Hoos launched another attack, and though Izam managed to avoid it, he slipped and dropped his weapon into the abyss. Fortunately, he recovered his balance before Hoos could reach him with his knife. Izam quickly removed his belt and used it as a whip to stop Hoos from getting any closer.

Behind Izam, the trunk suddenly gave a loud creak and he turned in horror to see the scaffolding that secured the trunk to the wall giving way, a shower of timber falling into the moat. He
had no time to react. As the scaffolding creaked and snapped, the trunk slid down at the wall end. Both combatants could see that the whole structure was about to collapse and they quickly moved toward the tower. Despite the sloping trunk, Hoos, who was closer, reached the tower with relative ease. But Izam slipped as he attempted to cross the greased area. However, he managed to grasp a protruding branch as his body hung over the void.

Izam heard Theresa scream and he tried desperately to lift himself up. Groping with one free hand, he found an arrow that had passed through a wineskin and embedded itself into the wood. Both the arrow and the branch enabled him to hang on. Hoos watched the entire scene and roared with laughter to see Izam struggling like a bird in a trap.

“Do you need help?” he mocked.

Izam hung helplessly from the trunk, unable to clamber to the top.

Hoos dislodged the axe and started swinging it. “You know what, Izam? I liked shafting her. Theresa loved it,” he added, squeezing his groin.

Hoos was about to throw the axe at Izam when unexpectedly the trunk slipped a little, this time at the end jammed against the tower. The shudder made Hoos fall backward, before pitching forward, so that he ended up close to where Izam was hanging. Fortunately, the trunk straightened, allowing Izam to grab hold of another branch and swing one leg over the top.

Hoos smiled. In the rain, his expression was like that of a wild beast that knows its prey is powerless. He inched forward, watching Izam struggle over the abyss below. When he knew he was close enough, he dealt a two-handed blow that Izam evaded, moving away the leg he had swung over the trunk. Once again he was dangling over the void.

While Hoos worked to dislodge the axe, Izam was able to sway his legs and get enough momentum to swing back on top of the trunk.

For a moment, they both looked at each other. Hoos was crouched down, brandishing his weapon and enjoying the hunt. And Izam was unarmed and on the defensive. Suddenly, the axe whistled through the air, missing Izam’s face by a hand’s breadth. Izam knew this would be his only opportunity. Grabbing the axe by the handle where it had lodged in the trunk, he pulled it violently out, and without thinking twice, launched an attack.

Hoos dodged it with feline agility.

At that moment a succession of cracking sounds followed by a great din alerted them that everything was about to collapse. The wall end of the trunk suddenly started to drop, while the other end held fast. Izam and Hoos grabbed hold, but another shudder made Hoos lose his grip and he began to slip into the void. At the last possible moment, Izam caught his arm.

The trunk shook again and tilted even farther. Izam tried to lift Hoos, who was now pleading to be saved. He knew that in order to successfully lift him up, he would have to cast the axe into the moat. Izam dropped the axe, grabbing some branches to steady himself. With a final effort, he pulled Hoos up far enough to where he was able to grab hold of the trunk and scramble onto it.

Now Hoos was behind Izam, who was closer to the tower. The two of them carefully crawled toward the tower, trying to prevent the precariously situated trunk from slipping any farther, when the wall side suddenly dropped dramatically. It was on the verge of complete collapse.

Izam continued crawling forward and Hoos followed. When Hoos came to one of the arrows embedded in the timber, he pulled it out and continued to climb with it. Just as Izam was about to reach the safety of the tower, Hoos drove the arrow into his back.

Theresa cried out in desperation. She had been trying to free herself for some time, but now the rain had lubricated her wrists and soaked the ligatures.

The guards, absorbed in the fight overhead, paid her no attention. Theresa pulled with all her might and was able to free one arm, and then the other. She rubbed her wrists, which she could hardly feel, and picking up a heavy stick from the pyre she went up behind the guards, with her eye on Izam’s crossbow.

She was about to commandeer it when one of the soldiers turned around. Without hesitating Theresa slammed the stick into his head with all her might and he fell unconscious to the ground. She picked up the bow and a dart and ran toward the tower. Seeing her, the other guard tried to stop her, but Theresa was faster and went in through the tower door, bolting it behind her. Then she bounded up the stairs two at a time, her heart in her mouth. When she reached a window near the top, she could see Hoos striking Izam in an attempt to knock him off the trunk.

She aimed the already loaded crossbow out the window and fired. But the dart whistled through the air and disappeared into the distance. She cursed herself for rushing it. Once more she saw Hoos strike Izam, who clutched the trunk for dear life. Theresa was determined not to miss with her last remaining dart. She pulled on the lever to draw the bowstring, but all she managed to do was hurt her hand. Glancing toward Izam, she saw that he was about to fall. She pulled on the lever again and looked at Hoos. She thought about his false caresses and pulled… She thought of her father and pulled… She thought of Izam and pulled until the lever gave and she drew the string. Then she placed the dart in the groove and took aim, knowing she would only have one final shot.