“We should go in. We’ll freeze out here,” he said.
Theresa looked over to the house and shook her head.
“You have nothing to fear. They’re dead.”
She shook her head again. She would rather die of cold than go back in there.
“By God!” said Hoos gruffly. “Then let’s go to the shed. There’s no fire there, but at least we can get out of the rain.”
Without giving her time to respond, he took the young woman in his arms and carried her to the shed. There he arranged some straw on the ground with his feet and gently laid Theresa down on it.
“I must take care of those bodies,” he told her.
“Please, don’t go.”
“I can’t leave them. The blood will attract the wolves.”
“What will you do with them?”
“Bury them, I suppose.”
“Bury those murderers? You should cast them in the river,” she suggested with a frown.
Hoos burst into laughter. But on seeing the look of reproach on Theresa’s face, he tried to contain himself. “Sorry for laughing, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. The river’s so frozen I’d need a pick first in order to make a hole to throw them through.”
Theresa went quiet with embarrassment. The fact is she knew a fair bit about parchments, but almost naught about anything else.
“And even if the water was flowing,” he added, “throwing them into the river wouldn’t solve the problem. No doubt those men were part of a scouting party, and sooner or later the river might carry the bodies to their companions.”
“There are more Saxons?” she asked in fright.
“Just a small band—but fierce as wild animals. To be honest, I don’t know how they got through, but the passes are infested with them. In fact, I lost three days skirting the mountains to avoid them.”
Skirting the mountains… that could only mean Hoos had come from Fulda, so he wouldn’t know what had happened in Würzburg. She gave a sigh of relief. “Anyway, your arrival was heaven-sent,” she said, watching Hoos clean the blood from his hands by rubbing them on the snow.
“Well, the truth is I’ve been here for a couple of days,” he replied. “Yesterday, I had decided to spend the night in the kiln, but as I approached the site, I noticed light in the house and saw that it was those Saxons. I didn’t want any trouble, so I thought I would sleep in the shed instead and just wait for them to leave. When I awoke this morning they had gone. However, I searched the forest to make sure. After a while, I decided to head back home and that was when I saw that they’d caught you.”
“They must have gone out to hunt. They came in with squirrels.”
“Probably. But tell me… what were you doing in the house?”
Theresa blushed. She hadn’t expected that question.
“I was near the kiln when the storm took me by surprise.” She cleared her throat. “I remembered the house and I went to take shelter there. Then those men came out of nowhere.”
Hoos furrowed his brow. He still could not understand what a young woman was doing alone in these parts.
“What will we do now?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“I need to start digging. As for you,” he suggested, “you should take care of that bruise on your face.”
Theresa watched Hoos go back into the house. She had not seen him for some time, and though his face had hardened, he still had his curly hair and kind countenance. Hoos was the Larsson widow’s only son to give up the trade of quarryman. She knew this because the woman was constantly boasting about his appointment as fortior of King Charlemagne, a position she knew nothing about, except for its strange name. She estimated that Hoos was around thirty years old. At that age a man would normally have fathered a couple of offspring. But she had never heard the Larsson widow mention any grandchildren.
Hoos eventually returned to the shed with the spade he had used to dig up the earth. With a weary gesture he threw it to the ground beside Theresa. “Those men won’t be causing us any more problems,” he said.
“You’re soaked.”
“Yes, the rain’s pouring down out there.”
She screwed up her face but didn’t know what to say.
“Are you hungry?” asked Hoos.
She nodded. She could have happily eaten a whole cow.
“I lost my mount crossing a gorge,” he grumbled. “The horse and my supplies are gone, but in there,” he said, pointing at the house, “I’ve seen a brace of squirrels that could ease our hunger, so you decide. Either we go back in the house, get warm, and fill our bellies, or we stay out here until the cold takes us to our graves.”
Theresa pursed her lips. She did not want to go back into the cabin, but Hoos was right: They would not last much longer in that shed. She stood and followed him to the house, but at the front door she stopped in her tracks as a shiver ran down her spine.
Hoos looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He felt sorry for her but didn’t want her to notice. Kicking open the door, he showed her the empty room. Then he put his arm over her shoulders and they walked in together.
The warmth from the firewood comforted them like a hot broth. Hoos added an armful of logs to the fire, which was spluttering away lighting the room with a soft glow. The fragrance of hot chestnuts filled her lungs and the smell of roasting meat piqued her appetite. Theresa looked at the tidied belongings and blanket near the hearth. For the first time since the fire, she felt safe.
She hadn’t yet fully settled in before Hoos had the squirrels and chestnuts ready. “Those men knew where to look for food,” he said. “Wait a minute.” He went off and soon returned with some clothes. “I took them from the Saxons before burying them. Take a look. There might be something you could use.”
Theresa wolfed down some food before turning her attention to the garments. She examined them closely before choosing a scruffy-looking dark woolen coat, which she used to cover her legs. Hoos chided her for discarding a thicker fur because it had bloodstains on it, but he was pleased that she decided to keep the knife that the big Saxon had tried to stab her with.
When they finished eating, they fell silent for a while, listening to the rat-a-tat of the rain on the wattle roof. Then Hoos went to peer through a crack in the wall. He guessed that it would be night soon, though a gray darkness had already settled over the heavens some time ago.
“If the weather keeps getting worse, the Saxons will stay in their hideouts.”
She nodded.
“Aren’t you the scribe’s daughter? Your name is…”
“Theresa.”
“That’s it. Theresa. You would come to the kiln sometimes to collect lime for tanning parchments. I remember the last time I saw you. You had so many pimples on your face you looked like a bilberry cake. You’ve changed a lot. Do you still work as an apprentice at the parchment-maker’s workshop?”
Theresa’s face hardened, annoyed at being compared to a cake. “Yes. But I’m not an apprentice anymore,” she lied. “I took the examination to become craftswoman.”
“A woman in such a position? Good God! Is that possible?”
Theresa fell silent. She was accustomed to talking to laborers whose greatest talent was pelting dogs with stones, so she merely lowered her head and curled up under the coat. After a while, she slowly stood up again and looked at Hoos more intently. From close up, it was apparent that he was taller than she had first thought. Perhaps even a full head taller than any of the laborers she could remember. He seemed strong and sinewy, probably from his work in the quarry. As Hoos continued to look out through the crack in the wall, she imagined him as one of those great shaggy dogs that lick children affectionately, enduring their mischief with patience, but then could tear anyone to pieces in an instant if they tried to lay a finger on him.
“And what do you do?” she asked. “Your mother boasts about your position in the court.”
“Well,” he smiled, “you know what mothers are like w
hen they talk about their sons. You would be wise to believe only half of what they say. Give them some words of admiration, and then quickly dismiss the other half.”
Theresa laughed. Her father spoke so highly of her that she would redden with embarrassment.
“Three years ago,” Hoos continued, “as fortune would have it I did well in one of the military campaigns undertaken by Charlemagne. The news reached him, and on my return, he offered me the chance to swear an oath. Which many see as a great privilege.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Well, to put it simply, it means being a vassal of the king. A trusted soldier. Someone to turn to at any time.”
“A soldier? Like those of the praefectus of Würzburg?”
“Not exactly,” he laughed. “Those men are poor devils who have to obey orders without so much as a murmur for a paltry day’s pay. But I have my own land.”
“I didn’t think soldiers owned land,” she said with surprise.
“Let me see if I can explain. When the king takes your oath, you pledge to serve him loyally, but the oath establishes a mutual agreement which the king usually honors generously. I received twenty arpents of farmland, another fifteen of vines, and forty more of uncultivated land that I will soon begin to plough, so in reality, my life is not so different to that of a comfortable landowner.”
“And on top of that, you must go to war.”
“That’s right. Though generally the levies only go into combat when summer arrives, after the harvest. That’s when I get my gear ready, summon those who will accompany me on the campaign, and respond to the king’s call to arms.”
“And you have serfs, too?” she asked with surprise.
“No, not serfs. Tenant farmers, freedmen, or mancipia, call them what you will, but they are not serfs. They are free men, numbering twenty or so, including men and women. Obviously, I could not work the land alone. Fortunately, Aquis-Granum is overrun with dispossessed folks from every corner of the kingdom: Aquitanians, Neustrians, Austrasians, and Lombards… They come to the court believing they will make their fortune and end up destitute, begging for a crust of bread to ease their hunger. With so many, all you have to do is use your best judgment determining who to lease the land to.”
“So, you’re rich?”
“Good Lord, no. I wish!” he laughed. “The tenant farmers are humble folks. As payment for their use of the land, they give me part of the harvest, plus certain weekly corvées: you know, clearing paths, repairing fences and such. Sometimes they help me plough the lands that I keep for my own use, but as I was saying, it’s not much compensation. My wealth is not even close to that of a king’s antrustion.”
“Tell me, Hoos, is Aquis-Granum as beautiful as they say?”
“It certainly is! As beautiful as a great bazaar to anyone with enough denarii. I can tell you that on just one street in Aquis-Granum there are more people crowded together than in all Würzburg. So many people that you will lose yourself among them. At each step there are traders selling meat or harnessing buckles or stews. Beside them stalls are filled with fabrics and silk, and pressed between these—where there is barely space for a rug—you’ll find merchants offering everything from jars of honey to a still-bloody swords.”
He told her how the streets wind their way round like a tangle of old threads woven by trembling hands, intertwining a mesh of hovels, taverns, and brothels; how crowds would gather in small squares with countless nooks and crannies, where pickpockets and cripples competed with drunks, outsiders, and animals—all looking for the best place to do their business; and about how all the alleys finally converge upon a boulevard that a mounted regiment could ride along. At the end of this avenue, beside the great basilica, an imposing black brick building stands majestically: King Charlemagne’s palace.
Theresa was spellbound. For a moment she thought she was seeing far-off Constantinople.
“And are there games, a forum, a circus?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like in Byzantium: buildings of marble, paved avenues, gardens and fountains, theatres, libraries…”
Hoos raised an eyebrow. He thought Theresa was joking. He told her places like that only existed in fables.
“You’re wrong,” she answered, slightly put out and stood up, turning away. She did not care whether Aquis-Granum had gardens with fountains, but it hurt that Hoos should doubt her word.
“You should see Constantinople,” she added. “I remember the Hagia Sofia, a cathedral like you couldn’t imagine. So tall and wide you could fit a mountain inside it. Or Constantine’s hippodrome, two stadia in length, where games and chariot racing took place every month. I remember walking along Theodosius’s walls.” Her eyes lit up. “Stone defenses that could withstand the onslaught of any army. The illuminated fountains, making water sprout from the ground. The magnificent imperial parades with endless legions of troops led by columns of exquisitely festooned elephants… yes, you should see Constantinople. Then you will know what paradise is like.”
Hoos’s mouth gaped. Though it was nothing but fantasy, he admired the girl’s prodigious imagination. “Naturally I would like to see paradise,” he said to her mockingly, “but I don’t wish to die so soon. By the way… what are chariots?”
“They’re carriages pulled by several horses. But not like the ones to which oxen are yoked. They’re smaller and lighter and fast as the wind.”
“Aha! Like wind, eh? And elephants?”
“Oh, elephants! You should see them,” she laughed. “They’re animals as huge as houses, with skin so hard it stops arrows. They have legs as thick as tree trunks and two giant tusks thrust out from their mouths that they wield like lances when they charge. Under their eyes sways a nose like a great snake.” She smiled at Hoos’s disbelief. “And yet, despite their fierce appearance, they obey their masters—and mounted by six riders they become as docile as a pony.”
Hoos tried to contain his mirth, but before long he burst out laughing. “Well, that’s enough for today. We should get some rest. Tomorrow we have a trek to Würzburg,” he said.
“So what’s the reason for your visit?” Theresa asked, choosing to ignore him.
“Go to sleep.”
“It’s just that I don’t want to go back to Würzburg.”
“You don’t? So what do you intend to do? Wait here for more Saxons to arrive?”
“No, of course not.” Her expression darkened.
“So stop talking nonsense and get some sleep. I don’t want to have to pull you along tomorrow.”
“You haven’t answered me yet,” she insisted.
Hoos, who had already settled down by the fire, sat up annoyed.
“Two ships loaded with food are soon to leave Frankfurt for Würzburg. Two important people will travel on them. The king wishes them to be received in accord with their rank, which is why he sent me as an emissary.”
“But will they come even now, with the storms?”
“Look, it’s business that doesn’t concern you,” he snapped. “It doesn’t even concern me, so lie down and sleep until morning.”
Theresa lay quietly, but she could not get to sleep. The young man had helped her, yes, but he was no different than the laborers, and no doubt the fact that he had saved her was merely due to Providence. It also seemed odd that someone in his position should cross the mountains unarmed and unaccompanied. Almost instinctively, she clutched her knife she had hidden under her clothes and half closed her eyes. Then, after some time imagining her beloved Constantinople, she began to drift to sleep.
In the morning she woke before Hoos. The young man was fast asleep, so she rose carefully. Tiptoeing to the door, she pushed her face against a crack and was greeted by the chill of the morning. Disregarding any danger, she slowly opened the door and went out onto the blanket of fresh snow that covered the path. It smelled peaceful, and there was no threat of rain.
Hoos was still sleeping when she returned. Without knowing why, she
lay down next to him, pressed against his back, and felt comforted by the warmth of his body. For a moment she surprised herself by imagining a life with him in some distant city—a warm and bright place where nobody would give her grief for her interest in writing; a place where she would converse with this young man with his honest face—so far from the problems that had unexpectedly entered her life. But in the next moment she remembered her father, and she scolded herself for being so selfish and cowardly. She asked herself what kind of daughter she was to be fantasizing about a happy world while her father bore the dishonor of her sins. She did not want to be such a daughter and swore to herself that one day she would return to Würzburg to confess her sins and give her father back the dignity that she should never have taken from him.
Then she turned her gaze to Hoos. She thought for a moment about waking him and asking him to take her to Aquis-Granum, but she resisted the temptation, knowing that, no matter how hard she pleaded with him, he would not approve of such a plan.
With trembling fingers she stroked his hair, before whispering a farewell wrought with guilt. Taking care not to wake him, she stood up and looked around. By the window rested the belongings that Hoos had taken off the bodies: hunting equipment mostly, and a disorderly pile of clothes. Although the young man had already scoured their contents for anything useful, she decided to examine them herself.
Among the folds of a cloak, she found a little wooden box containing a sharpened piece of steel, a small piece of flint, and some tinder. She also found several amber beads on a thread and a portion of dried roe, which she quickly put in her bag along with the box. She threw aside a half-rotten belt but kept a small skin of water and a couple of enormous boots, which she pulled over her own shoes. Then she turned to the weapons that Hoos himself had cleaned and sorted according to type. As he had done so, he told her about the Saxons’ skill with the scramasax, a broad dagger sometimes used as a short sword, and their ineptitude with the francisca, the throwing axe used by the Frankish armies. She looked over the assortment, passing over the yew bows and stopping in front of the deadly scramasax. As she took it in her hand, a tremor ran down her spine. Weapons frightened her, but if she intended to make it through the passes, she would have to carry something. Finally she decided on a shorter and lighter sheath knife, but as she picked it up, she noticed a dagger that Hoos had set slightly aside.
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