She pleaded with him to let her stay and talked of her skill as a seamstress, and lied about her ability to cook, but Althar did not seem impressed.
“I can also tan skins,” she added.
The old man looked at her out of the corner of his eye, indicating this was an area where he could use a little help. Leatherwork required dexterity, and his wife, since the last of her fevers, could barely move her hands. He looked at her again and shook his head. No doubt this ill-bred lass would only make his life difficult. What’s more, his wife would be suspicious of a young woman.
He moved the last stone away and climbed on the cart.
“Look, lass, I like you, but you’d be a burden. Another mouth to feed. I’m sorry. Go back to your town and ask that man to forgive you.”
“I won’t go back.”
“Then do what you want.” He urged the horse on.
Theresa didn’t know what to say. But suddenly she remembered the traps she had found by Hoos’s mount.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
Althar raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. “I don’t think you could. I’m too old to get my cock moving.”
The young woman pretended not to hear him. “Look at your traps… they’re old and rusty,” she observed, walking alongside the cart.
“So am I, but I can still look after myself.”
“But I can get you some new ones. I know where to find them.”
Althar stopped the horse. Some new traps would of course be useful, and in truth he felt sorry for the poor girl. Theresa told him about the incident with the wolves and the contents of the saddlebags. She also described the place where it happened.
“Are you sure it was in that gully?”
She nodded. Althar seemed to be considering it.
“Pox on you! Come on, get in the cart. I know a path that will take us to that precipice. And change your clothes, or you’ll die before you can show me the exact place.”
The young woman leaped onto the cart and made herself comfortable in the heap of furs. The dozens of bundles in the cart began to jump about with the trotting of the horse. Theresa recognized pelts of beaver and deer, and even one or two wolf pelts. Most of them looked to be in a fairly poor state. Several skins looked like they had been tanned, but most were teeming with insects that crawled among the dried out fur and remnants of blood as though the skins had been flayed that very morning. She positioned herself as far away as possible from them, for they gave off an unbreathable stench, and she covered herself with a dry skin she found acceptable. Behind her, she discovered an earthenware jar covered with a greasy mesh that let off the delicious aroma of cheese.
Theresa squeezed her belly, trying to calm her complaining intestines. Then she lay back and closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she journeyed back to Würzburg, to the winter mornings when Gorgias would wake her with a kiss so she could help him light the oven they had built. She recalled looking out over the snow-covered fields, and how thankful she was for the warmth of the embers on those early mornings when she accompanied her father, reading some manuscript to him. She wondered whether Althar had ever seen a book.
She looked at Satan. The animal followed behind the cart by about a stone’s throw. He looked like he had more intelligence in his little darting eyes than some of the boys she knew. Once in a while he would come closer to the horse to jump into the air and catch the pieces of meat that Althar threw him. Theresa heard her belly rumble again and asked Althar when they would eat.
“Do you think I’m made of food? Patience, lass. Now get cleaning those skins. The brush is there, by the bow.”
Theresa made no complaints. She took one of the bulkiest bundles, untied the tendons that held it together, and boldly started to clean one of the grotesque furs on her lap. On the first stroke, a swarm of insects flew from the skin, falling to the floor of the cart and scattering across the boards. She kept brushing, her eyes fixed firmly on the pelts, until she had brushed the whole bundle. Without respite she continued to do the same with a second wad of furs. When she had finished, Althar pointed at a third.
“After that, clean the traps till they’re gleaming,” he said.
Theresa grabbed the traps, spat on the filth, and got started with her new task. Then, as she scrubbed the contraptions, she reflected that Althar must have a special gift for the art of hunting, for how else could he have amassed such a collection of furs? When at last she finished her work, she informed Althar, who, surprised at her diligence, stopped the cart to check her handiwork.
“Right then, lass, time to fill our bellies,” he said with a smile before clambering off.
He went to the back of the cart and rooted around until he produced a small sack, which he dropped on the ground. Satan approached for a sniff, but Althar kicked him away. Then he turned to Theresa. “Climb up to that hillock and take a good look around. If you see anything out of the ordinary: a fire, horses, men, anything out of place, bark like a dog.”
“Bark?” asked Theresa incredulously.
“Yes, bark… you know how to bark, don’t you?”
Theresa practiced barking with varying success. She thought it sounded awful, but Althar seemed satisfied.
“Hurry, then. And take the bell with you.”
While she climbed the slope, he prepared some slices of cheese with pieces of hard bread. Then he cut open a couple of onions. He commandeered the biggest portion and then beckoned Theresa.
“All quiet,” said the young woman.
“Good. At this rate we’ll reach the gully before midday. We’ll eat now because we won’t stop again. Back there, behind the traps, you’ll find some wine. And put some more clothes on, if you want. You must be freezing.”
The trapper clambered back onto the cart and urged the horse on. Theresa followed his lead, and dispensing with any prayers of thanks, she set about her food, washing it down with a gulp of wine that tasted of heaven.
Before long they were traveling over a strip of woodland surrounded by a quagmire. Althar’s countenance changed, and he seemed more cautious. Any noise that they heard would make him give a start. He glanced around continuously, and every now and again he stopped the cart to stand up and scan the surroundings. There were moments when he thought Satan was sniffing danger. The hound was no longer straying very far from the cart. With his ears pricked and tail extended, he followed his master’s movements closely.
They must have gone a hundred paces when the dog began to bark. Althar stopped the cart dead, clambered down and walked on ahead. With a worried expression he ordered Theresa to be silent, his hand slowly moving to his scramasax. Then, without a word, he straightened and disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving Theresa in the cart in the middle of the road.
Theresa’s nerves started to get the better of her. She tried to stand on tiptoes to see farther than her stature permitted, but the sores on her feet prevented her. She didn’t know why, exactly, but in her bones she felt that something terrible was about to happen.
A few moments later Althar reappeared looking shaken. “Come with me. Quickly.”
Theresa jumped down from the cart and followed him into the vegetation. The trapper walked bent over like a cat stalking its prey, while the young woman floundered behind him, dodging the branches that he pushed aside. They progressed with difficulty through the dead leaves and mud from the recent rains. In some places the undergrowth was so thick that all Theresa could see was Althar’s behind, a hand’s width from her face.
Suddenly he turned his head to signal that she should be silent, and slowly he moved aside to reveal a scene of death and devastation. Two blood-soaked bodies lay on top of one another in a macabre embrace, half-hidden under a mantle of slime. A few paces ahead, half-submerged in a ditch, the mutilated corpse of a third man could be made out.
“This one’s no Saxon,” said Althar, nudging one of the men with his foot.
Theresa didn’t respond. Despite the mud, she recognized those c
lothes. She had seen them in the Larssons’ cabin. With her heart in her throat, she approached the grotesquely conjoined bodies. Slowly she pulled away the one on top and suddenly her vision clouded over and she would have fallen to the ground if Althar hadn’t held her up. The body lying under that shroud of blood was none other than Hoos Larsson, the young man who had a few days prior saved her life.
After a few moments, Althar realized that Hoos Larsson was still breathing. He immediately informed Theresa, and they carried him to the cart to tend to his wounds. The old man examined him with concern. Theresa questioned Althar with her eyes as to the seriousness of his injuries, but he didn’t answer.
“You say he saved you?” he asked.
She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Well, I’m sorry for him, but we can’t take him with us.”
“We can’t leave him, he’ll die.”
“He’s going to die anyway. What’s more, look at that wheel,” he said, pointing at the repaired spoke. “You two, me, and the load—with so much weight, it won’t last a mile.”
“Then get rid of the furs,” Theresa suggested.
“The skins? Don’t make me laugh! They’re my living for the next year.”
Althar’s words seemed final. Theresa hesitated. She knew that if she was to help Hoos, she would have to be convincing.
“The man you want to abandon to his fate is called Hoos Larsson. He’s an antrustion of the king,” she lied. “If he survives he could feed you and your family for the rest of your lives.”
Althar looked at Hoos’s near-lifeless body and spat in surprise. He was at pains to admit it, but perhaps the girl was right. Upon examining the young man, he had already noticed his fine clothes, and though he had thought them stolen, perhaps that was a rash conclusion. After all, he could see how well tailored his robes were and the perfect fit of his shoes; he doubted that a thief would have had such good luck.
He cursed. Perhaps the man was indeed who Theresa claimed he was, though that did not change his fragile state or his own predicament. He might not be able to save him, but maybe he would last long enough to reach Aquis-Granum alive. He cursed again and took the reins of the horse, which had been grazing through the layer of snow. Carefully reconsidering it, he spat and grumbled, “He might live, I suppose.”
Theresa nodded, relieved.
“Until I get my reward, at least,” Althar muttered to himself.
With the additional weight of Hoos, Theresa was forced to walk. Althar urged on the mount, using the whip as readily as he uttered oaths. He forbade Theresa from holding on to the cart because, he said, it couldn’t bear the weight. And he made Theresa push with all her might whenever they had to climb a slope.
Most of the time Althar drove alongside and in pace with Theresa. She confessed that the traps she had spoken of actually belonged to Hoos Larsson, but this fact did not seem to bother him. They kept moving, stopping only when they had to readjust the repaired wheel. When they reached the gully, the traps were still next to the horse’s carcass, nearly licked clean by the pack of obstinate wolves.
As Althar retrieved the equipment, she attended to Hoos. The old man had said that Hoos had several broken ribs and that they might have pierced his lungs, which is why he laid him face up on some bundles of fur.
He was still breathing weakly. After moistening his face, she wondered what had made Hoos deviate from his planned route. She thought he might have followed her to reclaim the dagger, which she suddenly became aware of again under her skirt where she had concealed it. She continued to clean Hoos until Althar returned, laden with equipment.
“There was more than you promised,” he announced with a smile. “Now let’s see how we’re going to carry it.”
“You’re not intending to leave him.”
“Don’t you worry, lass. If it’s true that these valuable things are this man’s possessions, I’ll do everything in my power to save him.”
After some food, they continued their journey headed toward the mountains and Althar spoke of the past. Years ago he said he had lived in Fulda, working like the rest of its inhabitants in the service of the abbey. He and his wife, Leonora, managed to rent a plot, where they built a nice cabin. In the morning they would work the land, and in the afternoon they would move onto the abbey’s fields to pay their corvées. That tenure gave them enough to buy a small piece of land, not much, around forty unplowed arpents, but enough to grow their own crops. He explained that they didn’t have children. The Lord’s punishment, he reasoned, for the little faith he professed. Like most simple folks he learned several trades without mastering any. He was skilled with the axe and the adze. He built his own furniture, and in autumn, with his wife’s help, he repaired the roof.
The years went by and he thought he would spend the rest of his days in Fulda, but then one autumn night a man raided his smallholding and tried to steal his only ox. He took an axe and without saying a word sunk it into his head. The thief turned out to be the abbot’s son, a wild young man who was a slave to wine. After the burial, they came to his house, seized him and took him to trial. His statement was worthless, for twelve men swore that the young man had jumped over the fence looking only for a little water. Althar couldn’t prove that they were lying. They took everything he had and condemned him to exile.
“The sentence made Leonora sick with melancholy,” he continued. “Fortunately, her sisters offered to look after her while I waited for her to join me in the mountains. A couple of neighbors who knew me well also helped me. Rudolph gave me an old adze, and Vicus lent me some traps, provided I return them along with any furs I could collect. I found refuge in the south, in the Rhön foothills,” he said, pointing at a nearby mountain, “in an abandoned bear cave. I closed up the entrance, made it as homely as possible and spent the winter trapping.
When I went back for Leonora, I learned that some of the bastards who had wrongly accused me had confessed to their false testimony, but by then they had already sowed my land with salt. Even then, the abbot refused to sell me seeds or rent new land to me, and he we went so far as to threaten anyone who helped me with the same treatment. That was when Leonora and I decided to move to the bear cave and live alone there forever.”
“And you haven’t been back to Fulda since then?” Theresa probed.
“Of course I have. Where else would I sell my furs? The abbot died not long afterward,” he said with a smile. “He exploded like a cockroach. The one who succeeded him forgot about the threats, but nothing would be the same again. I travel to Fulda frequently to trade honey for salt—or when I need it, tallow, which is nowhere to be found round here. Leonora used to come with me, but her feet are in a bad state now and she seems to struggle with everything.”
At sundown they left the green of the forest behind them and the land grew rugged. Trees became scarce and the wind grew fierce.
It was nightfall by the time they approached the bear cave, an area so stony that Theresa was surprised the two wheels of the cart remained intact. Althar told her to hold Hoos tightly, but despite her efforts, all the jolting made the young man moan for the first time.
At the foot of a great wall of granite, Althar stopped the cart and gave a couple of whoops as he clambered down. “You can come out, my dear,” he said, whistling a silly tune. “We have company.”
A plump face appeared among some bushes. It let out a funny little cry and intoned the same melody. A large, squat body moving with surprising swagger followed the woman’s contagious smile.
“What has my prince brought for me?” asked Althar’s wife, running into her husband’s arms. “Jewelry or some perfume from the Orient?”
“Here are your jewels,” he joked, pressing his crotch against the woman’s stomach and making her laugh wildly.
“And these two?” she asked motioning behind him.
“Well,” Althar murmured, raising an eyebrow. “I mistook him for a deer, and she fell in love with my flowing locks.”
“I see.” She laughed. “In that case, come in and we’ll talk inside. It’s getting cold as hell out here.”
They left the goods outside, then took Hoos into the bear cave and lay him on a bed of furs. Theresa noticed that they had made a hole in the ceiling to serve as a chimney and around it they had set up a cooking area. A roaring fire kept the cave warm. Leonora offered them some apple cake, which they accepted with pleasure. There was hardly any furniture, but even so, Theresa felt like she was in a palace.
As they ate their dinner, Althar explained that they had another cave that they used for storage, and a cabin where they went when the weather improved. When they had finished, Theresa helped Leonora clear the table. Then she turned to Hoos to wrap him in more furs.
“You’ll sleep here,” Leonora indicated. She kicked aside a goat and cuffed away some hens. “And don’t worry about the young man. If God wanted to, He would have taken him already.”
Theresa nodded. When she lay down to sleep, she wondered again if Hoos had really followed her to retrieve his dagger.
That night Theresa barely slept, pondering the significance of the parchment that had been tucked away in her father’s bag. Before going to bed, she had taken it out and read through it quickly. It appeared to be a legal document detailing the legacy left by Constantine, the Roman emperor who founded Constantinople. She assumed it was very important or her father wouldn’t have bothered to hide it. Then her mind bubbled over with thoughts of the fire in Würzburg; the flames devouring Korne’s workshop; the parchment-maker’s loathsome smile; and the inferno swallowing up that poor girl. As she drifted to sleep she dreamed of the two terrifying Saxons, half men, half monsters, holding her down and violating her. Then it was the wolves, which, after devouring Hoos’s mount, were trying to tear her to pieces. In her delirium she thought she saw Hoos himself in front of her, slowly raising the emerald-studded dagger to her throat. Several times she didn’t know if she was sleeping or daydreaming. When she managed to open her eyes, she would evoke the protective image of her father. Though that calmed her for a while, yet another demon would come through the darkness at the mouth of the cave to torment her once more.
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