“And that there?” she said, pointing toward a little mound. She took a step back and tried to launch the stone at it. Izam moved his head out of the way instinctively. The stone fell far short of its mark. After his initial surprise, he burst into laughter like little boy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” Theresa complained.
“Oh, so you did it on purpose!” he replied, laughing heartily again.
They sat down to eat lunch on some piles of wood that marked the ground plan of the house. Izam had brought a bag of freshly baked bread and cheese, which they savored as they listened to the gurgle of a nearby stream. A couple of hours had gone by, but Izam admitted that they were actually very close to the town still. “Half an hour on horseback,” he told her.
“So why did we take so long?”
“I wanted to follow the course of the river, to see if it’s navigable. If you can get your hands on a barge, then you’ll be able to use it to transport grain. By the way, there is something that worries me.” He went over to his mount and took a crossbow from a saddlebag. “Recognize it?”
“Nope,” she responded without paying it much attention.
“It’s the one picked up and used the other day at dinner.”
“Ah! I don’t know. I wouldn’t know one from another.”
“That’s precisely what intrigues me. I don’t believe there is another one like this in all Franconia.”
He explained that the crossbow was a rare weapon. In fact, he had never seen any other.
“I built this following the descriptions provided by Vegetius in his work De Re Militari, a fourth-century manuscript on the art of war that Charlemagne showed to me. That was why I was surprised, not just that you not only chose it from the pile, but also that you knew how to use it.”
She told him that a man who had helped her in the mountain possessed a similar weapon. But when she told him that he had bought it from a soldier, he shook his head in wonder.
“The first one I built was stolen from me. Perhaps it was the soldier you mention, or even the man who helped you.”
They chatted for a while longer before she suggested they return. Izam agreed. He took one last look at the land and led the horses to the stream to water them. Once they had set off, Theresa spurred on her mount, for she was eager to tell Helga about all she had seen.
As they returned to Fulda, Theresa thanked the engineer again. Izam smiled, but told her that it was Charlemagne who she should be thanking. All he had done was follow his orders. When they finally went their separate ways, his green eyes lingered with her.
Back in the kitchens, Theresa found Helga plucking a pheasant. She seemed busy, but as soon as she saw Theresa, she dropped the bird and ran to meet her. Theresa suggested they go out to the well and take a break on the way. They sat on a stone bench and Helga demanded to hear every last detail. She listened to Theresa with such excitement it was as if the land belonged to her.
“And all that is yours?” she asked in disbelief.
Theresa nodded. She told her about the great expanse of the arable areas, the vineyards, the hay meadows, the river, and the house. Finally, she also mentioned the young man, Izam.
“He was very kind,” she said.
“And handsome,” Helga added, giving her a wink. She had seen him through the window.
Theresa smiled. Indeed, the engineer was attractive, though of course, not as handsome as Hoos. They continued to talk about the lands until Favila, fed up with their chitchat, came out to prod them back to work with a poker.
The two women laughed and ran to the kitchen to continue their conversation whenever the cook left the room. Theresa told her that she was worried about her lack of means to work the land, and Helga reassured her.
“But you can’t imagine how much there is to do! The lands are only half-tilled. I’ll need a plow and an ox—and someone to help me. So many things!”
“Oh! I bet you’d be less worried if you had debts instead of lands.”
Theresa fell silent. Perhaps, she thought, there was a neighbor who could give her advice, but the fact was that the only person she had to turn to for help was right in front of her. Seeing her despondency, Helga put her arm around her.
“Cheer up! I still have some of the money you gave me when you sold the bear’s head. You could use it to buy a young ox.”
“But that money’s for my lodgings.”
“Don’t be silly, lass. You got me this job, so don’t you worry about it. Anyway, this is your opportunity: When the land starts to bear fruit, you’ll pay me back with interest.” She pinched her cheek.
She explained that a one-year-old ox cost twelve denarii, while an adult one ranged between forty-eight and seventy-two, or in other words, around three months’ wages. To Theresa the price seemed within anyone’s reach, but Helga explained that nobody can go three months without eating. When they had finished their cooking duties, Theresa continued the conversation.
“Izam said we can return to the lands tomorrow. What do you think I should call them?”
“Hmmm, let me think… Theresa’s wonderlands!” she said, laughing.
The young woman cuffed Theresa around the head and Helga returned the gesture, making them laugh like little girls.
In the afternoon Theresa returned to the scriptorium, where she found Alcuin buried in his documents. She had hundreds of questions for him, but as she was about to start asking them, the monk stood.
“I saw Izam. He told me that your lands are excellent.”
“Yes… though I don’t know how they can be excellent if I don’t even know how to work them,” she lamented.
“You appear to have two good hands.”
“And little else. What good are those fields to me if I have no tools, no animals?”
“In that case, you could lease it and obtain an income.”
“Izam suggested the same thing. But to whom? Those who could afford it already have more than enough land.”
“Find someone who will work it in exchange for part of the crop.”
“Izam proposed that, too, but he explained that those folks do not possess plows or oxen, so they would not be able to work the land and generate a profit.”
“All right. Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Tomorrow is Thursday. After Terce we’ll go to the market, find a hardworking slave and buy him for your lands. There are tons of them, so we might get a good price.”
Theresa could not believe what she was hearing. It felt like her life was growing more complicated by the moment. If she did not even have enough for herself, how could she own a slave?
Alcuin admitted to her that Charlemagne had already suggested this possibility, then Alcuin assured her that keeping a slave did not have to be expensive.
The next morning they left early for the camp that the king’s men had set up on the outskirts of the city. According to Alcuin, the slave traders used the monarch’s visits as an opportunity to conduct business, whether buying captured enemies who had been enslaved or selling some of their best slaves. However, after a few days, the traders reduced their prices in order to get rid of the less sought-after individuals.
“Twelve solidi?” Theresa’s hands went to her mouth. “But you could buy three oxen for that!”
Alcuin explained that it was the usual price for a young, well-trained slave, but if they hunted around they might find one for cheaper. When Theresa told him how much money she had, Alcuin showed her a bulging pouch.
“I could lend you some.”
As they walked toward the walls, Alcuin spoke to her of the responsibility that came with owning slaves. “It’s not just a matter of giving orders and them obeying you,” he explained. “Believe it or not, slaves are God’s creatures, too, and as such we must ensure their well-being. And this includes feeding them, clothing them, and educating them as good Christians.”
Theresa looked at him in surprise. In Constantinople she had grown up surrounded by slaves who she had always conside
red as creatures of God, but she had never imagined that owning one could result in so many problems. When Alcuin explained that owners were also responsible for the crimes committed by their slaves, she became even more alarmed.
“That’s why it’s best not to buy them young—when they are agile and strong, but also rebellious and irresponsible. Unless you are prepared to take a whip to them, you are better off finding one that is married with children—so he won’t attempt to escape or cause problems. Yes, the best thing to do is find a family that will work hard and generate a profit for you.”
He added that even if she found a hard worker, she would have to keep a close eye on him because, by nature, slaves were short on brains.
“I don’t know if I need a slave,” Theresa finally admitted. “I don’t even know if I should have one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t understand why one person should rule over the life of another. Have these poor wretches not been baptized?”
“I don’t suppose most of them have, no. But even if they were, and even though original sin disappears upon baptism, it is right that God decides the life of men, making some slaves and others lords. By nature, slaves have a tendency toward evil, which is repressed by the power of their possessor. If a slave did not know fear, what would prevent him from acting treacherously?”
Theresa considered replying, but decided to put an end to the conversation in which she had no real arguments or ideas.
They soon reached the gates and the rancid smell of sweat announced their arrival at the slave market. Stalls lined the river in a succession of shabby tents of various sizes, where slaves milled around like livestock. The younger ones were chained to thick stakes driven into the ground, while the older ones submissively went about their cleaning and maintenance tasks around the camp. As the monk passed them, several traders rushed to offer him their wares.
“Take a look at this one,” said a trader riddled with pockmarks. “Strong as a bull. He will carry your loads and protect you on your travels. Or would you prefer a boy?” he whispered, noting Alcuin’s indifference. “Sweet as honey and willing as a puppy.”
Alcuin gave him a look that the trader immediately understood, retreating with his tail between his legs. They continued to wander between the stalls, where all kinds of goods were on sale aside from the slaves.
“Ready-sharpened weapons!” cried one trader, showing off an arsenal of daggers and swords. “Send your enemies to hell in one slash.”
“Ointments for boils, poultices for riding sores!” announced another whose appearance suggested he needed them himself.
They passed the first stands and arrived at the enclosure where animals were being sold. Horses, cattle, and goats wandered about with more freedom that the slaves they had just seen. Alcuin stopped to inspect an ox as big as a mountain. The animal was grazing behind a wall with a batch of cheese resting on top of it.
A dealer approached to help him make his mind up. “You have a good eye, monk! Quite an animal you’re looking at.”
Alcuin gave him a sidelong glance. Though he did not like to do business with dubious traders, he had to admit that the beast seemed strong as iron. He asked for the price and the man thought about it. “Since it’s for the clergy… fifty solidi.”
Alcuin’s look was of such indignation that the man immediately brought the figure down to forty-five.
“That’s still a lot of money.”
The animal stood before them impressively.
“If you want a horned goat, I can sell you one for thirty-five,” the dealer blurted out without much interest.
Alcuin told the man he would think about it. Then he and Theresa returned to the area where the slaves were sold. At the entrance, Alcuin asked Theresa to let him continue alone in order to make haste. The young woman agreed to meet him back at the same place when the sun reached its highest point.
While Alcuin bartered with the merchants, Theresa decided to take another look at the livestock. On her way there, a trader offered her a few coins for her body and she quickened her pace. When she reached the pen with the ox that had interested Alcuin, a little man hobbled up to her.
“I wouldn’t pay more than ten solidi for it,” he said, giving her a sideways glance.
Theresa turned in surprise to see an unkempt middle-aged man, leaning against the timber fence and staring brazenly at her. His blond hair matched his ice-blue eyes. However, his most striking feature was the fact that he was supported by just one leg. Seeing Theresa’s surprise, he jumped in. “I lost it working, but I’m still useful,” he explained.
“And what do you know about oxen?” she asked him haughtily. It was obvious the man was a slave, and if one day she was to own one, she thought she should know how to handle them.
“I was born in Friesland, where there is more cattle than there is pasture. Even a blind man can spot a sick ox.”
While the herder was distracted, the man took the opportunity to strike the animal with his stick. The beast didn’t flinch.
“See? And the same thing will happen when it’s yoked. It won’t move.”
Theresa looked at the man in surprise. Then her eyes followed the slave’s stick as he pointed at the animal’s hoofs, which were encrusted in dried blood.
“If you want a good animal, see my master, Fior. He won’t cheat you.”
At that moment the owner of the ox returned and the slave slunk off. Theresa noticed that he used a crutch in place of his absent leg. She ran after him and asked where she could find Fior. The slave told her to follow him.
As they walked, he told her that Fior only sold small oxen.
“They’re not as powerful, but strong enough to pull a light plow. However, they’re resilient, they don’t need much food, and they cost less. For these lands they are just what you need.”
They walked among the carts, dodging the streams of detritus that zigzagged from the camp down toward the stream, until a woman and two little boys came out to meet them. One of the little boys came from the slave stands. The woman embraced the one-legged man, and the children tugged at his clothes. Theresa noticed how thin the woman and the boys were. Their eyes were like great sunken dishes on tiny skulls.
“Did you get anything?” the woman asked.
From the pocket of his trousers, the slave took a bundle of cheese and gave it to her. She smelled it and cried with joy. Then she picked up the children and carried them behind a tent to feed them. The slave hobbled over to Fior to explain to his master what the young woman needed, which is when Alcuin appeared with a cross expression on his face. He was accompanied by the owner of the giant ox.
“This trader says a crippled slave stole some cheese from him. And he says the slave was with you. Is that right?” he asked Theresa.
The young woman understood what had happened. Behind the tent, the slave’s two boys were still devouring the cheese. Their punishment would undoubtedly be horrific.
“Not exactly,” she lied. “It was me who told him to take it. He had no money with him so I came to find his master so that he would pay for it.”
“That’s theft!” cried the merchant.
“It was theft trying to sell us a sick ox,” Theresa retorted fearlessly. “Here,” she said, taking the pouch from Alcuin’s robe and giving him a couple of coins, much to the monk’s surprise. “And get out of my sight before I go to the judge.”
There trader took the money and left muttering curses. Alcuin gave Theresa a stern look.
“He tried to trick us,” she explained, pointing after the livestock merchant.
Alcuin’s expression did not change.
“This slave took the cheese for his children. Look at them! They’re on death’s door!”
“He’s a thief. And you were foolish to attempt to protect him.”
“Very well. Then go back to that saintly ox trader and spend your money on a useless beast. All I know is that the slave warned me against that swindler and his ch
ildren have perhaps not eaten for a week.”
Alcuin shook his head. Then he accompanied her to go and speak with the livestock merchant and owner of the slave.
Fior turned out to be a stout man who would only do business with a glass of wine in his hand. As soon as he had greeted them, he offered them a drink and showed them several animals brimming with health and vitality. He offered them a medium-sized dappled ox, which he assured them would work like a maniac from day one.
They agreed on a price of twenty denarii, a good deal considering the animal was over three years old.
“Not unlike me,” said Fior with a smile, revealing several wooden teeth. “Slender and hardworking from the moment I get out of bed.”
Then he showed them some leather tack and several farming implements. Some were in need of repair, but they were needed and the merchant offered them for a good price, so Theresa and Alcuin decided to buy them. After securing the gear to the ox, they asked Fior about cheap slaves, but when he heard how much money they had, he shook his head and assured them that for that price they couldn’t even buy a domesticated pig.
“For that money I could sell you Olaf. He’s a hard worker, but since he lost his leg he’s only brought me problems. He’s yours if you want him.”
Seeing her apparent interest, Alcuin took Theresa aside.
“It would just be another mouth to feed. And for the love of God! He’s missing a leg. Why would he give him away if he was any use?” he blurted out.
But the young woman became obstinate. If she were going to own slaves, she would be the one to decide how many legs they had.
“His wife and children can also work,” she argued.
“He won’t sell them. Or he’ll ask for more money. More than we can pay. Plus, you need a slave, not an entire family.”
“It was you who told me that married ones are preferable, with ties that will stop them from fleeing.”
“For goodness’ sake! How is he going to run away if he’s crippled?”
Theresa turned away and approached Fior, who was patiently waiting with the cup of wine still in his hand.
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