“All right, we’ll take them,” she said, pointing at the woman and her children who were listening in from behind a cart.
“Oh! No. The woman and children aren’t included. If you want them you’ll have to pay another fifty denarii.”
“Fifty denarii for a family of skeletons?” she replied in indignation.
“No, no. Fifty each! In total, a hundred and fifty denarii.”
Theresa looked him directly in the eyes. If he thought he was a good barterer, he didn’t know who he was dealing with yet. She took out her scramasax and in one slash cut the strap that held the gear to the ox, making everything fall to the ground with a loud crash. The man looked at her in surprise.
“Forty denarii for the whole family. Take it, or you can keep your cripple, your midget ox, and your knackered old implements.”
The man clenched his teeth, looked at the gear and burst into laughter, flashing his gums.
“Damned money-grubber! To hell with all you women.”
He laughed again and took the pouch that the young woman was holding out to him. Then he toasted the transaction before Theresa and Alcuin set off on their return trip, with Olaf hobbling behind them and his wife pulling the ox with the two children sitting on its hindquarters, prodding it along.
On their way to the cathedral, Olaf proved to be a poor walker but able talker. His life had been a difficult one, though no more than any other slave-born man. His parents had been slaves and it was a natural state of life for him. He did not yearn for freedom, for he had never known it, and most of his masters had treated him well because he had always worked hard.
In fact, the only thing Olaf pined for was his missing leg. It had happened two years earlier while he was felling a great fir tree. It came down sooner than he expected and crushed his knee, shattering the bones. Fortunately, a butcher managed to amputate his broken limb before the rot could take him to the grave. Since then his family’s situation had deteriorated to become a living hell.
At first, his master Fior had attended to him in the hope that he would be able to work just as he had before the accident. However, he soon realized that having just one leg had made Olaf a burden that was difficult to justify.
While Olaf was recovering, his knowledge of the fields and skill with his hands made up for his invalidity, but as soon as Fior appointed a new foreman, Olaf was relegated to women’s tasks. So he went from overseeing the rest of the slaves to dragging himself around the storerooms searching for scraps with which to feed his children and his wife, Lucille.
“But I can still work,” Olaf insisted as he stepped up the pace with his crutch. “I can ride, and I know the countryside like the palm of my hand.”
“Don’t buy any horses then,” Alcuin whispered to Theresa, “or he’ll take off on the first one we acquire.”
Back in Fulda, Alcuin suggested that Olaf and his family stay in the abbey until the hut in the forest was ready. They stabled the ox and went to the monastery kitchen, where some monks provided them with onion soup and apples, the children celebrating as if they had been given cake. After dinner they were allowed to sleep near the fire, which they were all grateful for. Worn out, the mother and children soon fell asleep, but Olaf barely closed his eyes, for he had never slept on a woolen pallet.
The next morning, Theresa went to the monastery stables before taking them to their new land. At the stables they were lent a cart to transport the grain, some food, and some old implements that they would have to return within a week. Theresa thanked Alcuin for excusing her from her usual duties for the day and for his help obtaining the loan of tools. Though they went by the shortest route, it took them half the morning since Olaf insisted on traveling on foot to show Theresa that he could manage by himself.
When they reached the hut, the boys seemed delighted. They climbed up onto the roof like squirrels and ran through the fields until they collapsed with exhaustion. Olaf called them nicknames like midgets, loudmouths, and urchins, but he always called his wife his “beloved Lucille.”
Together Lucille and Olaf built a rudimentary fence around the hut, cleared the area around it, and made a mound of stones where they could cook without the wind blowing the fire about. They prepared a stew of pork belly and turnips, which the boys devoured before it even hit their plates. Olaf then built some simple traps, which he set up in the surrounding area. It would mean they could add rabbit and mice to the pulses that they would have to live off of until spring.
By midafternoon, in unison the boys announced the arrival of a man on horseback. It was Izam of Padua, Charlemagne’s engineer.
Olaf neared the horse so he could tend to it, but the man remained mounted. He approached Theresa and told her to jump on. She was surprised, but she obeyed.
“Alcuin told me about this foolery,” he said, “but I can see it’s worse than I thought. What possessed you to buy a cripple? What a way to ruin your estate.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem to be doing such a bad job,” Theresa said, pointing at the slave. At that moment, Olaf was returning with a rabbit in his hand.
Then Izam spurred on the animal until they were some distance from the hut.
“These are lands to sweat blood into. They’re not for a charity case. It rains, hails, and snows here—you’ll have to plow fields, fell trees, drive oxen, build a house, saw timber, clear undergrowth, and do a thousand other things. Who is going to do all that? A one-legged man and three skeletons?”
Theresa dismounted from the horse and started walking back to the hut. Izam turned his mount and followed her.
“What a stubborn girl. Going back there won’t solve anything. You’ll just have to sell them again.”
The young woman spun round. “Who do you think you are? These lands are mine, and I will do as I please with them.”
“Oh really?” Izam said, skeptically glancing at the slaves.
She realized in that moment that the slaves were her responsibility now: As Alcuin had informed her, she had to look after them, and if they did not work hard enough, the land might become their grave.
When she asked Izam what options she had, he assured her that the few he could think of all involved selling the slaves. “I’m not saying they’re useless, but they’re not for this estate. Let’s go back to the market. Perhaps we can return them without losing much money.”
Theresa acknowledged that he was probably right. Yet when they returned to the hut and she saw the two little boys playing, she was incapable of accepting his proposal.
“Let’s wait a week,” she suggested. “If in that time they haven’t been able to do what is necessary, I will take them to the market myself.”
Izam groaned through his teeth. It would mean losing a week, but at least that madwoman would see for herself the mistake she had made. He climbed down from the horse and went into the hut to warm up. Inside, he was surprised by the neat and tidy appearance of the space, as if it had been lived in for a long time.
“Who repaired the walls?” he asked in disbelief.
“The useless cripple,” Theresa answered. She then shoved him aside to straighten a board that was out of place. Olaf rushed to help.
“Here, use this,” said Izam grudgingly.
Olaf took the knife Izam was holding out and used it to secure the board in place.
“Thank you.” He returned it and Izam sheathed the weapon.
“It’s cold out there. Tell your wife to come in. Do you have tools?” the engineer asked.
Olaf showed him the ones that the abbey had lent them: a hand axe, a pick, and an adze. He told him that in the evening he would make a good wooden mallet, and perhaps a rake. Not much more, for he had to repair the plow they had acquired.
“It’s wooden,” he informed Izam. “The plowshare needs replacing.”
Izam said that without an iron plowshare and a good moldboard, they would not succeed in making the furrows. Then he looked at Olaf’s crutch.
“Can I have a look?”
<
br /> He examined the stick closely. It was a crudely carved cherrywood branch with a leather-lined wooden support at the top. He tested its flexibility and returned it to him.
“Right. I must go,” he announced.
He stood and left the hut and Theresa followed. When they were outside, she thanked him for his understanding.
“I still think it’s madness… but there you go. If I have time, I’ll see if I can make him a wooden leg.”
The young man mounted his horse and took his leave. Before he was out of sight, Theresa noticed him turn to look at her.
22
All week, Theresa alternated her work at the bishopric with managing her new lands. She found that Olaf had dug a small channel from the stream leading to the hut to avoid having to continually transport heavy pails of water. He had built a gate for the fence and four stools for his family to sit on. But it was not just the fields he had taken care of. Between the efforts of both he and his wife the hut had been transformed into a proper home. Helga the Black had given them a chest and small table, as well as fabrics that Lucille had used to prevent the wind from coming in through the cracks. Olaf had dug a fireplace in the center of the hut, and on each side they had arranged sacks of straw on which to sleep at night. As for the plow, though he could repair it, he was unable to handle it. Lucille had tried, too, but by the third day her hands were covered in blisters. Olaf grumbled to Theresa.
“It’s this damned leg,” he said, hitting it. “Before I could have plowed these fields in two days, but God knows it’s not a woman’s work.”
Theresa took a deep breath and grimaced. She looked at the two little lads scampering between the ox’s legs, laughing and enjoying themselves, black as coal from the filth but already with a little more meat on their bones. The situation saddened her, but if Olaf could not till the soil, she would be forced to resell them.
She looked at him furtively as he cleaned the ox collar. She was about to say something when he seemed to read her thoughts. “I’m modifying the collar so that the pull is lower. That way the ox will lower its neck and press the plow into the earth.”
Theresa shook her head at the futility of his efforts. Olaf didn’t understand the situation she was in.
They were about to get up when they heard the sound of hooves. As they came out of the hut, they saw Izam of Padua riding toward them, and behind him, a donkey laden with wood. The engineer dismounted and went into the hut without saying a word. He measured Olaf’s stump with a cord and then went out with the same determination with which he had arrived. Soon he returned carrying an armful of sticks.
“A one-legged man is like a woman without breasts,” he announced.
Theresa was annoyed by the comparison, but she watched closely as Izam quickly tore off Olaf’s empty trouser leg, revealing a poorly stitched stump.
“In Poitiers I had the opportunity to examine a wooden leg of extraordinary worth. Nothing like those sticks that cripples tie to their stumps in order to walk around like snails.” He measured the diameter of the stump again and then measured a piece of wood. “The leg I speak of was a miracle of engineering, an articulated device that they said belonged to an Arab general who died in the terrible battle. Fortunately a monk pulled it from the body and kept it at the abbey.” He measured Olaf’s good leg and transposed the measurements to the wood again. Then he pulled out a strange mechanism that seemed to Theresa like some kind of knee joint. “It took me two days to make this, so I hope it works.”
Olaf let Izam do his work while Lucille led away the children, who were fighting with each other over whatever pieces of wood they could get their hands on. Theresa was transfixed.
Izam chose a cylindrical piece of wood, adjusted it at one end to the wooden joint, and positioned it beside the good leg. Then he cut the other end until it was level with Olaf’s heel.
“Now the thigh.”
He took a wooden pot and pushed it onto the stump. As soon as he let go, it fell to the floor, but he picked it up as if nothing had happened and continued carving into it until it fit the limb. Then he removed it to empty it a little more and line the inside with a piece of cloth and some leather.
“Right. I think that’s it.” He pulled the socket over the stump and then secured it in place with some belts that he had brought with him. Then he calculated the length of the wood he would have to cut for the space between the socket and the knee mechanism.
“How does it work?” Olaf asked.
“I don’t know if it will.”
He helped the slave up and Olaf stood, wobbling slightly with his weight resting on the wooden limb.
“The foot still needs to go on, but I need to see if the spring holds. Now try to walk.”
Olaf stepped forward unsteadily, holding on to Izam, but to his surprise the wooden leg bent at the knee and after the stride it straightened again as if by magic.
“It has a slat of yew,” Izam explained, “the wood used to make good bows. When it receives the weight it flexes, allowing for articulation. When it reaches its limit, it then returns to its initial position and you can take your next stride. See these slots?” He pointed at four holes drilled into the knee. “With this pin you can select the amount of resistance. And if you take it out,” he said as he demonstrated, “the mechanism will move freely, so you will be able to ride with the leg bent.”
Olaf looked at him in disbelief. He was hesitant to try walking without the crutch, but Izam encouraged him. After a couple of attempts he managed to cross the room. When he reached Lucille’s arms, the woman burst into tears as though he had really grown a leg.
They spent some time adjusting the mechanisms and commenting on the simplicity of the joint. Izam explained that, using slats of different thicknesses, he could calibrate the flexibility and resistance.
Then they went outside to test out the wooden leg. Olaf found that he could walk on stone without difficulty, but when he tested his footing on the fields, the leg sank into the soil.
“We’ll attach a foot to solve the problem,” Izam promised.
On the way back to the hut, Lucille offered Izam the rabbit she had stewed for Olaf and the boys. But Izam realized it was the only food they had, so he declined. As he whittled the foot, the young engineer had to admit to himself that he was going through all this trouble for the slave family because of his interest in Theresa. He was intrigued by how a girl so young and pretty could be capable of undertaking a task of such a magnitude, and the fact was, now that he really thought about it, from the very first moment he met her, he had tried hard to please her and be near her.
He tested the wooden foot for the last time before fixing it to the end of the leg. Once attached, he turned it backward and forward to make sure it wouldn’t jam. He explained to Olaf that the foot could move freely, but if it bothered him, he could remove it himself.
Then they discussed the plow.
Izam mentioned the advantages of an iron plowshare and the use of a moldboard. Timber plows like Olaf’s brake easily, he explained, and hardly penetrate the land. As for the moldboard, it would push aside the churned up earth and leave a wide furrow, aerating the land so that the seed takes a firm hold. Spring would be the sowing season, so they would have to be quick if they wanted to finish plowing the fields.
Olaf told him that as soon as he had finished plowing, he would start to clear the land that was still wild.
After praising the cleanliness of the hut and the remarkable channel that supplied it with water, Izam took his leave. He didn’t say that he would return, but Theresa hoped he would.
By the second week, Olaf was certain that his new leg was far superior to his old crutch. In fact, he was so pleased with it that, despite the chafing that it caused on his stump, he wore it for several days without taking it off. He had learned to drive the plow into the earth by supporting himself with his real leg and using the rigidity of the artificial one to balance himself as he pushed. Sometimes, when he had to do heavy work, h
e would insert the pin to jam the knee, which would make better use of his strength.
Lucille and the children were happy. And Olaf was even happier.
At dawn they rose to plow the fields. Olaf would open up the soil and then Lucille would sow the rye, while the boys ran behind them scaring off the birds that tried to eat the seeds. After the sowing, they covered the furrows with earth that had been broken up with a mallet. In the afternoon, once they had finished their work, Theresa and Helga would travel from town to bring some implement, food, or old fabric with which to make clothes for the young lads.
Lucille and Helga soon became good friends. They spoke tirelessly of children, pregnancy, stews, and the gossip from the town. Sometimes Helga had a feeling of importance, ordering Lucille to sort out the hut.
Though she devoted less time to it, Theresa continued to help Alcuin copy and translate documents. She went early to the scriptorium and stayed there until midday, transcribing whatever texts the monk entrusted to her. However, Alcuin had moved from his calligraphy work on to theological matters that Theresa hardly participated in, which made her think that the day would come when she would no longer be needed.
Sometimes various haughty-looking priests visited the scriptorium, entering without warning and sitting with Alcuin. They were Romans and they were part of the papal delegation that always accompanied Charlemagne. Theresa decided to call them “the beetles,” because they were always dressed in black. When the beetles came to the scriptorium, she had to leave the room.
“The religious men who come to the scriptorium… are they monks too?” she inquired one day.
“No,” said Alcuin with a smile. “They might have been once, but now they’re clerics of the Roman chapter.”
“Monasteries… chapters… it’s all the same thing isn’t it?”
“Not at all. A monastery or abbey is a place where monks withdraw into solitude to pray and ask for the salvation of mankind. Generally they are closed-off places, sometimes far from the towns, with their own laws and lands, governed by a prior or abbot according to his best judgment.
The Scribe Page 37