In the middle of the afternoon, causing a string of oaths, the ice cracked as clear as a bell under the hull.
“Stop! Stop, you damned bastards, or the ice will give way and we’ll all drown!” shouted Izam.
The men quickly released the ropes and took a few steps back. By that point the ice was thinner, and farther on it began to break up into a labyrinth of ice plaques.
“Gather in the rope and the animals. Make a hole in the ice and let the animals drink a little. You two, when the oxen have recuperated go back for the provisions,” Izam ordered.
Flavio, who had taken no part in the pulling, took a few steps away from the ship. Soon Theresa and Alcuin appeared, their faces flushed from their effort. The monk attempted to say something, but all he could manage was a groan. Then he let himself drop to the ground and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.
“You shouldn’t have been helping,” Flavio rebuked. “The men look at me as if I were from another planet. People like us aren’t expected to help.”
“A little exercise raises the spirits,” Alcuin panted in retort.
“You are wrong there. Leave the work to those who are obliged to do it. We oratores devote ourselves to prayer, the role that God has given to us.” He helped him shift the lightest bundle.
“Ah, yes.” Alcuin said. “The rules that govern the world: The oratores pray for the salvation of mankind, the bellatores fight for the Church, and the laboratores do everyone else’s work. I’m sorry, I had forgotten,” said Alcuin with a sarcastic smile.
“So you should not—” Flavio raised his voice, but Alcuin cut him off.
“However, you will agree that even peasants must pray once in a while. Pass me a little water, for pity’s sake.”
“Of course, and not just once in a while.”
“And additionally you will also acknowledge that the bellatores, in addition to training for battle, must not forget their spiritual obligations.” He took a swig of water.
“Naturally,” Flavio admitted.
“Then I don’t see why we should not do some work from time to time,” he said, feeling a little better.
“You forget that I am not a monk like you. I’m a papal chancellor. The Primicerius of the Lateran.”
“With two arms and two legs,” Alcuin reminded him, pulling himself up. “And now, if you will excuse me, there is still work to do.”
The monk looked over toward the bank. Then he stole a glance at Izam, leaning against the parapet on the ship.
“No doubt he’s worried about that lookout who left some time ago and hasn’t yet returned,” Theresa said looking at Izam.
“By God, lass, don’t be so dramatic. The scout is probably emptying his bowels somewhere or still exploring the terrain,” said Flavio.
“But look at Izam: He’s staring at the woods with such concern.”
Flavio realized she was right. The engineer was pacing up and down like a caged animal, giving orders one after the other, and his hand was positioned firmly on his bow.
Alcuin left Flavio and approached Izam. “I estimate we still have a day and half’s journey ahead of us. Am I wrong?” he probed.
Izam gave him a sidelong look. “Sorry but I don’t have time for confessions right now,” he said, walking away.
“I understand. You’re not the only one wondering about that lookout. I, too, would be alarmed.”
Izam looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t yet shared his concerns with the crew, but this priest seemed to have guessed. He fixed his gaze on the trees and stroked his chin. “I don’t know why they haven’t attacked us already. Waiting for nightfall, perhaps,” he observed, taking it for granted that they both knew what he was talking about.
“I think the same,” Hoos interjected, joining the conversation. “There can’t be many, or they would’ve already struck.”
Alcuin and the commander turned to look at the newcomer. “When I need an opinion I’ll ask for it. Stick to your tasks,” Izam replied.
“Right you are,” said Hoos, withdrawing.
“Do you know him?” asked Alcuin.
“From Aquis-Granum, though not well. All I know is that he knows these parts better than all those soldiers put together. And now, if you don’t mind, I must prepare my men.”
Alcuin nodded and made for the place where the oxen were resting. At that moment all he cared about was protecting his belongings, and there would be more opportunities to do that near the animals. He noticed that Izam was dividing the crew into two groups. It appeared he had changed his mind about the number of men who should fetch the provisions. Hoos and Theresa were instructed to stay.
“Listen carefully,” the engineer requested. “It is possible that there are bandits behind those trees, and if there are, we must hurry. Those of you going back for the cargo, keep your eyes open and walk on the ice in the middle of the river. You three take care of the equipment. The rest of you the provisions. If you have not returned in one hour, we will leave without you.”
The men selected to retrieve the provisions set off. Alcuin and Flavio went with them. The rest tried to return the ship to the water, but with several shoves they barely moved it the width of a hand. Izam organized their defenses with barrels of arrows on each side of the ship. Then he positioned himself at the prow, ensuring that Theresa was onboard, taking cover behind a pile of sacks.
He was pondering the situation when suddenly he made out a dark object upriver floating among the ice plaques. He was unable to identify it, for the current quickly dragged it under, but gradually the blot slid toward the prow of the ship.
Izam took a harpoon, jumped overboard and stood on one of the ice plaques until the blot floated near. Then he thrust the harpoon at it, feeling it sink into something. Sharply pulling on the shaft, he cried out in horror when he realized the blot was the head of the lookout, horribly mutilated.
The hour was almost up when the first crewmen appeared in the distance carrying the provisions. They were slowly trudging along when one of the oxen gave out a low bellow and then collapsed as if it had been struck by lightning.
Izam knew the attack had begun. He immediately ordered his men to ready themselves in their positions behind their bows. The returning group took cover behind their sleds. Izam’s archers released a volley that crossed paths with another volley launched by their assailants from the banks. A couple of men left the cover provided by the oxen and started running toward the ship, but both were brought down within a few paces. Alcuin and Flavio crouched behind the sled. Hoos managed to crawl from the ship over to them. “Stay here until I say otherwise,” he ordered.
Alcuin and Flavio nodded.
Hoos ducked down behind the wounded ox and cut the tether that bound it to the healthy one. Then he called to the clerics. “Let’s go! Get behind the ox. When I strike it, run alongside it, using it as your barricade.”
“Flavio won’t be able to,” Alcuin objected.
Hoos looked at Flavio and saw that an arrow had pierced his thigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” he said, handing Alcuin the rope that was attached to the ox. “Let’s go, quickly.”
“And the provisions? asked Alcuin, seeing that Hoos had cut the harnesses.
Hoos crouched behind the sacks as arrows rained down on them from all sides. “I’ll drag them with us. Now run,” he said, and he struck the beast on the back.
The animal bolted off with Alcuin hanging on to its rope. Hoos shouted to him to take cover and the monk obeyed. One of the oarsmen tried to follow the animal, too, but just as he was about to reach it, a spear knocked him off his feet.
Hoos called to another man to help him. Flavio lay on the sled, protected by some wooden boards. Then, crouching down, the remaining men started pushing it in the direction of the ship.
“Those bastards are bombarding us!” bellowed Hoos as they approached the boat.
“Is Flavio all right?” asked Izam from the deck.
“Just a scratch on the t
high.”
“And the provisions?”
“In the carts,” he said, pointing behind him toward another group of men now arriving under the cover of two wagons.
“Good. Make haste! Load up the supplies and let’s push the boat off.”
Though he was exhausted, Alcuin joined the men who were trying to refloat the boat from the port side. Hoos and the rest of the group soon joined them.
“Get Flavio onboard! He’s badly wounded,” cried Izam, with the arrows continuing to rain down on them.
Some oarsmen hoisted the provisions on board, made Flavio comfortable on the deck, then went below to continue to push the boat.
“For God’s sake! Push, you wretched bastards!” screamed Izam.
The men heeded his instruction and on the second attempt, the ship moved.
“Again! Harder! Push!”
Suddenly the ice started breaking up with a deafening crunch. The men leapt away, terrified, and the boat began sinking as though the Devil were dragging it to hell.
“Get back quickly! Get away!”
At that moment the surface opened up and the boat plunged into the water down to the gunwale. Several oarsmen fell into the river, tangled in the ropes.
“On the boat! Get on, you wretches, get on!” Izam ordered with arrows showering down around him.
Hoos managed to clamber up first. The other survivors dropped their bows and clung to the gunwale. Alcuin hung on for his life, half his body submerged in the river.
“There are men trapped down here,” said Alcuin, holding on to a wounded oarsman.
“There’s no time, get on.” Hoos held out his arm from the parapet.
“We cannot just leave them there,” he insisted, still gripping tightly to the one he held.
“Get on, damn it, or I swear I’ll come down and hoist you up myself!”
But Alcuin didn’t budge.
Hoos jumped overboard and onto the ice alongside Alcuin. He drew his sword and ran it through the man the monk was helping. Then he stood up to finish off another oarsmen who had been struggling to escape the freezing water.
“No need to wait now. We’re off!” Hoos announced.
Alcuin looked at him in a daze. He held out his arm, and a couple of oarsmen helped him clamber onboard.
The ship progressed upriver until the sun hid behind the mountains. Before long, it stopped in a small pool.
“We’ll drop anchor here,” Izam declared.
Alcuin took the opportunity to tend to the wounded, but since he had no ointments he was limited to cleaning and bandaging arrow wounds.
A weak voice came from behind him. “Can I help?”
Alcuin looked at Theresa with a concerned expression. He accepted her offer with a grim face and the young woman crouched down to assist him. When they had finished with the wounded, Theresa withdrew to a corner to pray for the dead.
Hoos approached Alcuin with a piece of bread in his hand. “Here, eat something,” he offered.
“I’m not hungry. Thank you.”
“Alcuin, for the love of God. You saw it yourself. The boat was already on its way and those poor wretches were trapped. There was nothing else I could do.”
“You might not have thought the same had it been you trapped there,” he responded angrily.
“Don’t fool yourself. I might not be the kind of person you would share an evening of poetry with, but I saved your life.”
Alcuin nodded and walked away in irritation.
As soon as the sun came up, one of the oarsmen was lowered from the prow to assess the damage. After a while he reappeared, sour faced. “The hull’s ruined,” he informed them as they dried him off. “I doubt we’ll be able to repair it here.”
Izam shook his head. He could moor the boat to the bank to procure some timber, but it was an unnecessary risk.
“We’ll keep going for as long as the ship lasts.”
Alcuin awoke to the splashing of the oars. Beside him slept Flavio, half-covered in a blanket, and Theresa, curled up beside her father’s bag. Alcuin decided to wake them lest they freeze to death. While Flavio woke up, the young woman fetched a little wine and a slice of rye bread.
“They’ve rationed the provisions,” she informed them. “It would appear that much of the food was lost in the attack.”
“My leg hurts,” Flavio complained.
Alcuin lifted his robe. Fortunately, the Roman was a stout man and the arrow had embedded itself almost entirely in fat.
“We’ll have to remove it.”
“The leg?” he asked, alarmed.
“No, good Lord, the arrow.”
“Best we wait until we reach Würzburg,” Flavio suggested.
“All right. In the meantime try this cheese.”
Flavio took the cheese and bit into it. Suddenly Alcuin grabbed the arrow and pulled it out in one jerk. Flavio’s scream echoed around the mountains. Alcuin paid no attention, proceeding to pour a little wine on the wound. Then he covered it with some bandages that he had ready.
“Damned novice of a surgeon.”
“That wound could have developed complications,” he argued calmly. “Now get up and try to walk a little.”
Flavio obeyed begrudgingly, and soon he was staggering over to his belongings, dragging his feet as if they were in chains. He noticed one of his chests sitting in a puddle of water. He screamed hysterically and, with Alcuin’s help, moved the chest to a higher position.
“Judging by your face, it must contain something important,” Alcuin remarked, slapping the chest.
“Lignum crucis… a relic that travels with me,” an anguished Flavio explained.
“Lignum crucis? The wood from the Cross of Golgotha? The relic kept at the Sessorian Basilica?”
“I see you know what I speak of.”
“Indeed. Though in truth I’m pretty skeptical.”
“What? Are you implying—”
“Good God, no. I apologize,” he cut in. “Naturally I believe the authenticity of the lignum crucis, in the same way that I give credence to the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, or the cape of Martin of Tours. But you will recall that there are many abbeys and bishoprics where all kinds of little bones have by chance been found.”
“Breve confinium veratis et falsi. It will not be me who disputes the authenticity of relics that contribute to drawing souls to the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“I don’t know. Where matters of God are concerned, perhaps we should trust more in His commandments.”
“I see you have a gift for controversy.” Flavio tried to dry the chest with a damp cloth. “The talent of someone who wastes his breath without knowing the reason for his arguments. Do you know the true power of relics? Are you able to distinguish between the Lance of Longinus, the Holy Shroud, and the blood of a martyr?”
“I know that classification—but in any event, I repeat my apology. I did not wish to question—”
“If you do not wish it, then do not do it,” Flavio said loudly.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Alcuin responded, taken aback. “But, if it is no trouble, permit me to ask a final question.”
Flavio looked at him wearily, as if he could not be bothered to answer. “Yes?”
“Why are you taking the relic to Würzburg?”
The prelate seemed to think it over. Finally he responded. “As you will know, for years Charlemagne has been trying to subjugate the pagan Obodrites, Pannonians, and Bavarians. However, neither his continual campaigns nor his exemplary punishments have altered the fact that they remain Godless in the depths of their souls. The pagans are crude folks, stuck in the ways of polytheism, of heresy, of concubinage… with these people, the force of arms is necessary, though sometimes it is not enough.”
“Please continue.” Alcuin was already not sure he agreed with Flavio’s premise.
“Damned wound.” He paused to reposition his bandages. “Well, eight years ago Charlemagne and his host went to Italy in response to the Holy Pontiff�
�s entreaty. As you might know, the Lombards, not satisfied with ruling over the former Byzantine duchies, had invaded the cities of Faenza and Comacchio, besieged Ravenna, and subjugated Urbino, Montefeltro, and Sinigaglia.”
“You speak of Desiderius, the Lombard king.”
“That man, a king? For the love of God, don’t make me laugh. He might have called himself one, but he was nothing more than a serpent in human form. The king of treachery. That should have been his title.”
“But didn’t a daughter of Desiderius marry Charlemagne himself?”
“Indeed. Could you imagine a more heinous offense? The Lombard took it upon himself to wed his pup to Charlemagne and then, believing himself immune, attack the Vatican territories. However, Pope Adrian persuaded Charlemagne that he needed his help, and the king, after crossing the Great Saint Bernard Pass with his troops, surrounded the traitor at this lair in Pavia.”
“Without question the gesture of a good Christian.”
“In part, yes. But do not be fooled. Charlemagne wishes to contain the expansionist ambitions of the Lombard king as much as the pope did. After all, following his foreseeable victory, not only would Charlemagne return to the papacy the usurped territories under the liber pontificalis, but also benefit himself by appropriating the Lombard duchies of Spoleto and Benevento.”
“Interesting, to be sure. Please, do continue.”
Theresa was listening attentively.
“The rest you will know. Desiderius refused to leave Pavia, forcing Charlemagne to begin a siege. However, after nine months, Charlemagne’s host grew impatient. It would appear that they feared for their crops—and there was news of another revolt in the Saxon lands. Meanwhile, Desiderius remained trapped, so Charlemagne started to consider how he would end the siege.”
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