Alcuin snatched Izam’s sword from him and held it against Korne’s throat.
“Swear before God!” he commanded him, holding out the Bible. “Swear before God that you renounce the Devil!”
Sweat appeared on Korne’s brow while he swore as ordered. Then he stood and left the room, biting his lip.
Once they were left alone, Flavio remonstrated with Alcuin. He was the papal envoy and, therefore, the only person authorized to pass judgment on a divine intervention. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but perhaps you have been too hasty. Sometimes, astonishing events are caused by the most trivial circumstances. After all, Zeno says that the body that burned in the fire was unrecognizable.”
“Look, Flavio: Zeno wouldn’t even recognize his own mother,” Alcuin retorted, pointing at the sixth cup of wine that he had emptied.
“But, damn it! You could at least have waited to share your vision until after Theresa woke up, so she could tell us what happened. I assure you that if the miracle is real, I will be the first to celebrate it.”
“You heard Wilfred say what kind of a man that Korne is. He’s driven to do away with Theresa. The young woman was in danger, so if a miracle will help me save her life, why not welcome it?”
“What are you saying? That you made it up? You didn’t have that vision?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“God Almighty! And could you not think of anything else aside from inventing a miracle?”
“Flavio, after what happened in the fire, it is a miracle indeed that the young woman lives. It’s just as if she had been resurrected. What’s more, God assists us in different ways. You with your relics, and me with my visions,” he declared.
At that moment a disheveled and frightened maidservant came into the room.
“The girl’s waking up,” she announced.
They both rushed to where Theresa was resting. Alcuin saw that her face was beaded with sweat. He removed the blankets that covered her and asked for a candle to be brought over. Then he soaked a cloth in warm water and carefully cleaned the girl’s face. Next, as he normally did with his students suffering from exposure to the elements, he rubbed down both of her arms, concentrating on the joints.
Gradually the color returned to her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered and—following a few moments of uncertainty—they opened, revealing reddened eyes with irises reflecting a beautiful syrupy hue.
Alcuin smiled and said hello to the young woman before tracing the sign of the cross on her forehead. Then he helped her lift her head, placing a cushion under it.
“Theresa,” Alcuin whispered.
She acknowledged him with a breath. In front of her she saw the bony figure of a man at peace.
“Welcome home,” said the monk.
Alcuin endeavored to explain all that happened since their arrival, but Theresa did not understand. Her head felt as if it had been kicked by a horse, and the story of a miracle was so confusing it seem like it had been taken from the dream of a lunatic. She lifted her head and asked for a little water. Then, when she heard the tale again, she looked at Alcuin as though he were a stranger. At that moment Wilfred came in and Alcuin whispered to Theresa to play along.
“Theresa, do you recognize me?” the count asked, pleased to have found her awake.
The young woman looked at the dogs and nodded.
“God rejoices at your return, as do we, of course. It has been a sad time, but you have nothing to worry about now. Soon everything will go back to how it was.”
Theresa smiled timidly.
In response Wilfred gave her a forced grin. “I would like you to try to remember. Do you recall what happened in the fire?”
Theresa looked at Alcuin as if seeking his approval. The monk said nothing, so she responded with a stammer.
“Then I imagine you will want to tell us about it,” he said, his face moving closer to hers. “Did you see the Redeemer? Did you discern His appearance? Do not worry if you can’t respond—it was He who returned you to us.”
Theresa thought the question odd and wasn’t sure how to respond.
Alcuin stepped in. “Perhaps she needs to rest. She’s confused. She hit her head and hardly remembers anything,” he declared.
“Very well… that’s understandable. But as soon as she recovers, let me know. Remember that it was me who buried her charred remains.”
Wilfred said a halfhearted good-bye before leaving the room. Meanwhile, Alcuin examined the contraption that transported him. He handled the dog chair like a seasoned cart driver, easily negotiating the thresholds and loose tiles that got in his way. He noticed that the contraption had a chamber pot housed in the rear to assist his bowel movements. The skill with which he handled the hounds told him that he had been in that condition for some years.
Alcuin turned to Theresa. The young woman was giving him an inquisitive look.
“Look,” he said, sitting beside her. “The ways of the Lord take strange twists and turns: tortuous paths that sometimes confuse the foolish, but not those who have devoted their lives to following His doctrine. It is obvious that your time has not come yet. Perhaps because you have not yet made yourself worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven, though this does not mean you cannot achieve it.”
Theresa was feeling increasingly confused. She did not comprehend what was happening, nor why they were insisting she had been resurrected.
“And my parents?” she asked.
“Your stepmother awaits in the antechamber. You will see her soon.”
Theresa slowly lifted herself up. Her head was pounding.
She recognized Wilfred’s room. She had been there on occasion to meet her father, but it had never seemed so cold and desolate.
Alcuin helped her sit up. She touched her head, noticing a painful bump. Alcuin explained that she had hit her head during a skirmish with bandits. As the memory came back to her, Theresa inquired after Izam and Hoos. Alcuin informed her they were both busy unloading the ship.
“I want to see my parents,” she insisted.
Alcuin asked her to be patient. He told her that Rutgarda seemed traumatized, and they still had not found Gorgias. Theresa became agitated, but Alcuin soothed her, saying that he would speak to Wilfred to learn what had happened. As for the miracle, he confessed that he had been forced to make it up.
“Korne would not have accepted any other explanation. I know it was blasphemous, but at that moment, I could not think of anything more suitable.”
“But why a miracle?”
“Because, in the words of Wilfred, they had found your charred remains.”
“My remains?”
“A body they thought was yours, and which apparently still wore a blue dress that Gorgias recognized as the one you had on that day.”
“That poor girl.” She recalled again how she had not been able to do anything to save her. “I tried to protect her with my wet dress,” she explained, relating the details of what had happened during the fire.
“I imagined that’s what anyone with half a brain would have done, but not the notables that inhabit this town. That was why I thought it would be helpful if these notables saw the hand of God in your return. And I also considered the fact that Korne the parchment-maker is eager to avenge his son’s death. For the time being, he has sworn to respect you, but I do not believe that will stop him for long.”
He informed her that he would tell her stepmother to come in and see her. “One last thing.” He gave Theresa a grim look. “If you want to live, don’t speak to anyone about the miracle.”
25
Alcuin was settled into a cell in the southern wing of the fortress, near Izam’s room and adjoining Flavio’s. From his window he could see the Main Valley, with the foothills of the Rhön Mountains in the background. On the fields, the snow was beginning to thin, but on the peaks it continued to gleam as if the mountains had been given a coat of paint. He noticed the strange formations scattered around the landscape wherever the forests
became sparse. Observing them more closely, he noted the presence of a myriad of cavities bored into brownish mounds. They were similar to mining tunnels, and as he dressed he wondered whether they were, in fact, mining tunnels and if they were in use.
He went down to dinner after None and met with Wilfred in the armory, accompanied by Theodor, the giant he used as a draft animal when the dogs were locked away.
The count seemed pleased to see him and impatient to learn more about the miracle, but Alcuin was only interested in talking about the parchment that Charlemagne had commissioned Wilfred to prepare. He decided to wait until the giant retired to his chambers before raising the subject. However, Theodor remained impassive behind the chair for a long time until Wilfred finally ordered him to leave.
“A veritable mountain in trousers! I have never seen a man so large,” said Alcuin.
“And loyal as a dog. All he’s missing is the wagging tail. So tell me, are your chambers to your liking?”
“Certainly. The views are excellent.”
“Some wine?”
Alcuin declined the offer and sat down in front of the count, waiting for the right moment to bring up the subject that pressed on his mind. “Do you lock away the dogs at night?” he asked.
Wilfred explained that he only used them in the morning—for certain routes free of stairs. He also liked to go out with them into Würzburg’s streets, particularly the best kept ones.
“Sometimes I even venture out of the city,” he said with a smile. “You should see how they understand my expressions. One blink from me and they will set upon the first person I signal.”
“With the carriage still harnessed to their backs?”
“I will tell you a secret,” he said, still smiling.
Wilfred activated a device on one of the armrests and a spring released the rings used to harness the hounds to the contraption.
“Very clever.”
“Indeed,” he said with pride. “I had it installed myself. The most difficult thing was hardening the strip of metal so that it could be used as a spring, but our blacksmith is talented enough he could build a harp and make it play itself.” He reinserted the rings into their housing and reset the spring. “But that’s enough about dogs—let’s talk about Theresa. I don’t think any other matter is more significant now.”
They spoke of the celestial apparition, which Alcuin repeated from top to bottom, adding one or two more fabricated details.
When he had finished, Wilfred seemed perplexed, but without stopping to reflect, the count seemed to accept Alcuin’s theory and insisted again that he try the wine. This time the monk accepted. When he had finished his cup, he inquired again about the parchment.
“It’s almost complete. You will be able to see it soon,” said Wilfred apologetically.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather see it now.”
Wilfred cleared his throat and shook his head. Then he nodded toward his contraption. “Help me, please.”
Alcuin positioned himself behind the wheelchair and pushed Wilfred in the direction he indicated. As they reached a chest of drawers in his room, the count asked Alcuin to pass him a coffer that the monk estimated to be one cubit long by half a cubit wide. Wilfred opened it, revealing its interior, which was empty. Then he lifted a false bottom and took from it a document that he held out nervously to Alcuin. The monk took it and held it in the candlelight.
“But this is just a draft.”
“As I said, it is not ready yet.”
“I know that’s what you told me, but Charlemagne will not accept that answer. It has been several months. Why is it not ready yet?”
“There was only enough parchment left for two trial runs. It is a special parchment. Uterine vellum: you know, the one made from unborn calf’s skin.”
“Everyone knows what vellum is,” he murmured.
“This is different, brought in from Byzantium. Anyhow, the only copy was lost in the fire, so Gorgias started another. But a few weeks ago the scribe disappeared from the scriptorium along with the document.”
“I don’t understand—what do you mean?”
“About two months ago I met with him in my chambers, and he assured me that he would have it finished within a few days. However, that same morning he vanished as if by magic.”
“And since then?”
“Nobody has seen him,” he lamented. “As far as I know, Genseric was the last person to see him. He accompanied him to the scriptorium to collect a few things and was never seen again.”
When Alcuin suggested they go to speak to Genseric, Wilfred fell silent for a moment. Then he downed his wine and looked at the monk with glazed eyes.
“I’m afraid that will not be possible. Genseric is dead. They found his body last week in the middle of the forest, run through with a stylus.”
Alcuin coughed when he heard this last part, but his astonishment turned to stupor when he heard that, according to Wilfred, Gorgias was the murderer.
The next morning Alcuin went to the kitchens early. As in other fortresses, they were located in a separate building so that, in the event of a kitchen fire, the flames would be contained. Indeed, as soon as he entered, he noticed the blackened walls—a clear sign of repeated fires. He asked a maidservant for the head cook, who turned out to be Bernardino, a stout monk the size of a wine barrel. The squat man greeted him without a glance as he dashed about as nimbly as a squirrel organizing the supplies. When he finally stopped, he gladly turned his attention to Alcuin. “Sorry about the rush, but we were in desperate need of the provisions you brought.” He handed him a hot cup of milk. “It’s an honor to meet you. Everyone is talking about you.”
Alcuin accepted the milk with pleasure. Since he had left Fulda he had drunk nothing but watered-down wine. Then Alcuin asked Bernardino about Genseric. Wilfred had told him that it was the cook who had found the coadjutor’s body.
“That’s right.” With difficultly he perched on a chair. “I discovered the old man in the middle of the forest, lying face-up with froth at the mouth. He couldn’t have been dead long, for the vermin had not yet devoured him.”
He told him about the stylus sunk into his belly. It was of the type used by scribes to write on wax tablets, he explained. It had been driven deep into him.
“And you think it was Gorgias?”
The midget shrugged.
“The stylus undoubtedly belonged to Gorgias, but I would never have attributed an act like that to him. We all thought him a good man,” he added, “though lately some strange events have taken place.” He explained to him that, in addition to Genseric, several young boys had turned up dead, and it was rumored that the scribe was also behind those murders.
When Alcuin asked him about the coadjutor’s body, Bernardino informed him where it had been buried. The midget was surprised at the monk’s interest in the whereabouts of the clothes that Genseric had been wearing, for normally they washed the garments of the dead and if they were in good condition they were reused.
“But Genseric’s stank of urine, so we decided to bury him in his habit.”
Alcuin finished his cup of milk and asked the cook if the young boys had also been stabbed.
“They were. Strange goings-on.”
Alcuin nodded, disconcerted. He thanked Bernardino for the information and wiped the remnants of milk from his mouth. Then he asked when they could examine the place where he had found Genseric. They agreed they would meet that afternoon following the Sext service. So he said farewell and returned to his chambers. On the way he decided to ask Wilfred to exhume the coadjutor’s body, for something did not add up.
In the corridor that led to his room, he bumped into Flavio Diacono, with bleary eyes and disheveled hair. It was late to be rising and the prelate behaved as if there was no work to be done. Alcuin had the impression that Flavio Diacono—with his puffy flesh and perfumed clothes—was the kind of priest who was less concerned with abiding by the precepts than in fulfilling his own desires
. In a moment of drunkenness, he had even admitted that in Rome he used to enjoy the company of young girls, suggesting that Alcuin should try it. But Alcuin naturally chose celibacy. The Church, of course, condemned concubinage, but it was not uncommon for some men of the cloth to succumb to the pleasures of cohabitation, living with women they bought or coerced with the threat of eternal damnation.
He returned Flavio’s greeting and accompanied him to the dining hall. It was not his place to judge his behavior, but as Saint Augustine had declared in his De Civitate Dei, though men were born with the freedom to choose, there was no doubt that for some, such a faculty only allowed them to make poor decisions.
At breakfast, everyone present discussed Theresa’s miracle.
Izam did not give an opinion, but several clerics suggested setting up an altar on the ashes of the old workshop, and one even suggested building a chapel there. Wilfred was in agreement, but listened to Alcuin’s objection when he proposed that they wait for an ecumenical council to comment on the matter.
When they inquired after the whereabouts of the young woman, Wilfred responded that Theresa had spent the night in the fortress storerooms, after Zeno had given her an infusion of willow and lemon balm. Rutgarda had stayed by her side, waiting for her to awaken. It would appear that Rutgarda had barely slept between praying, weeping, and tending to Theresa, hoping that the miraculous appearance of her stepdaughter was an omen that her husband would return.
At that moment Wilfred’s young daughters burst into the room. The two little girls laughed playfully, evading the wet nurse who tried to grab them. Ignoring her warnings, they scampered through the legs of the guests. Finally the devoted maidservant let herself fall to the floor and threatened the girls with a spanking, but they stuck out their little tongues and with a mischievous expression hid behind Flavio and Alcuin’s robes.
Wilfred celebrated his twins’ capers by clapping his hands, to which the girls responded by running over to him. He took them in his arms and kissed their heads until their hair was wild. The children laughed again, their little eyes dancing, then pulled away when he galloped his fingers across their round tummies. Wilfred was laughing, too. The two curly-haired and red-cheeked cherubs had brought him joy again. He kissed them once more and after asking them to behave like well-mannered little ladies, he handed them over to the exhausted wet nurse.
The Scribe Page 42