“Quite the little devils. Just like their mother,” he said with a smile. He picked up the rag doll they’d left on his lap and placed it on the table.
Most of those present knew that Wilfred’s wife had died the year before from a wicked fever. Some had immediately advised him to remarry, but he was not partial to the idea of cohabiting with a woman again, except for the occasional dalliance.
“Refresh my memory,” Flavio Diacono cut in. “Did you say that Theresa started the fire?”
“That’s right,” answered Wilfred. “Apparently the girl flew into a rage and set fire to the workshop where she was employed. Several people died.”
“And yet, yesterday you were of the opinion that Theresa could do no harm.”
“I did say that,” he confirmed. “One of the victims later confessed to me that it was Korne who’d caused the fire when he pushed the young woman. But I also believed her father to be an upright man, and look at him now: He is wanted for murder.”
After breakfast, Alcuin went to the fortress stables, where Bernardino, mounted on a donkey, waited for him. The midget bade him a good morning and invited him to also mount the animal. But the monk decided he would rather accompany him on foot.
As they walked, Alcuin pressed Bernardino for details of the froth that he discovered on Genseric’s face. The little man confirmed that the body lay face up, with the eyes open and a mass of bubbles on the face.
“Bubbles? You mean a froth on the lips?”
“How should I know! The man was stiff, like all corpses.”
They arrived at the place along a clear path that wound through an oak wood near the fortress. The sun was shining warmly and the patches of snow were beginning to thaw. Alcuin examined the footprints on the path.
“It was right here,” Bernardino announced, stopping the donkey. The midget jumped down from the animal and skipped off into the forest like a kid. He stopped behind some rocks, where he triumphantly indicated the place where the body had lain.
“Do you remember the exact day?”
“Of course. I had gone out in search of nuts to make a cake for Wilfred’s daughters. There are some walnut trees down there. I was passing through here when the donkey stopped and—”
“And that was what day?”
“Sorry, yes… it was last Friday. Saint Benedict’s Day.”
Alcuin crouched down at the spot Bernardino indicated. The grass was flattened down in some places where the body had lain. Then he examined the surroundings.
“How did you transport the corpse? I mean… did you drag it or put it on the donkey?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a laugh. “You think that because I’m a midget, I couldn’t have lifted him.”
“Well, yes, I suspected as much.”
Bernardino went over to the animal and struck it with his stick, making it lie down flat with a hee-haw. Then he skillfully mounted the donkey and, holding the mane tightly, he gave it another blow, making it give a start. When the animal stood up, Bernardino laughed proudly, baring his yellowing teeth.
On his return, Alcuin went to the storerooms to see how Theresa was faring. There he found Rutgarda, who went out of her way to praise him for the way he had behaved with her. Alcuin dismissed it as a minor thing and asked to speak to the young woman.
“Alone, if possible.”
Rutgarda and Hoos, who was also present, left the storeroom. Then Alcuin approached the bed. “It’s cold here. How are you feeling?”
“Awful. Nobody knows where my father is.” She had tears in her eyes.
Alcuin pursed his lips. He could tell that nothing he could say would do much to console her. He wondered whether she knew that her father had been accused of murder.
“Have you spoken to anyone about the miracle?”
She shook her head no. Then, answering Alcuin’s question without being asked, she said that her father would never have done anything like what a maidservant had told her he had done. Alcuin said he didn’t doubt it.
“It’s all lies,” Theresa insisted. “He would never—” Her sobbing prevented her from continuing.
“I’m certain of it—so now the important thing is to find him. We don’t know why he disappeared, but I promise I will solve the mystery.”
He waited for Theresa to dry her tears. Then he helped her wrap up warm, alerted Rutgarda, and they all left together through a back door that led into the fortress. There he requested that Wilfred accommodate them in the main building, which was warmer and safer, instructing Theresa to stay in the room for a few days.
In the middle of the afternoon, Alcuin found Wilfred in the scriptorium. His dogs growled as soon as they saw him, but the count soothed them. He flicked the reins and the animals pulled him toward Alcuin, who offered them two pieces of meat that he had pilfered from the kitchens. The hounds devoured the fillets as if they hadn’t eaten for months.
He noticed that Wilfred still had the rag doll that his daughters had left behind. It had curious white eyes made from pebbles, on which someone had painted rough blue irises.
“How do you open doors?” the monk inquired.
“Either I use this hook,” he said, showing him a sort of harpoon attached to a hazel branch, “or the dogs pull me close. What brings you here?”
“A delicate matter. You said that Genseric was stabbed to death.”
“That’s right. Run through with a stylus.” He urged on the hounds, which turned around and dragged him to a small alcove. Opening a drawer, he removed a stylus of the type used by scribes, and showed it to him. “With this one to be precise.”
The monk studied it closely. “It’s of high quality,” he remarked. “Did it belong to Gorgias?”
Wilfred nodded and then returned it to the same place.
Alcuin examined the table that was used as a writing desk. He asked whether it was where Gorgias wrote, and the count confirmed that it was. There were several other styluses lined up neatly alongside some inkwells and a little jar of pounce. A thick layer of dust covered the instruments, with the exception of two long, thin areas that were cleaner. Upon noticing this, Alcuin grew suspicious, but he kept his thoughts to himself, continuing his examination as if he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. He was surprised not to find the texts in Greek that Gorgias would undoubtedly have needed to prepare the manuscript. When he brought up the matter of exhuming Genseric’s body, Wilfred arched an eyebrow.
“Disinter him? Whatever for?”
“I would like to grant him the blessing of the holy relics,” the monk lied. “Flavio is the guardian of the lignum crucis, the wood from Christ’s cross.”
“Yes, I know, but I don’t understand.”
“Genseric died unexpectedly, perhaps with some sin on his conscience. Since we have these relics, it would be uncharitable not to use them to sanctify his body.”
“And to do that we have to take him from his grave?”
Alcuin assured him that it was necessary.
After a few moments’ hesitation, Wilfred agreed. However, he did not accompany him, but summoned the giant Theodor to show him to Genseric’s resting place.
In addition to being half a body bigger than any other person, Theodor was also half-mute. As he tirelessly removed spadesful of earth, all he mumbled was that the grave stank of dung. Alcuin thought he would be lying if he said Theodor smelled any better.
After some puffing and panting, Theodor’s spade struck the coffin. Alcuin was pleased to see they had used a timber casket, for otherwise the earth would have ruined any clues left by the murderer. Using another spade, Alcuin scraped away the remnants of soil and asked Theodor to help him pull the coffin up and out, which he did. But when he ordered him to lift the lid, the blue-eyed giant told him it was not his business and stepped away, leaving Alcuin alone with the casket. On the third attempt, the lid came open.
As soon as he lifted it, the stench made them both vomit. Theodor moved farther away while Alcuin contended with
the creatures swarming over Genseric’s corpse. The monk protected his nose with a rag as he brushed away the worms that had amassed on the half-rotten face. Then he searched the body’s habit for the place where the stylus had been thrust into him. He found the opening over the stomach: a small, clean incision. He noted the ring of dried blood around it, guessing that the diameter of the stain was about that of a candle. Next he observed the worm-eaten face, with no sign of the froth Bernardino had mentioned. However, he did find traces of it on the neckline of the habit, so taking a knife he cut off a piece of the fabric, shaking off the larvae, and put it in a pouch. Then he carefully examined the palms. The right one seemed bruised, with two strange cavities. When he had finished, he took out a piece of wood and pretended it was the lignum crucis, placing it in the coffin while saying a prayer. Finally he replaced the lid and asked the giant to help him rebury the casket.
In the evening some dishes of fish were served in the refectory that seemed to offend Flavio Diacono. Wilfred apologized for the food, but there were not enough provisions for elaborate feasts or celebrations, as even his own reserves were almost depleted.
“It is a shame some of the supplies were lost under the ice,” Wilfred lamented. “The townspeople were desperate for that food.”
“Are the provisions from the ship not sufficient?” Flavio asked.
“Ha! A half-dead ox, six pecks of wheat, and three sacks of oatmeal. You call those provisions? They won’t even reach their plates.”
“There are still two ships loaded with provisions downriver. If necessary we could repair our boat and sail down to them,” Izam suggested.
“And how have you fed yourselves until now?” Alcuin inquired. “I mean… apparently you have suffered from a severe famine.”
Wilfred confessed that they held out until the last of their reserves, but when the dead started to pile up, they had to resort to using the royal granaries. “The victuals were not arriving, and people were dying,” he explained. “As you know, the royal grain is kept to feed troops in the event of combat, but the situation became unsustainable, so I proceeded with rationing.”
“At any rate, it does not look like you are destitute,” Flavio pointed out. “Even the hard of hearing would be deafened by the mooing of your cows and the clucking of your hens,” he said, pointing toward the area of the courtyard where the animal pens were.
Wilfred reversed his carriage, pulling away from the table. “Is this how a guest thanks me for my generosity? Since when do Romans concern themselves with the troubles of mere country folks?” the offended count protested. “Shut away in your cathedrals as you are, you know nothing of the hardships of your congregation. You have orchards and vegetable gardens, livestock and poultry, lands that you lease out, serfs who in exchange for food clear the fields and repair the walls. You receive tithes from everyone around you and collect taxes for the use of your roads, but you are exempt from paying any yourselves. And still you come here and judge me? Of course I have food. I am no fool. I’m a cleric, but I also govern. What will happen when the townspeople can bear it no longer? When they grow desperate and hunger overcomes them? They will arm themselves with whatever they can find and raid our stores.”
Alcuin hastened to intervene.
“Please, accept our apologies. The severity of the situation has taken us by surprise, but I assure you we are as grateful for your hospitality as we are for your generosity. Tell me, do you truly believe the supplies brought on the ship are insufficient?”
Flavio was annoyed at what he considered to be Alcuin’s interference. Yet, he had to admit that his intervention had come at the right moment.
“Do the numbers yourself,” Wilfred grumbled. “Not counting priests and monks, about three hundred families live in Würzburg. But at this rate, by next month perhaps, there will be none.”
“And the market gardens?” asked Alcuin. “You must have garlic, shallots, leeks, cabbages, radishes, turnips…”
“The ice killed off every last thistle. Have you not seen how desperate the townsfolk are?” he responded, pointing at the mob of people in the lower part of the city. “They can’t tell the difference between an apple and an onion anymore.”
“And your reserves?”
“In the granary we still have around a hundred pecks of wheat, plus another thirty of spelt, but that grain is pure poison and we only use it to feed to what animals remain. Even so some desperate souls were bold enough to break into the storehouses and steal a couple of sacks. The next day we found the thieves outside Zeno’s house with their guts spilling out their mouths. Unfortunately, death took them before we could hang them.”
Alcuin shook his head. If Wilfred’s estimations were accurate, they were faced with a sizable problem.
“And the relics?” the count asked Alcuin hopefully, “will they not help us to find food?”
“Undoubtedly, Wilfred. Undoubtedly.”
MARCH
26
Since his arrival in Würzburg, Hoos Larsson hadn’t had a moment’s rest. Wilfred had assigned him to the troop led by Izam, who, foreseeing more attacks, was scouting the surrounding area every day. In the mornings they would inspect the walled perimeter. At twilight scouting parties would set off to circle the town from east to west before climbing to the top of the outcrop on which the fortress perched. Men, women, and children had to keep watch over streams and roads, shore up the defenses, and repair the walls.
In the second week, Hoos was charged with leading an expedition to the old mines. A shepherd with little work to do had apparently seen a fire there and Wilfred had decided to comb the area and turn the tunnels into a trap.
In the early morning, twelve men set off equipped with leather jerkins, shields, and bows. Izam sported the chainmail that he had brought on the ship. Hoos had never used it, but Izam insisted on its usefulness.
“I agree that on water they are a liability, for if you fall in you will be dragged to the bottom. But on land it’s like wearing an iron bell.”
Hoos looked at Izam with disdain, then tried to estimate the remaining distance to the mine. He thought to himself that if bandits appeared, Izam wouldn’t even have time to count his arrow wounds.
“Perhaps we’ll bump into Gorgias,” Izam ventured. “The mine wouldn’t be a bad hideaway.”
“Well, if we do, you heard Wilfred’s orders: ‘If you find him, riddle him with arrows.’ He killed Genseric and also some young boys with a stylus.”
“It seems that the count has been badly affected by the loss of his coadjutor, but Alcuin has other ideas around what may have happened. If we find him, I think we should take him alive.”
Hoos rode on. If it came to it, he thought, he wouldn’t waver.
They reached the mine by midmorning. The scouts had reached it first, reporting that the place seemed deserted, but as a precaution Izam divided his men into two groups. The first headed for the slave huts and the second made for the tunnels. During the search, Hoos discovered some fresh fish bones and eggshells in a shed. The scraps seemed recent, but rather than tell Izam he hid them by dispersing them with his boot. They combed the place without finding anything significant, so after a final look around, Izam and his men joined those exploring the mine.
In the first tunnel the darkness was pitch black. As they progressed, the passages became narrower and narrower, forcing them to bend down as they walked. In one of the tunnels, one of their men stumbled, falling through the ground. There was little his friends could do except listen to his body tumble into the chasm. They deliberated whether to continue on or get out of that rat hole as soon as possible when a deafening rockslide threatened to bury them alive, dust filling their lungs. One of the men ran for the exit and the rest followed, feeling half-suffocated. Collapsing outside with bodies battered and spirits broken, they decided to call off the search and return to the town.
Only when there was complete silence in the tunnel did Gorgias push aside the rickety old corves he had hid
den behind, and coughing and spluttering, he gave thanks to the heavens for helping him. With difficulty he came out of his hiding place and lifted away the timber from the rock fall he had provoked. He was glad he had foreseen that situation and prepared adequately.
A few days before, while he had been searching the mine, he discovered a beam that was not properly shored up to the ceiling. At first it worried him, but he soon hatched a plan to make use of it by tinkering with its support, turning it into a trap. He dug under the base of the pile and replaced the earth with small stones. Selecting a long, thin stone, with great care, he managed to position it vertically in the cavity under the base of the beam. Then he tied a string to the stone, covered it up, and retreated to a nearby cavity. From there he checked that, if he pulled the rope, the stone would come away, and the beam would collapse along with the tunnel roof.
Once he had returned to his hut, he reflected on the moments leading up to the soldiers’ arrival. That morning he had been in the huts when he heard the neighing of a horse. Gobbling down his fish, he went outside immediately and found that a group of men were approaching the mine. He quickly picked up Blanca and ran toward the tunnel, where he ducked down and prayed to God they would not enter. However, when he saw the first torch, he fled to the cavity near the trap, moved a corf in the way to conceal him and waited until the men were close enough. Before long, he saw them approaching. If they went any farther they would surely discover him. When one of the men came up to the corf, Gorgias gripped the rope and braced himself. He had to attempt it quickly. He rolled the rope around his arm and pulled with all his might. The stone moved and the pillar toppled to the ground, causing the rockslide.
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