“That, or they were gifts,” Theresa suggested.
“At any rate,” he added, “she was a woman who was not so devoted to the children as would appear, especially considering that she had no qualms about sharing a room and bed with a graying man who was no doubt very old and a member of the clergy.”
“But, how can you be so sure?”
“From the smell of church incense on the blankets. His habit must have been impregnated with it.”
Theresa nodded, surprised. However, Alcuin did not attach much importance to it. He continued to tell her about his encounter with Zeno, explaining that, somehow, the crypt where they had taken Gorgias must have been connected to the inside of the fortress. He added that—due to the plates and food scraps he found—he was convinced that it was used to imprison her father.
At that moment someone banged on the door. When Alcuin opened it, a soldier was there to inform him that his presence was required.
“What’s happening?”
“They’ve found the wet nurse drowned in the cloister well.”
When Alcuin arrived at the well, several men were lifting the body out using pikes. Finally the woman’s bloated corpse surfaced, collapsing like a sack of pork belly onto the cloister paving. Her clothes had come undone, revealing an immense pair of breasts, flaccid from feeding the girls. Then, Izam was lowered down to inspect the bottom of the well and make sure there were no other bodies. When he came back up, he assured Wilfred that his daughters were not there.
They took the body to the kitchens, where after a superficial examination, Alcuin determined that she had been strangled to death before being deposited in the well. Her fingernails were chipped, but there was no trace of skin embedded under them, which meant they may have been damaged when the body was retrieved. He then examined the genitals, verifying that the pubic hair matched what he’d found on her pallet. Among her clothes he found nothing of significance. Her outfit befitted her role, a dark habit protected by an apron. Her face, though swollen, seemed clean, with no creams or makeup. When he had finished, he gave permission for her shrouding. Then he asked to speak to Wilfred alone.
In private he informed the count of his findings, which suggested that a member of the clergy had seduced the woman in order to kidnap the girls. However, he added that in his opinion, it was likely the wet nurse wasn’t aware of her lover’s intentions.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because otherwise she would have prepared to make her escape, yet her belongings were found in her cell.”
“Perhaps they attacked her. We don’t know for sure, for goodness’ sake. And the man that you speak of? Do you have any clues?”
“The blankets stank of incense,” he explained.
“I will order every priest be detained. If anyone has touched the children, I will string them up by their own entrails.”
“Calm yourself, my Lord. Bear in mind that if they wanted to kill your daughters, they would have done so already. No, the twins are safe. And as for some other perverted or ghoulish intentions, I would rule that out, too. If that were the case, it would have been easier to take any other little girl. There are dozens astray on every corner.”
“Calm myself? With my daughters at the mercy of some fiend?”
“I repeat: If they wanted to harm them, we would already know about it.”
“If they wanted? Why do you speak in the plural?”
Alcuin pointed out that it would have been difficult for one man to carry and hide two little girls. As for the motive, excluding despicable acts, and ruling out revenge, there could only be one reason.
“Stop speaking in riddles, man.”
“Blackmail, my esteemed Wilfred. In exchange for their lives, they intend to obtain something that you possess: power… money… land.”
“I’m going to make those rats eat their own balls,” the count bellowed, touching his testicles. The two dogs became agitated, making the chair shake.
“In any event,” Alcuin reflected, “it could well be that the suspected cleric only amused himself with the nanny and played no part in the kidnapping.”
“So what do you suggest—that I stay here with my arms crossed?”
“Be patient and get on with the search. Put the priests under watch and have them take oaths. Block the movement of people and goods. Make a list of those who enjoy your complete trust and another of those you believe capable of blackmailing you. But above all, wait for the kidnappers to communicate their intentions to you—for once they do, time will be of the essence.”
Wilfred nodded.
They agreed to report back to each other as soon as they had any news. Then the count cracked his whip and left the kitchens. Alone in the room, Alcuin looked at the poor naked woman. He covered her with a sack and made the sign of the cross over her, thinking it lamentable that her carnal desires had led to her demise.
27
The day passed by slowly for Wilfred. Izam and his subordinates scoured granaries, barns, storehouses, towers, wells, tunnels, moats, passages, attics, cellars, carts, bales of straw, barrels, chests, and even cupboards. Nowhere went unchecked. Every man was questioned and searched from head to toe. Wilfred offered fifty arpents of vineyards to anyone who could provide information on the whereabouts of his daughters, and thirty more for the heads of their abductors. He locked himself in the armory and demanded hourly reports on the progress of the investigations.
Meanwhile, with Theodor’s help, he made a list of loyal subjects and another of adversaries. In the first, he wrote down only four names, then one by one decided to removed them. In the second, he included so many names that he did not wish to tell Alcuin. Wilfred excluded all newcomers from his list of suspects, for he believed that the abduction of his daughters had been a long time in the planning. In fact, he had accepted Alcuin’s suggestion to double the search party by forming two groups: one of his own men and another made up of the ship’s crew, led by Izam.
At sundown, Wilfred sent his men to scour the area. Violent exchanges and shouting could be heard throughout the night as soldiers interrogated townsfolk. Several priests were tortured, but at dawn, the soldiers returned with empty hands.
The next day was identical to the previous one. First thing in the morning, Wilfred decreed that the rationing of grain should be put on hold until the twins were found. He also sealed off the city walls so that no inhabitant could leave or enter without his knowledge. Alcuin advised him against indiscriminate reprisals, but the count assured him that as soon as the rabble were beset by hunger, the kidnappers would be turned in.
Since the girls had been abducted, Hoos had been very involved in the search. At first he had assisted Izam. Then, making the most of Wilfred’s trust in him, he put himself forward to inspect the royal granaries and their adjoining tunnels. Wilfred then placed Hoos in charge of his own men.
Theresa longed for Hoos’s caresses. She could still feel the intensity of his kisses, still taste his skin. Sometimes she caught herself pressing her legs together as if she could keep him there. Nonetheless, since their last encounter, she had hardly seen him. He was always busy, and she would rise early to go to the scriptorium, which she left only to eat in the kitchens. It even crossed her mind that he had taken up with another woman, and when she saw him she told him as much. He seemed hard-pressed, but even so, it bothered her when he said good-bye without even giving her a kiss.
While Theresa made progress in the scriptorium, Alcuin assessed the reports on the kidnapping that reached the fortress. Among them, there were several who claimed they had seen the late wet nurse practicing witchcraft, and others who blamed wolves for the little girls’ disappearance. Some seemed well intentioned, but most were from unscrupulous townsfolk lured by the reward. Several men had been thrashed for making up lies, but one of them mentioned the theft of some booties from the laundry.
Alcuin questioned the midget monk in charge of domestic services. He confirmed they were missing. “Some
times clothes are mislaid, but with the twins’ garments, we were always quite careful.”
He assured him that it had been four booties, plus a couple of the cloths used in the kitchens. Alcuin thanked him and returned to the scriptorium, convinced that the twins were still in the fortress. In a meeting with Izam, Alcuin suggested they keep watch over the storehouses and kitchens.
“If, like I suspect, they are still here, their abductors might need food.”
“That’s impossible. We’ve left no stone unturned.”
“I don’t doubt that, but there are more stones here than in a quarry.”
Alcuin asked Izam to post a guard at the door of the scriptorium day and night, which Izam agreed to readily. He also agreed to keep watch over the kitchens and report anything new to Wilfred in the morning.
That night, taking advantage of the moon’s absence, several hungry townspeople clambered over the wall that protected the royal granaries. The assailants were driven away, but it became very clear that Wilfred’s restrictive measures would soon bring serious consequences.
The next day at breakfast, Wilfred hardly ate. He was not interested in Alcuin’s discoveries and paid no attention when he was informed about the assault on the granaries. He seemed absent, as if some potion had clouded his mind. Fortunately, in a moment of lucidity he agreed to resume the distribution of provisions and allow for the transportation of goods. Izam applauded the decision, for it would prevent further incidents, although, like many others, he wondered what had triggered the change of heart. When Alcuin queried Wilfred on the matter, he refused to answer. The monk continued to prod him, but the count suggested that Alcuin concentrate on the parchment and step back from the kidnapping investigation. From now on, he said, he would lead the search for his daughters himself.
Over the course of the afternoon, normality returned to the fortress. Gradually the servants went back to their tasks, the grain was distributed to the townsfolk, and preparations began for the first hunt, which would take place with the arrival of spring. Izam and his men continued the repairs to the ship, which they had only half finished when they arrived in the city, and Wilfred’s soldiers returned to man the defenses.
The congregation attending the Sext service plodded into the Church of Saint John Chrysostom as unhurried as a herd of grazing sheep. The procession was led by Flavio Diacono wearing a striking purple biretta similar to a pope’s. He was followed by a retinue of clerics dressed like peacocks, followed by the minor orders, and then the choir boys. At the rear of the procession were a throng of curious townsfolk, worshippers, and starvelings wanting to attend a Eucharist to pray for the safe return of the twins.
The church soon filled like a packed sheepfold. When the great doors were closed, Cassiano, the precentor, had the boys warm up their voices. Then, with Flavio’s permission, he opened his arms like an angel to commence the miracle of Gregorian chant. Those in attendance, most of them clerics, bowed their heads when the first antiphon rang out in a symphony of celestial notes that made the ashlars vibrate. Cassiano swung his arms directing the swirl of voices up into the vaults, where they enveloped the pillars and reverberated until hairs stood on end. The music kept dancing, flowing from those cherubs like the melodic prayers of goldfinches
Then, abruptly, one of the voices fractured into a howl of terror. The rest of the children fell silent and everyone in the church turned toward the choir to see the boys retreating as if fleeing from a bad smell.
Lying on the ground before them, Korne the parchment-maker convulsed and vomited what little life he had left. By the time Alcuin reached him, the old man was dead.
They took the body to the sacristy, where Flavio anointed him with holy oil in a final attempt to resuscitate him. But despite his efforts, the body remained motionless. Alcuin noticed that Korne’s head had been shaved, that he had gray hairs on his pubis, and that he reeked of incense. Korne’s eyes seemed askew, and his mouth continued to issue a whitish froth. When Alcuin examined his hands, he found two puncture holes on the right palm.
When he informed Wilfred of what happened, the count merely continued to munch on the chicken thigh he was holding. After throwing the bones to the dogs, he looked at Alcuin indifferently as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The monk told him that he had found a snakebite on Korne’s right hand.
“Have him buried outside of the cloister,” was all he said in response.
“You don’t understand,” he persisted. “At this time of year there are no reptiles.”
“Würzburg is full of serpents,” he answered, turning to look elsewhere.
Alcuin could not comprehend his indifference after he had pointed out the strange, identical nature of Genseric’s and the parchment-maker’s deaths. And not only that, but he had also informed him of Korne’s gray hairs, the fact that his head was shaven, and—more important—that each morning, after breakfasting in the kitchens, Korne had accompanied the twins to their singing lessons. It seemed useless to explain that, in all likelihood, it was Korne who had abducted the twins. Anyone else in his place, crippled or otherwise, would have jumped with joy, and yet Wilfred remained impassive, as if his fate had already been decided.
Wilfred dismissed him without looking up. But as Alcuin left, the monk saw tears in the count’s eyes.
On the way to his chambers, Alcuin wondered what might be behind Wilfred’s strange reaction. In his mind, such melancholy could only be explained by temporary dementia caused by the loss of his daughters, even if, curiously, his delirium did not seem to be affecting the rest of his faculties. Consequently, it would be sensible to assume that his behavior was not random but premeditated, as if he had prior knowledge of a link between the deaths of Genseric and the parchment-maker.
He decided to visit Korne’s room in the fortress, for since the workshops had burnt down that was where he resided. The chamber was not unlike the one Alcuin was staying in. It had an old bed, a crude table with a stone bench under the window, some shelves with a work habit on top, some skins, and the usual bucket for emptying the bowels. He looked inside the container and recoiled in disgust. Then he crouched down to scour the floor, both examining it with his eyes and with his hands until he came across what seemed like a necklace bead. However, in the light he could see that the little white pebble with a blue circle painted on it was in fact an eye from one of the twins’ dolls. He was at pains to admit that the smell of incense had led him down the wrong path, believing the culprit to be a man of the church.
He immediately made for the scriptorium, where he found Theresa working in an uncharacteristically clumsy manner. Normally the young woman would practice the text she had to copy on some old parchment before doing the final version, but that afternoon she was smudging her writing as if she were painting with a brush. Although Alcuin reprimanded her, he sensed that her mistakes were owed not to incompetence, but because of something worrying her.
“It’s Hoos,” she finally confessed. “I don’t know if it’s because you reproached him, but ever since the night we were together…” She reddened. “I don’t know, he seems different.”
“I didn’t say anything to him. What do you mean by different?”
Tears rolled down the young woman’s face, and she told him that Hoos had been shunning her. That morning, after bumping into him, he had snubbed her cruelly.
“I even fear he might strike me,” she sobbed.
“Sometimes we men behave coarsely,” he said, trying to console her. “It’s a question of nature. If circumstances sometimes mar the souls of those at peace and cloud the minds of the learned, who knows what they might do to men who give in to their most sordid desires?”
“It’s not that,” she complained, as if Alcuin understood nothing. “There was something strange in his expression.”
Alcuin relented, patting her on the back. As he gathered up his notes, he thought to himself that he had enough on his plate with the disappearance of the twins to also have to try to reason with
a young woman in love. Instead, he asked her how the parchment was progressing.
“I’ve almost finished it,” she answered. “But I must admit there is something that has me worried.”
“I’m listening.”
Theresa went to find something and returned with an emerald-colored codex, which she placed in front of Alcuin.
“Aha! A Vulgate,” said the friar as he leafed through it.
“It’s my father’s Bible,” she said, stroking it with tenderness. “I found it in the crypt where he was imprisoned.”
“A nice copy.”
“That’s not all.” She picked up the Vulgate and opened it approximately from the middle. “Before the fire my father told me that if anything happened to him, I should look inside his book. I didn’t know what he was referring to at the time, in fact, I couldn’t even imagine that anything would happen to him. But now I believe that, while he was working for Wilfred, he began to fear for his life.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
She lifted the codex and forced the spine until a gap appeared between the gatherings. Then she inserted her fingers and pulled out a piece of parchment that she unfolded, and read from: “Ad Thessalonicenses epistula i Sancti Pauli Apostoli. 5.21. Omnia autem probate, quod bonum est tenete.” She translated: “Examine it all, retain the good.”
“Yes, but what does it mean?” he asked in surprise.
“On the face of it, nothing, so I did what it said in the quotation: I examined the Bible until my eyes hurt. Now look at this,” she said, pointing at a paragraph.
“What is it? I can’t see it.”
“It’s barely visible. My father must have diluted the ink with water so that it would barely leave a mark, but if you look carefully, you can see that between each line, as faint as morning dew, there are notes.”
Alcuin pressed his nose against the page but still could not make out a thing.
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