“Interesting. And what do the notes say?”
“I’m still confused. They provide information on the Donation of Constantine. But I believe my father discovered something strange in the text.”
Alcuin coughed and looked taken aback. “In that case it’s best I deal with this codex,” he decided. “And now, try to finish your work. I will keep searching for your father.”
When the monk left, she felt abandoned, and longed for a shoulder to lean on, for someone she could trust. Without intending to, she thought of Izam. He was so different than Hoos! Ever attentive and polite, always willing to help. She felt a little dirty thinking of him in such a way, but it was not the first time her thoughts had turned to him. His deliberate way of speaking, his warm voice, his kind eyes… Though she loved Hoos, sometimes she caught herself thinking of Izam, and it made her feel uncomfortable.
She considered Hoos’s strange conduct again, wondering why he was behaving in such a way. She trusted him. She truly loved him. She thought they would go to Fulda together, where they would start a family, and have strong and healthy children who she would raise and educate. Perhaps they would buy a large stone house, with stables outside, even. She even thought about decorating it with drapes so that Hoos would find it comfortable, and perfuming the rooms with rosemary and lavender. She wondered whether he had thought about such things, or if there was another woman, and that perhaps he had forgotten about Theresa’s love. Finally she turned to her parchments to continue copying, but she only got to the second line before thinking of Hoos again, and she knew that until she spoke to him, she would not be able to do anything well. She stopped writing, cleaned her instruments, and left the scriptorium intent on reclaiming the man she loved.
The soldier guarding the scriptorium informed her that Hoos Larsson could be found in the tunnel that connected the storehouses to the fortress. When Theresa arrived, she found him loading sacks of wheat onto a cart. At first Hoos appeared reticent to talk, but when she insisted, he stopped what he was doing and turned to her.
She spoke of her hopes and her needs. She told him that she dreamed of waking up beside him each morning, sewing his clothes, cleaning the house, and tending the vegetable garden, learning to cook so she could serve him as he deserved. She even asked him to forgive her, lest—without intending it—she had done something wrong.
Hoos acted distant, however, and impatient for her to finish. When she demanded a response, he said only that he had slept too few hours because he had been searching for her father. He told her he had interrogated half the city, scoured every nook and cranny, but it was as if he had been swallowed by the earth.
His words moved her. “So, you still love me?”
His only response was to kiss her, making all her fears fade away. Theresa felt happy. Still in his arms, she told him what had happened with Zeno and how he’d shown her to the crypt.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he said, stepping back in surprise.
Theresa argued that he was always busy. And she was terrified that someone might overhear and attempt to capture her father.
“He’s accused of murder,” she added as a reminder.
Hoos nodded, but Theresa insisted that her father was innocent. Zeno had amputated his arm and could testify to it. Then she began to cry inconsolably. Hoos was attentive, embracing her tenderly. He stroked her hair and promised her that from that moment on everything would change, he even asked her to forgive him for his foolish behavior. He explained that events had overwhelmed him, but that he loved her with all his soul and would help her find Gorgias.
“I’ll visit the crypt you speak of. Does anyone else know its location?”
She told him that only Alcuin was aware of its existence.
Hoos shook his head, repeating to her that she should not trust the monk. Then he asked her to go back to the scriptorium, promising that as soon as he discovered anything, he would come for her.
On the way to the scriptorium, Theresa recalled that, according to Alcuin, Genseric was already dead when he was stabbed, and she thought to herself that Hoos should be made aware of this fact. She had sworn to Alcuin that she would not tell anyone, but in reality that oath concerned the document, and not a matter that might prove vital for finding her father.
Turning around, she returned to the part of the tunnel where she had left Hoos, but all she discovered were a few abandoned sacks of grain. Surprised, she looked around and saw a side door, through which she could hear voices. She pushed the door open and walked down a narrow corridor, at the end of which she thought she could make out two faintly illuminated figures. One of the appeared to be a cleric. The other was Hoos Larsson. She continued until, to her surprise, she heard them arguing about her.
“I’m telling you, that girl is a problem. If she knows where the crypt is, she could tell anyone. We must eliminate her,” the cassocked man asserted.
Theresa’s heart thumped.
“And the rest of them? The girl trusts me and will do what I say. She doesn’t know about the twins—or about her father and the mine,” said Hoos. “When she has finished the document, then we’ll get rid of her.”
The cleric shook his head, but then agreed.
Hoos Larsson brought their conversation to a close, and without saying good-bye he made for the door.
When Theresa realized he was heading her way, she ran down the corridor toward the exit. But as she ran, she tripped over a sack of grain and fell to the floor. When she tried to stand up, Hoos was there.
He reached down and grabbed hold of her arm. “What are you doing here?” he asked without releasing her.
“I came back to tell you I love you,” she lied, trembling.
“From the floor?” Hoos had noticed the door that she had left ajar, but he said nothing.
“In the darkness, I tripped.”
“Tell me then.”
“Tell you what?” she asked, red-faced.
“That you love me. Wasn’t that why you came back?”
“Ah, yes!” She was shaking as she forced a smile.
Hoos pulled her to him without letting go of her arm. He kissed her on the lips, and she didn’t protest.
“Now get back to the scriptorium.”
When at last he released her, Theresa’s soul was filled with hatred for that man and his serpent tattoo.
She could not comprehend it. The idea that Hoos—the man she had given herself to—intended to murder her made it impossible to think straight. She ran to the scriptorium without looking where she was going, like an outlaw pursued by a pack of wolves. She tried to understand how it could have happened, but she could not find an explanation. Images of her father at the mine swirled around with the images of Hoos making love to her. As she ran, tears clouded her vision. Who was the cleric she had seen from the back? Alcuin himself, perhaps?
When she reached the scriptorium she found it empty, but the sentry allowed her in because he knew her. She searched for the document she had been working on but couldn’t find it, so she assumed that Alcuin or Wilfred had gone off with it. However, under some parchments, she found her father’s emerald-colored Vulgate. She took it along with a couple of pens and left, intending to flee the fortress.
Avoiding dark corners, she moved along the corridors as if she feared someone would jump on her at any moment. As she passed the armory, a cassocked man suddenly stood in her way. Theresa’s blood froze, but the cleric merely pointed to a pen that she had just dropped. The young woman picked up, thanked him, and walked on, her pace quickening with every step. She went down the stairs and turned down the passage that connected the entrance hall to the cloister. From there she would go out into the courtyard and then to the fortress walls.
She walked with her head bowed, trying to conceal herself with her cloak, when suddenly she saw Hoos and Alcuin talking on the other side of the cloister.
Hoos saw her, too.
She quickly averted her gaze and kept walking, but she sa
w him take his leave and quickly head toward her. Theresa was almost at the exit. She went out into the courtyard and broke into a run, but as she reached the fortress wall she realized in horror that the gates were closed. She looked behind her and saw Hoos in the distance advancing slowly but deliberately. Her heart pounded. She turned again, desperately seeking another way out.
At that moment she saw Izam on horseback by the stables. She ran toward him and asked him to lift her up. Izam was puzzled but gave her his arm and hoisted her onto the hindquarters. Crying, she begged him to take her away from the fortress. Izam asked no questions. He spurred on the horse and shouted an order for the gates to be opened. Moments later, with Hoos cursing his bad luck, they had left the walls and the citadel behind.
Izam guided his mount through the ant’s nest of narrow streets until they reached some abandoned shacks in the poor quarter outside the walls. He dismounted next to some abandoned-looking stables. Leading the horse inside, he tethered it to a rail. Then he piled up some straw and offered it to Theresa to sit on. When he thought she had calmed down, he asked her what was going on. She tried to speak, but her weeping prevented her. As much as he tried, Izam was unable to console her. After a while Theresa ran out of tears and she abandoned herself to melancholy. Without knowing why, he took the liberty of holding her, and she was comforted to think that someone was protecting her.
When at last she could speak, she told him what she had witnessed in the tunnel. She explained that she had heard Hoos promising to kill her, and also that he knew the whereabouts of her father. She had to persuade Izam that Gorgias was no murderer, that they had to find him, for he was undoubtedly in danger. However, Izam urged her to continue her story. She told him all she knew, leaving out Constantine’s document. The young man listened closely and inquired about Alcuin’s role, though Theresa could not give him a clear answer. Izam pondered it all and finally decided to help.
“But it will have to be tomorrow. It’s getting dark, and going down into the mine now would be an open invitation to bandits.”
Theresa cursed those Saxons a thousand times. She hated them with all her being. She remembered again her assailants after she had fled Würzburg, the brutal attack during their voyage on the ship, and how the one person they should have killed—that bastard Hoos Larsson—remained alive. She was surprised when Izam corrected her assumption.
“I don’t think they were Saxons. They were just outlaws. The rabble doesn’t distinguish between the two because they identify pagans with evil, and evil with the Saxons. But the Saxons that are still resisting are hiding out in the north, beyond the Rhine.”
“It doesn’t matter whether they’re bandits or Saxons. They’re all our enemies.”
“Of course, and I fight them with everything I have, but as strange as it may seem, I have never hated the Saxons. They’re only defending their lands, their children, their beliefs. They’re rough, yes. And cruel. But how would you behave if one morning you got out of bed to find an army laying waste to everything you know and love? Those pagans are fighting for what they’ve had since they were born, for a way of life that some foreigners from far off lands have come to take from them. I must admit that on occasions I have admired their valor and aspired to their energy. I even believe they truly hate God, for they often fight like demons. But I can assure you that they are only guilty of having been born in the wrong place and wrong time.”
Theresa looked at him disconcertedly. In her mind, like all humans, the Saxons were children of God. So how could they be guided toward the Truth if they refused to accept it? At any rate, she thought, her anger returning, who in hell cares about the Saxons? Hoos, now he was a real servant of the Devil—the worst kind anyone could meet. The only man who had ever made her feel truly happy was nothing more than a con artist she now hated with such venom that she would gladly tear him apart with her bare hands. She kicked herself for having been so naive, for having wanted to marry him and give her life to an animal like that.
Her anger clouded her senses, making her incapable of distinguishing between rage and cold. She put Hoos out of her mind and laid her head against Izam’s chest. His warmth comforted her. When she asked where they would spend the night, she was surprised to hear him say they would stay in the shack. He didn’t trust anyone in the fortress anymore. The young man covered her with his cloak and took some cheese from his bag. When he offered her some, Theresa refused, but Izam broke off a piece and made her eat it. Her mouth brushed against his fingers.
As the young woman savored the food, Izam regretted not having any more cheese so that he might touch her lips again. He recalled the day they met. He had been attracted by her polite demeanor, her honey-colored eyes, and her messy hair. She was so different from the plump, rosy-cheeked girls that populated Fulda. But later it had been her bold and impetuous character that had captivated him. Curiously, the fact that she could read—something that would unnerve any normal man—fascinated him. He loved the interest with which she listened to him, and in turn he enjoyed listening to her stories about her native Constantinople. And now he was beside her, protecting her amid so many strange events, and not knowing what was real and what was fantasy.
28
When the voices woke Gorgias, it was already nightfall at the mine. He had just enough time to roll to one side and pull the pallet over himself. Pain shot through him as he fell on the stump of his arm. He crouched down and waited in silence, praying to God that the darkness would protect him.
Before long, hidden in the shadows inside the miner’s hut, he listened to the approaching voices until finally he could see two individuals bearing torches. One of them was tall and blond, and the other appeared to be a priest. The strangers separated and began to sniff around the shacks, kicking aside the discarded junk. At one point the blond one came near his hiding place while the other waited at a distance. For a moment Gorgias thought he would be discovered, but in the end the man turned around, signaled to the clergyman, and they each deposited a bundle just a few paces from where he was hiding. Then they turned around and, as quickly as they had arrived, disappeared into the darkness.
Gorgias hid until he was sure they were not coming back. After a while he poked out his head and rested his gaze on the abandoned bundles. Suddenly one of them moved, making Gorgias give a start. He thought it might be some kind of wounded beast, so when the movements stopped, he decided to investigate.
With difficulty he left his hiding place and dragged himself toward the two bundles. He could barely manage to do even this. In the last week his arm had taken a turn for the worse—so much so that he had spent several days lying down without eating a thing. His fever told him that he was dying. If he had been able to find the strength, he would have returned to Würzburg, but for some time he had been breathless from his shivering.
He reached the first bundle and probed it with a stick. Squeezing it, he noted that it yielded and wriggled, and he flinched when it let out its first groan. He kept silent, and immediately heard it again. This time it faltered, making almost a moaning sound. Frightened, he slowly approached and unwrapped the bundle and, stunned, he did the same with the second one. When he had finished, he couldn’t believe his eyes, which were the size of two great plates. Before him, gagged with kitchen cloth, lay Wilfred’s twins.
He quickly undid the ligatures that bound them, lifted up the one that was breathing and nervously slapped the cheeks of the one that he hoped was sleeping. But she gave no reaction. He assumed she was dead, but when he tipped her chin up, the little girl coughed and began to cry, spluttering and asking for her father. Gorgias thought to himself that if those men heard the girls they would come back and kill them all, so he dragged the twins as quickly as he could to one of the tunnels, where he hid and hoped that the stone would muffle their crying. However, once inside, they sank into a strange torpor that made them sleep.
As on the preceding days, Gorgias struggled to get to sleep. Though still consumed by fever,
the presence of the girls had given him back a little of the lucidity that he had lacked for so long. He stood and contemplated them. Their faces seemed a little blue, so he woke them up by timidly nudging them. When they were awake, he lifted up the one that was most alert, tidied her curls and sat her down like a rag doll. The little girl teetered a little but managed to keep her balance, even after hitting her head against the corf he had leaned her against. She seemed dazed, for she made no complaint. The other girl was in a stupor. He could barely feel her pulse. He poured a little of the water he kept in the tunnel on her head, but still there was no reaction. He did not know if their condition was the reason for their abandonment, but he knew that if he did not get them to Würzburg soon they would undoubtedly perish.
With the sun coming up, Gorgias decided to take them outside. It felt cold out in the open, auguring a storm. He wondered how he would transport them if he could barely stand himself. Searching the area, he found a wooden chest to which he tied a rope. He knotted this to his belt and then dragged it through the mud to where he had left the twins. Carefully, he placed them inside, explaining that it was a little carriage, but the little girls remained in a daze. He stroked their heads and then pulled on the rope. The chest didn’t budge. He removed the stones that were in its path and then pulled again. The chest slid along heavily behind Gorgias as he set off for Würzburg.
He had not gone even half a mile when he sank into the mud. The first time he got up again. The second time, he passed out and fell to the ground.
He stayed there, lying flat on his face until the weeping of one of the children prompted him to continue, but he could not find the strength to stand up. He merely panted like a wounded animal. He dragged himself to the side of the road. There, as he got his breath back, he realized he would never accomplish what he had set out to do. His stump was hurting again, with the pain reaching to his lungs, though he no longer cared. He rested against the side of a rock and wept in despair. He was not concerned for his own life, but he was desperate to protect the two little girls.
The Scribe Page 47