The Scribe (68 page)

Theresa gripped the crossbow until her arms stopped trembling. She closed one eye and, calmly, she fired. Hoos was about to thrust his dagger into Izam when he felt something thump into his back. He looked down toward his chest and suddenly his vision clouded. In utter disbelief he saw a bloody dart poking through his jacket. He turned in the direction of the arrow and saw Theresa’s
face through the window wearing an expression of pure vengeance. It was the last thing he saw before falling into the void.

Izam didn’t stop to look. He quickly crawled up to the tower just as the trunk broke off and plummeted into the moat, taking the parade ground wall with it.

As soon as he got to his feet he embraced Theresa, who was crying inconsolably. Without a second thought he kissed her. They were both soaked to the bone. Slowly, they descended the stairs, in silence.

Down below, the soldiers were beating away at the door, but the thick timber and solid bar held. Izam drew aside the bar. On the other side Drogo, Alcuin, Flavio Diacono, and the two guards awaited them. Wilfred was some distance behind them, near the wall that had just been destroyed.

“Thank you,” Alcuin said to Izam.

Theresa did not understand. Izam had just defeated his champion and Alcuin was praising him. She was even more confused when the monk turned to her and shielded her with his cassock. At that moment, Drogo ordered the soldiers to leave the parade ground.”

“All will become clear,” Alcuin declared serenely.

The rain subsided. The monk approached Flavio, who curiously retreated toward the crumbling parapet. “I must admit it wasn’t easy,” he said. “You, Flavio Diacono, papal envoy of Rome. Who could have imagined you were the cause of so much adversity?”

Theresa made as if to say something, but Izam made her wait.

“The attack on Gorgias,” Alcuin continued, “the death of the poor wet nurse, the abduction of the little girls, the murder of the young sentry… tell me, Flavio, how far would you have gone?”

“You’re raving mad,” he said with an awkward smile. “The outcome of the trial by ordeal clearly proves your guilt. The defeat of your champion discredits you.”

“Defeat? It was you who chose Hoos Larsson.”

“To defend
your
honor,” Flavio argued.

“To save yourself is more likely. If Hoos died, you would rid yourself of your henchman, the only person who could give you away. Hoos always acted under your orders. And what do you say about Genseric, your other ally? You paid both very well with gold solidi minted in Byzantium.” Alcuin took out a pouch and showed it to him. “A coin whose circulation, as everyone knows, is prohibited in Frankish lands. Where did you get them?”

“I gave that money to Hoos so he would fight,” the nuncio blurted out. “You approved the payment yourself.”

“Flavio, Flavio! For the love of God. I found these coins before Izam challenged me. To be precise, it was the same day Theresa discovered you conspiring in the tunnel with Hoos Larsson.”

Flavio fell silent. Then suddenly he positioned himself behind Wilfred’s carriage and threatened to push it into the void.

“You can go ahead as far as I’m concerned,” Alcuin said without turning a hair. “It’s no less than he deserves.”

The count’s eyes, already a picture of terror, opened even wider as he heard Alcuin’s words.

The monk continued. “Because it was Wilfred who eliminated Genseric,” he declared. “When he discovered that his coadjutor had betrayed him, that Genseric had been responsible for Gorgias’s disappearance in order to take possession of the parchment, he had no qualms about murdering him. And later he did the same with Korne,” Alcuin added. Then he looked Wilfred in the eye and discreetly pointed to the handrail on the chair.

Wilfred understood. Aware that Flavio Diacono was holding the rail, he triggered the spring and there was a metallic click. The Roman nuncio felt a prick in his palm, but paid no attention to it.

“Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking? I am an emissary of the pope,” Flavio stressed again.

“And you are a follower of Irene of Byzantium, the traitorous empress who blinded her own son and hates the Papacy. The woman who corrupted you and whom you now serve. You intended to deliver the document to prevent Charlemagne’s coronation. And now let go of Wilfred, and tell us where you have hidden the document that you stole from the scriptorium.”

Flavio reeled. The venom was already taking effect. He put his hand in his robe and pulled out a folded parchment.

“Is this what you’re looking for? A false document? Tell me, Alcuin, who is most…?” He shook his head as if something was echoing around it. “Who is most at fault? He who, like me, fights to ensure that the truth prevails, or he who, like you, uses covetous lies to achieve his ends.”

“The only truth is God’s truth. It is He who wants the Papacy to live on.”

“The Byzantine or the Roman?” Flavio blinked nervously, as though trying to see clearly.

Alcuin made as if to approach him, but Flavio warned him against it. “One step closer and I’ll tear the parchment to pieces.”

The monk stopped immediately, knowing that all he had to do to get his hands on the document was wait until the venom took full effect. However, Wilfred did not wait. When he saw that the papal nuncio was staggering, he released his hounds. The dogs, loyal executors of his commands, threw themselves at the Roman’s throat.

One dog latched onto Flavio’s arm, while another tore at his robe. In the struggle, he dropped the parchment and one of the animals ravaged it until it was destroyed. Flavio, even under attack, attempted to retrieve it, but another hound leaped at his face, making him lose his footing. The man teetered on the edge of the
precipice. For a second, he looked at Alcuin in disbelief, then both dog and man tilted backward into the void.

When Alcuin looked over the edge, he saw Flavio Diacono’s body together with Hoos Larsson’s at the bottom of the precipice.

After picking up the remains of the parchment, Alcuin realized with a heavy heart that it could never be reconstructed. He crossed himself slowly and turned to Drogo. Theresa thought she could even see the sparkle from a tear in Alcuin’s eye.

31

Gorgias’s funeral was held in the main church in the presence of Drogo, the rest of the papal delegation, and a choir of boys. To Theresa, the antiphons they intoned sounded like the antechamber to heaven itself. Her stepmother, Rutgarda, accompanied by her sister, Lotharia, and her husband and their children, could not refrain from sobbing inconsolably.

Standing farther back, Izam offered Theresa a seat, but she preferred to stand. Although Theresa felt that this Saturday in March was the saddest of her life, the young woman listened to the homily feeling strong and proud of her father.

Rutgarda, on the other hand, cried until she ran out of tears. When the service was over, they carried the coffin in procession to the cemetery. At the express desire of Alcuin, Gorgias’s remains were buried alongside the region’s most distinguished deceased, those who through their sanctity or courage had defended Würzburg and its Christian values.

On the following Sunday morning, Theresa went to see Alcuin at his request. She didn’t feel like seeing him, but Izam insisted that she go. When she arrived at the scriptorium for their meeting, she found Izam also waiting for her. She greeted both of them warmly
and sat in the chair they had ready for her. Alcuin offered her some hot buns, but Theresa declined. Then there was a moment’s silence, broken when Alcuin cleared his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want one?” he asked again, but she shook her head no. He moved the buns out of the way and spread the remains of the chewed parchment over the table. “So much work, and for nothing,” he grumbled.

Theresa could only think about her dead father.

“How are you feeling?” Izam asked her.

In a thin voice Theresa said she was fine. It was obvious that she was lying, for her eyes were wet. Alcuin bit his lip, breathed deeply, and took the young woman’s hand in his. But she pulled it away, so Izam took her hand in his own. Alcuin finished gathering up the remains of the parchment and then set them aside as if they were any old pile of scrap.

“I don’t know where to begin,” said the monk. “First, I pray to God that He may be the one to judge me for my rights and wrongs. On the one hand, I feel honored to have served Him, and on the other, I regret my wrongdoings, even if I did commit them in His name. He knows everything, and I commend myself to Him.” He paused and looked at the two of them. “It is easy to pass judgment in hindsight. I may have erred by using lies, but I am consoled to think that I was guided only by what I felt inside to be just and Christian.
Accidere ex una cintilla incendia passim
. On occasions, a tiny spark can cause a great fire. I must accept that I’m ultimately responsible for all that has happened here, and even if because of the bitter consequences, I offer you my apologies. That said, you must know the events that led to how your father ended up in a grave in the cemetery.”

Theresa looked at Izam and he squeezed her hands. She trusted him. She turned back to Alcuin and listened.

“As I have already said, I met your father in Italy. There I convinced him to come with me to Würzburg, where he worked
for me for many years. His knowledge of Latin and Greek were providential for me for translations of codices and epistles. He always told me he liked to write as much or more than he liked a good roast dinner,” he said with a sad smile. “Perhaps that was why, when at the beginning of the winter I proposed that he copy the parchment, your father immediately accepted. He knew its significance, but not its falsity, something which, I repeat, I have no qualms about.” He stood and continued his account pacing around the room. “Wilfred, His Holiness the Pope, and, of course, Charlemagne, knew about his activity. Unfortunately, Flavio found out, too, and the empress of Byzantium must have deceived him and corrupted him with money.

“That’s when Flavio devised a plan worthy of the Devil’s own son. He knew Genseric, who had lived in Rome before settling in Würzburg, so he persuaded the pope to send him to Aquis-Granum with the relics of the Santa Croce. Through an emissary, he convinced Genseric with bribes to keep him informed, and he traveled to Fulda with the chest containing the
lignum crucis
, which he intended to use as a hiding place for Constantine’s parchment when he transported it to Byzantium. Genseric, meanwhile, sought the assistance of Hoos Larsson, an unscrupulous young man he did not hesitate to hire in order to help him get his hands on the document.”

Theresa did not know why she was still listening to him. This saintly monk had falsely accused her of stealing the parchment, and if it were not for Izam’s victory, he would have insisted on her being burned alive. But she stayed because of Izam.

“Genseric enjoyed Wilfred’s favor,” Alcuin continued. “He had access to the scriptorium, and he knew the progress your father was making. I imagine that back in January, because of the amount of time that had passed since Gorgias first began his work on the document, he assumed that it was finished, so he ordered Hoos to get hold of the parchment through whatever means necessary.
Hoos attacked Gorgias and wounded him. But he did not get what he wanted, because, fortunately for your father, he went off with only a partial draft.”

Fortunately for your father
. Inwardly, Theresa cursed him.

“That is when the seal of Constantine enters the stage.” Alcuin went over to a cupboard and took from it a beautifully carved dagger. Theresa recognized it as the one Hoos Larsson had. “We found it on Hoos in the gorge,” he explained. With some effort he rotated the handle until it clicked. From inside he removed a cylinder with a face carved into one end. Alcuin soaked it in ink and pressed it onto a parchment. “Constantine’s seal,” he announced. “After stealing it from Wilfred, Genseric gave it to Hoos to keep hidden.”

“Wilfred had the seal?” Izam asked.

“Indeed. As you know, the parchment had three components: the medium itself, made from extremely fine vellum of unborn calf; the text in Latin and Greek, which Gorgias had to transcribe; and Constantine’s seal. Without all three things, it would be worthless. When Genseric saw that the stolen document was incomplete, he decided to snatch the seal.”

“But what did Flavio want? The seal or the parchment?” Theresa cut in.

“Sorry if I’m confusing you,” the monk said. “Flavio wanted to prevent the document from being presented to the council. He had various options: steal the document, take possession of the seal, or eliminate your father. They attempted them in that order. Bear in mind that, if they could get their hands on an original, they could demonstrate that the document was a fake in the event that it was transcribed onto another parchment.”

“And that’s why they kept my father alive.”

“Undoubtedly they would have killed him had he finished the document. But now let us return to Constantine’s seal.” Alcuin stopped to pick up a piece of cake, finishing it in just a few bites. Then he cleaned the seal and screwed it back into the dagger.
“Hoos retreated to his cabin looking for somewhere to hide the dagger. There, as you told me, he found you in trouble.”

“Though it pains me to admit it, he saved me from two Saxons.”

“And you repaid him by running off with his dagger?”

Theresa nodded. She knew then why Hoos had been so keen to find her.

“When you went to Fulda, naturally I recognized you. I didn’t recall your face, but aside from Gorgias’s daughter, I don’t think there’s another young woman in all Franconia who can read Greek written on a jar.”

Theresa recalled that day at the apothecary when he had offered her work.

“Because of who your father was,” the monk acknowledged. “Then Hoos got better after having recovered his dagger with the seal, and he disappeared without a trace.” Alcuin sat opposite Theresa and took one last mouthful. “Hoos went back to Würzburg, where he met Genseric, and together they hatched a plan to kidnap your father to force him to finish the parchment. Fortunately, Gorgias managed to escape. Following Genseric’s death, Hoos must not have known what to do. He returned to Fulda to speak with Flavio Diacono, who no doubt suggested that he use you as a hostage to find your father, or if it came to it, replace him as a scribe. Wilfred had suspected Genseric for some time. Gorgias had vanished, but curiously his belongings didn’t disappear until two days later. By then, Wilfred had already ordered Theodor to watch the scriptorium, and it was the giant who discovered that the thief was Genseric.”