The Scribe(115)

Theresa bent down and picked up another pebble.

“And that there?” she said, pointing toward a little mound. She took a step back and tried to launch the stone at it. Izam moved his head out of the way instinctively. The stone fell far short of its mark. After his initial surprise, he burst into laughter like little boy.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Theresa complained.

“Oh, so you did it on purpose!” he replied, laughing heartily again.

They sat down to eat lunch on some piles of wood that marked the ground plan of the house. Izam had brought a bag of freshly baked bread and cheese, which they savored as they listened to the gurgle of a nearby stream. A couple of hours had gone by, but Izam admitted that they were actually very close to the town still. “Half an hour on horseback,” he told her.

“So why did we take so long?”

“I wanted to follow the course of the river, to see if it’s navigable. If you can get your hands on a barge, then you’ll be able to use it to transport grain. By the way, there is something that worries me.” He went over to his mount and took a crossbow from a saddlebag. “Recognize it?”

“Nope,” she responded without paying it much attention.

“It’s the one picked up and used the other day at dinner.”

“Ah! I don’t know. I wouldn’t know one from another.”

“That’s precisely what intrigues me. I don’t believe there is another one like this in all Franconia.”

He explained that the crossbow was a rare weapon. In fact, he had never seen any other.

“I built this following the descriptions provided by Vegetius in his work De Re Militari, a fourth-century manuscript on the art of war that Charlemagne showed to me. That was why I was surprised, not just that you not only chose it from the pile, but also that you knew how to use it.”

She told him that a man who had helped her in the mountain possessed a similar weapon. But when she told him that he had bought it from a soldier, he shook his head in wonder.

“The first one I built was stolen from me. Perhaps it was the soldier you mention, or even the man who helped you.”

They chatted for a while longer before she suggested they return. Izam agreed. He took one last look at the land and led the horses to the stream to water them. Once they had set off, Theresa spurred on her mount, for she was eager to tell Helga about all she had seen.

As they returned to Fulda, Theresa thanked the engineer again. Izam smiled, but told her that it was Charlemagne who she should be thanking. All he had done was follow his orders. When they finally went their separate ways, his green eyes lingered with her.


Back in the kitchens, Theresa found Helga plucking a pheasant. She seemed busy, but as soon as she saw Theresa, she dropped the bird and ran to meet her. Theresa suggested they go out to the well and take a break on the way. They sat on a stone bench and Helga demanded to hear every last detail. She listened to Theresa with such excitement it was as if the land belonged to her.

“And all that is yours?” she asked in disbelief.

Theresa nodded. She told her about the great expanse of the arable areas, the vineyards, the hay meadows, the river, and the house. Finally, she also mentioned the young man, Izam.

“He was very kind,” she said.

“And handsome,” Helga added, giving her a wink. She had seen him through the window.

Theresa smiled. Indeed, the engineer was attractive, though of course, not as handsome as Hoos. They continued to talk about the lands until Favila, fed up with their chitchat, came out to prod them back to work with a poker.

The two women laughed and ran to the kitchen to continue their conversation whenever the cook left the room. Theresa told her that she was worried about her lack of means to work the land, and Helga reassured her.

“But you can’t imagine how much there is to do! The lands are only half-tilled. I’ll need a plow and an ox—and someone to help me. So many things!”

“Oh! I bet you’d be less worried if you had debts instead of lands.”

Theresa fell silent. Perhaps, she thought, there was a neighbor who could give her advice, but the fact was that the only person she had to turn to for help was right in front of her. Seeing her despondency, Helga put her arm around her.

“Cheer up! I still have some of the money you gave me when you sold the bear’s head. You could use it to buy a young ox.”

“But that money’s for my lodgings.”

“Don’t be silly, lass. You got me this job, so don’t you worry about it. Anyway, this is your opportunity: When the land starts to bear fruit, you’ll pay me back with interest.” She pinched her cheek.

She explained that a one-year-old ox cost twelve denarii, while an adult one ranged between forty-eight and seventy-two, or in other words, around three months’ wages. To Theresa the price seemed within anyone’s reach, but Helga explained that nobody can go three months without eating. When they had finished their cooking duties, Theresa continued the conversation.

“Izam said we can return to the lands tomorrow. What do you think I should call them?”

“Hmmm, let me think… Theresa’s wonderlands!” she said, laughing.

The young woman cuffed Theresa around the head and Helga returned the gesture, making them laugh like little girls.


In the afternoon Theresa returned to the scriptorium, where she found Alcuin buried in his documents. She had hundreds of questions for him, but as she was about to start asking them, the monk stood.