The Scribe(118)
They agreed on a price of twenty denarii, a good deal considering the animal was over three years old.
“Not unlike me,” said Fior with a smile, revealing several wooden teeth. “Slender and hardworking from the moment I get out of bed.”
Then he showed them some leather tack and several farming implements. Some were in need of repair, but they were needed and the merchant offered them for a good price, so Theresa and Alcuin decided to buy them. After securing the gear to the ox, they asked Fior about cheap slaves, but when he heard how much money they had, he shook his head and assured them that for that price they couldn’t even buy a domesticated pig.
“For that money I could sell you Olaf. He’s a hard worker, but since he lost his leg he’s only brought me problems. He’s yours if you want him.”
Seeing her apparent interest, Alcuin took Theresa aside.
“It would just be another mouth to feed. And for the love of God! He’s missing a leg. Why would he give him away if he was any use?” he blurted out.
But the young woman became obstinate. If she were going to own slaves, she would be the one to decide how many legs they had.
“His wife and children can also work,” she argued.
“He won’t sell them. Or he’ll ask for more money. More than we can pay. Plus, you need a slave, not an entire family.”
“It was you who told me that married ones are preferable, with ties that will stop them from fleeing.”
“For goodness’ sake! How is he going to run away if he’s crippled?”
Theresa turned away and approached Fior, who was patiently waiting with the cup of wine still in his hand.
“All right, we’ll take them,” she said, pointing at the woman and her children who were listening in from behind a cart.
“Oh! No. The woman and children aren’t included. If you want them you’ll have to pay another fifty denarii.”
“Fifty denarii for a family of skeletons?” she replied in indignation.
“No, no. Fifty each! In total, a hundred and fifty denarii.”
Theresa looked him directly in the eyes. If he thought he was a good barterer, he didn’t know who he was dealing with yet. She took out her scramasax and in one slash cut the strap that held the gear to the ox, making everything fall to the ground with a loud crash. The man looked at her in surprise.
“Forty denarii for the whole family. Take it, or you can keep your cripple, your midget ox, and your knackered old implements.”
The man clenched his teeth, looked at the gear and burst into laughter, flashing his gums.
“Damned money-grubber! To hell with all you women.”
He laughed again and took the pouch that the young woman was holding out to him. Then he toasted the transaction before Theresa and Alcuin set off on their return trip, with Olaf hobbling behind them and his wife pulling the ox with the two children sitting on its hindquarters, prodding it along.
On their way to the cathedral, Olaf proved to be a poor walker but able talker. His life had been a difficult one, though no more than any other slave-born man. His parents had been slaves and it was a natural state of life for him. He did not yearn for freedom, for he had never known it, and most of his masters had treated him well because he had always worked hard.
In fact, the only thing Olaf pined for was his missing leg. It had happened two years earlier while he was felling a great fir tree. It came down sooner than he expected and crushed his knee, shattering the bones. Fortunately, a butcher managed to amputate his broken limb before the rot could take him to the grave. Since then his family’s situation had deteriorated to become a living hell.
At first, his master Fior had attended to him in the hope that he would be able to work just as he had before the accident. However, he soon realized that having just one leg had made Olaf a burden that was difficult to justify.
While Olaf was recovering, his knowledge of the fields and skill with his hands made up for his invalidity, but as soon as Fior appointed a new foreman, Olaf was relegated to women’s tasks. So he went from overseeing the rest of the slaves to dragging himself around the storerooms searching for scraps with which to feed his children and his wife, Lucille.
“But I can still work,” Olaf insisted as he stepped up the pace with his crutch. “I can ride, and I know the countryside like the palm of my hand.”
“Don’t buy any horses then,” Alcuin whispered to Theresa, “or he’ll take off on the first one we acquire.”
Back in Fulda, Alcuin suggested that Olaf and his family stay in the abbey until the hut in the forest was ready. They stabled the ox and went to the monastery kitchen, where some monks provided them with onion soup and apples, the children celebrating as if they had been given cake. After dinner they were allowed to sleep near the fire, which they were all grateful for. Worn out, the mother and children soon fell asleep, but Olaf barely closed his eyes, for he had never slept on a woolen pallet.
The next morning, Theresa went to the monastery stables before taking them to their new land. At the stables they were lent a cart to transport the grain, some food, and some old implements that they would have to return within a week. Theresa thanked Alcuin for excusing her from her usual duties for the day and for his help obtaining the loan of tools. Though they went by the shortest route, it took them half the morning since Olaf insisted on traveling on foot to show Theresa that he could manage by himself.