The Scribe(119)

When they reached the hut, the boys seemed delighted. They climbed up onto the roof like squirrels and ran through the fields until they collapsed with exhaustion. Olaf called them nicknames like midgets, loudmouths, and urchins, but he always called his wife his “beloved Lucille.”

Together Lucille and Olaf built a rudimentary fence around the hut, cleared the area around it, and made a mound of stones where they could cook without the wind blowing the fire about. They prepared a stew of pork belly and turnips, which the boys devoured before it even hit their plates. Olaf then built some simple traps, which he set up in the surrounding area. It would mean they could add rabbit and mice to the pulses that they would have to live off of until spring.

By midafternoon, in unison the boys announced the arrival of a man on horseback. It was Izam of Padua, Charlemagne’s engineer.

Olaf neared the horse so he could tend to it, but the man remained mounted. He approached Theresa and told her to jump on. She was surprised, but she obeyed.

“Alcuin told me about this foolery,” he said, “but I can see it’s worse than I thought. What possessed you to buy a cripple? What a way to ruin your estate.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be doing such a bad job,” Theresa said, pointing at the slave. At that moment, Olaf was returning with a rabbit in his hand.

Then Izam spurred on the animal until they were some distance from the hut.

“These are lands to sweat blood into. They’re not for a charity case. It rains, hails, and snows here—you’ll have to plow fields, fell trees, drive oxen, build a house, saw timber, clear undergrowth, and do a thousand other things. Who is going to do all that? A one-legged man and three skeletons?”

Theresa dismounted from the horse and started walking back to the hut. Izam turned his mount and followed her.

“What a stubborn girl. Going back there won’t solve anything. You’ll just have to sell them again.”

The young woman spun round. “Who do you think you are? These lands are mine, and I will do as I please with them.”

“Oh really?” Izam said, skeptically glancing at the slaves.

She realized in that moment that the slaves were her responsibility now: As Alcuin had informed her, she had to look after them, and if they did not work hard enough, the land might become their grave.

When she asked Izam what options she had, he assured her that the few he could think of all involved selling the slaves. “I’m not saying they’re useless, but they’re not for this estate. Let’s go back to the market. Perhaps we can return them without losing much money.”

Theresa acknowledged that he was probably right. Yet when they returned to the hut and she saw the two little boys playing, she was incapable of accepting his proposal.

“Let’s wait a week,” she suggested. “If in that time they haven’t been able to do what is necessary, I will take them to the market myself.”

Izam groaned through his teeth. It would mean losing a week, but at least that madwoman would see for herself the mistake she had made. He climbed down from the horse and went into the hut to warm up. Inside, he was surprised by the neat and tidy appearance of the space, as if it had been lived in for a long time.

“Who repaired the walls?” he asked in disbelief.

“The useless cripple,” Theresa answered. She then shoved him aside to straighten a board that was out of place. Olaf rushed to help.

“Here, use this,” said Izam grudgingly.

Olaf took the knife Izam was holding out and used it to secure the board in place.

“Thank you.” He returned it and Izam sheathed the weapon.

“It’s cold out there. Tell your wife to come in. Do you have tools?” the engineer asked.

Olaf showed him the ones that the abbey had lent them: a hand axe, a pick, and an adze. He told him that in the evening he would make a good wooden mallet, and perhaps a rake. Not much more, for he had to repair the plow they had acquired.

“It’s wooden,” he informed Izam. “The plowshare needs replacing.”

Izam said that without an iron plowshare and a good moldboard, they would not succeed in making the furrows. Then he looked at Olaf’s crutch.

“Can I have a look?”

He examined the stick closely. It was a crudely carved cherrywood branch with a leather-lined wooden support at the top. He tested its flexibility and returned it to him.

“Right. I must go,” he announced.

He stood and left the hut and Theresa followed. When they were outside, she thanked him for his understanding.

“I still think it’s madness… but there you go. If I have time, I’ll see if I can make him a wooden leg.”

The young man mounted his horse and took his leave. Before he was out of sight, Theresa noticed him turn to look at her.





22

All week, Theresa alternated her work at the bishopric with managing her new lands. She found that Olaf had dug a small channel from the stream leading to the hut to avoid having to continually transport heavy pails of water. He had built a gate for the fence and four stools for his family to sit on. But it was not just the fields he had taken care of. Between the efforts of both he and his wife the hut had been transformed into a proper home. Helga the Black had given them a chest and small table, as well as fabrics that Lucille had used to prevent the wind from coming in through the cracks. Olaf had dug a fireplace in the center of the hut, and on each side they had arranged sacks of straw on which to sleep at night. As for the plow, though he could repair it, he was unable to handle it. Lucille had tried, too, but by the third day her hands were covered in blisters. Olaf grumbled to Theresa.