The Scribe(12)
“As you wish. I will leave as soon as I have tidied the lectern and gathered my blades. However, there was one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“The time that I will need to prepare the new ink…”
“Yes?”
“If Your Grace will allow it, I would like to be excused from coming to the scriptorium. At home I have all the required tools, and there I could carry out tests in peace and quiet. I also need to find certain ingredients in the forest, so I will have to stay outside the city walls overnight.”
“In that case, I will tell a soldier to escort you. If you were attacked just this morning inside the shelter of the walls, just imagine what might happen to you on the other side.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I know the area well, and Theresa can accompany me.”
“Ha!” bellowed Wilfred. “You still look at Theresa with a first-time father’s eyes, but that young woman attracts men as if they were in heat. If bandits get a whiff of her you won’t have time to cross yourselves. You worry about the codex, and I will take care of you. The soldier will be at your house this afternoon.”
Gorgias decided not to persist. He had planned to spend the next two days looking for the man who had attacked him, but with the soldier at his heels it would be too difficult. Still, he decided to end the conversation to avoid alarming Wilfred any further.
Gathering his belongings, he changed the subject. “How long do you think the king will take?” asked Gorgias.
“Charlemagne? I don’t know. A month. Maybe two. The last letter announced that a convoy with supplies was to set off immediately”
“But the passes are blocked.”
“Indeed. But sooner or later they will arrive. The pantries will be completely empty before long.”
Gorgias nodded. Rations were becoming meager, and soon there would be nothing left.
“Very well. If there is nothing else,” added Wilfred. The count took his reins, tightening the harnesses on the dogs. He cracked his whip, and the beasts labored to turn the heavy contraption around.
He was about to leave the scriptorium when a servant burst into the room, screaming as though he had seen the Devil himself:
“The factoriae! For the love of God! Fire is devouring them!”
4
When Gorgias saw what was left of the workshop, he prayed to God that Theresa wouldn’t be found under the wreckage. The flames had consumed the exterior walls, leading to the collapse of the roof, which in turn only fueled the fire, turning the place into a gigantic pyre.
Onlookers arrived in throngs to watch the spectacle, while the bolder ones toiled to assist the wounded, rescue anything of use, and smother the embers. After a few moments of confusion, Gorgias recognized Korne, lying on some wooden boards. He looked ragged, his clothes blackened and a wild look in his face.
Gorgias ran over to him. “Thank God I’ve found you. Have you seen Theresa?”
The parchment-maker recoiled as though Gorgias had spoken of the Devil. Then he jumped up and lunged for Gorgias’s throat.
“That dammed daughter of yours! I hope she burns to the last bone!”
Gorgias threw Korne off just as two neighbors attempted to separate them. The men apologized for Korne’s behavior, but Gorgias suspected his words stemmed from more than some common fit of anger. He thanked them for their intervention and left to continue his search.
After walking around the perimeter of the site, he observed that the fire had not only devastated the workshops and Korne’s home, but also the storerooms and adjoining stables. Fortunately, there were no animals in the stables, and as far as he knew the storerooms contained no grain, so the losses would be limited to the value of the buildings. Both buildings would surely be condemned, for the fire had started to vent its rage on their roofs.
He noticed that the wall between the courtyard and the workshops was still standing, and he remembered that Korne, fed up with so many thefts, had ordered the primitive palisade to be replaced with a stone wall. Thanks to that decision, it appeared that the area between the wall and the pools had been saved from the flames.
A trembling hand touched Gorgias on the shoulder. It was Bertharda.
“What a tragedy. Such a great tragedy!” she said, tears in her eyes.
“Bertharda, for the love of God, have you seen my daughter?” he asked with desperation in his voice.
“She saved my life. Do you hear me? She saved me.”
“Yes, yes, I hear you. But where is she? Is she hurt?”
“I told her not to go in. To forget the books. But she ignored me.”
“For goodness’ sake, Bertharda, tell me where my daughter is,” Gorgias insisted, shaking the woman by the shoulders.
The woman stared at him but it was as if her red eyes were focused on another world.
“We came out of the workshop, escaping the flames,” she explained. “In the courtyard she helped me scale the wall. She helped me until she could see I was safe, and then she said she had to go back for the codices. I shouted at her not to go, to climb the wall with me, but you know how headstrong she is,” she sobbed. “She went back into the workshop among those terrible flames and then suddenly there was a crashing sound and the roof fell in. Do you hear me? She saved me and then everything collapsed.”
Gorgias turned in horror and ran headlong into the wreckage. The embers sizzled and crackled as the grayish smoke spread slowly into the sky like a sign announcing the macabre event.