The Scribe(120)
“It’s this damned leg,” he said, hitting it. “Before I could have plowed these fields in two days, but God knows it’s not a woman’s work.”
Theresa took a deep breath and grimaced. She looked at the two little lads scampering between the ox’s legs, laughing and enjoying themselves, black as coal from the filth but already with a little more meat on their bones. The situation saddened her, but if Olaf could not till the soil, she would be forced to resell them.
She looked at him furtively as he cleaned the ox collar. She was about to say something when he seemed to read her thoughts. “I’m modifying the collar so that the pull is lower. That way the ox will lower its neck and press the plow into the earth.”
Theresa shook her head at the futility of his efforts. Olaf didn’t understand the situation she was in.
They were about to get up when they heard the sound of hooves. As they came out of the hut, they saw Izam of Padua riding toward them, and behind him, a donkey laden with wood. The engineer dismounted and went into the hut without saying a word. He measured Olaf’s stump with a cord and then went out with the same determination with which he had arrived. Soon he returned carrying an armful of sticks.
“A one-legged man is like a woman without breasts,” he announced.
Theresa was annoyed by the comparison, but she watched closely as Izam quickly tore off Olaf’s empty trouser leg, revealing a poorly stitched stump.
“In Poitiers I had the opportunity to examine a wooden leg of extraordinary worth. Nothing like those sticks that cripples tie to their stumps in order to walk around like snails.” He measured the diameter of the stump again and then measured a piece of wood. “The leg I speak of was a miracle of engineering, an articulated device that they said belonged to an Arab general who died in the terrible battle. Fortunately a monk pulled it from the body and kept it at the abbey.” He measured Olaf’s good leg and transposed the measurements to the wood again. Then he pulled out a strange mechanism that seemed to Theresa like some kind of knee joint. “It took me two days to make this, so I hope it works.”
Olaf let Izam do his work while Lucille led away the children, who were fighting with each other over whatever pieces of wood they could get their hands on. Theresa was transfixed.
Izam chose a cylindrical piece of wood, adjusted it at one end to the wooden joint, and positioned it beside the good leg. Then he cut the other end until it was level with Olaf’s heel.
“Now the thigh.”
He took a wooden pot and pushed it onto the stump. As soon as he let go, it fell to the floor, but he picked it up as if nothing had happened and continued carving into it until it fit the limb. Then he removed it to empty it a little more and line the inside with a piece of cloth and some leather.
“Right. I think that’s it.” He pulled the socket over the stump and then secured it in place with some belts that he had brought with him. Then he calculated the length of the wood he would have to cut for the space between the socket and the knee mechanism.
“How does it work?” Olaf asked.
“I don’t know if it will.”
He helped the slave up and Olaf stood, wobbling slightly with his weight resting on the wooden limb.
“The foot still needs to go on, but I need to see if the spring holds. Now try to walk.”
Olaf stepped forward unsteadily, holding on to Izam, but to his surprise the wooden leg bent at the knee and after the stride it straightened again as if by magic.
“It has a slat of yew,” Izam explained, “the wood used to make good bows. When it receives the weight it flexes, allowing for articulation. When it reaches its limit, it then returns to its initial position and you can take your next stride. See these slots?” He pointed at four holes drilled into the knee. “With this pin you can select the amount of resistance. And if you take it out,” he said as he demonstrated, “the mechanism will move freely, so you will be able to ride with the leg bent.”
Olaf looked at him in disbelief. He was hesitant to try walking without the crutch, but Izam encouraged him. After a couple of attempts he managed to cross the room. When he reached Lucille’s arms, the woman burst into tears as though he had really grown a leg.
They spent some time adjusting the mechanisms and commenting on the simplicity of the joint. Izam explained that, using slats of different thicknesses, he could calibrate the flexibility and resistance.
Then they went outside to test out the wooden leg. Olaf found that he could walk on stone without difficulty, but when he tested his footing on the fields, the leg sank into the soil.
“We’ll attach a foot to solve the problem,” Izam promised.
On the way back to the hut, Lucille offered Izam the rabbit she had stewed for Olaf and the boys. But Izam realized it was the only food they had, so he declined. As he whittled the foot, the young engineer had to admit to himself that he was going through all this trouble for the slave family because of his interest in Theresa. He was intrigued by how a girl so young and pretty could be capable of undertaking a task of such a magnitude, and the fact was, now that he really thought about it, from the very first moment he met her, he had tried hard to please her and be near her.
He tested the wooden foot for the last time before fixing it to the end of the leg. Once attached, he turned it backward and forward to make sure it wouldn’t jam. He explained to Olaf that the foot could move freely, but if it bothered him, he could remove it himself.