The Scribe(121)

Then they discussed the plow.

Izam mentioned the advantages of an iron plowshare and the use of a moldboard. Timber plows like Olaf’s brake easily, he explained, and hardly penetrate the land. As for the moldboard, it would push aside the churned up earth and leave a wide furrow, aerating the land so that the seed takes a firm hold. Spring would be the sowing season, so they would have to be quick if they wanted to finish plowing the fields.

Olaf told him that as soon as he had finished plowing, he would start to clear the land that was still wild.

After praising the cleanliness of the hut and the remarkable channel that supplied it with water, Izam took his leave. He didn’t say that he would return, but Theresa hoped he would.


By the second week, Olaf was certain that his new leg was far superior to his old crutch. In fact, he was so pleased with it that, despite the chafing that it caused on his stump, he wore it for several days without taking it off. He had learned to drive the plow into the earth by supporting himself with his real leg and using the rigidity of the artificial one to balance himself as he pushed. Sometimes, when he had to do heavy work, he would insert the pin to jam the knee, which would make better use of his strength.

Lucille and the children were happy. And Olaf was even happier.

At dawn they rose to plow the fields. Olaf would open up the soil and then Lucille would sow the rye, while the boys ran behind them scaring off the birds that tried to eat the seeds. After the sowing, they covered the furrows with earth that had been broken up with a mallet. In the afternoon, once they had finished their work, Theresa and Helga would travel from town to bring some implement, food, or old fabric with which to make clothes for the young lads.

Lucille and Helga soon became good friends. They spoke tirelessly of children, pregnancy, stews, and the gossip from the town. Sometimes Helga had a feeling of importance, ordering Lucille to sort out the hut.


Though she devoted less time to it, Theresa continued to help Alcuin copy and translate documents. She went early to the scriptorium and stayed there until midday, transcribing whatever texts the monk entrusted to her. However, Alcuin had moved from his calligraphy work on to theological matters that Theresa hardly participated in, which made her think that the day would come when she would no longer be needed.

Sometimes various haughty-looking priests visited the scriptorium, entering without warning and sitting with Alcuin. They were Romans and they were part of the papal delegation that always accompanied Charlemagne. Theresa decided to call them “the beetles,” because they were always dressed in black. When the beetles came to the scriptorium, she had to leave the room.

“The religious men who come to the scriptorium… are they monks too?” she inquired one day.

“No,” said Alcuin with a smile. “They might have been once, but now they’re clerics of the Roman chapter.”

“Monasteries… chapters… it’s all the same thing isn’t it?”

“Not at all. A monastery or abbey is a place where monks withdraw into solitude to pray and ask for the salvation of mankind. Generally they are closed-off places, sometimes far from the towns, with their own laws and lands, governed by a prior or abbot according to his best judgment.

“A chapter, on the other hand, is an open congregation, made up of a group of priests guided by a bishop who administrates a diocese.” He saw Theresa’s expression and continued. “To be clear, in Fulda there is both the abbey, with its abbot, its monks, its orders, and its walls—and the chapter, with its bishop, its clerics, and its ecclesiastical duties. The monks pray without leaving the monastery, while the chapter’s priests attend to the townspeople in the churches.”

“I always get the clergy mixed up: Monks, bishops, deacons… aren’t they all priests?”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “For instance, I have been ordained as a deacon, but I’m not a priest.”

“How is that?”

“It might seem a little odd, but pay attention and you will understand quite easily.” He picked up Theresa’s wax tablet and drew a cross at the top of the rectangular space. “As you know, the Church is governed by the Holy Roman Pontiff, who we refer to as the Pope or Patriarch.”

“In Byzantium there’s another pope,” she said, pleased with herself. It was one of the few things about these matters that she did know.

“True.” And he added another four crosses to the first. “The Roman Pope governs the Patriarchate of the West. Aside from this, there are the four Eastern Patriarchs: Constantinople, Antioch, Alexandria, and Jerusalem. Each Patriarchate presides over the various kingdoms or nations that fall under their jurisdiction through the Primatial Archdioceses or Primacies, which are overseen by the most senior archbishops in each kingdom.”

“So they would be the spiritual leaders of each nation,” the young woman ventured.

“Guides, more than leaders.”

Under the first cross he drew a circle to represent the Primacy. “Several archbishoprics are dependent on this Primatial Archdiocese.” He drew some small squares to symbolize the archdioceses.

“The Papacy, the senior archdiocese, archdiocese, and then the diocese.”

“Corresponding to the Pope, the senior archbishop, the archbishop, and the bishop.”

“It’s not so complicated,” she confessed. “And these Roman clerics belong to the Papacy.”