The Scribe(124)

As she progressed she admired the stream, its basin wide and peaceful. She thought to herself that in spring she would buy some nails, and instruct Olaf to build a skiff with which to sail the watercourse.

Soon, she reached the beech wood that bordered her land. The trees would give her the timber needed to build a lovely home for herself, while Olaf and his sons hunted venison with which to make nutritious stews.

She was admiring the snowcapped treetops when a noise startled her. She listened carefully but couldn’t hear anything more. Preparing to set off again, another crack made her stop in her tracks. She thought it might be an animal stalking her and took hold of her scramasax. Suddenly, a figure came out from the trees. She screamed when she realized it was Widukind, his face ablaze with anger. Theresa saw a dagger in his right hand. The other held a half-empty skin full of wine.

She was scared but she tried not to show it. She hastily glanced around her. To her left there was the river, to the right, the forest. Seeing Widukind in the state he was, she thought she could probably outrun him.

Without waiting for him to attack, she darted toward the part of the forest she judged to be less dense. Behind her, Widukind took up the chase. The ground was frozen, making her think she might slip at any moment.

As she ran, the path became narrower and more difficult to negotiate. Sooner or later he would catch up to her. She looked behind, and could not see him, so she ducked down behind some bushes, just in time to see Widukind screaming like a madman. She crouched down even lower as the man lashed out at anything that came into his path, as if possessed by the Devil.

Then he stopped to drink from the wineskin, pouring its contents down his throat until the liquid brimmed over his gums. Screaming again, he thrust his dagger into the undergrowth.

With each step he moved closer to Theresa. She knew that if she hid there much longer she would undoubtedly be discovered, so she clutched her scramasax and made ready to fight. By then, Widukind was almost on top of her. At any moment he might hear her breathing.

But suddenly the man turned away and Theresa took the opportunity to resume her escape. Widukind heard her, turned, and cursed before launching himself after her. It was almost as if he were sober. His pace was quick and he moved forward with determination. Theresa scraped against the bramble as she ran. On each side of the path there were rows of trees forming a tight passage through which to escape. The faster she ran, the more she thought she could feel him breathing down her neck. She jumped over a tree stump in her way, but then she slipped. The man dodged the stump but then also stumbled, giving Theresa time to get up on her feet and flee once more. To her right she saw a small embankment and she threw herself down in the hope that she would reach the river, her behind scraping against the brambles.

Widukind did the same, always just a few paces behind her. But Theresa knew she was a good swimmer. If she could reach the river, perhaps she could get across. She ran with all her strength, praying to God to help her reach the water.

She had covered a short stretch when another figure unexpectedly appeared in front of her. They both tumbled to the ground as she crashed into him. Widukind looked at them in surprise.

As Theresa regained her composure, she saw that it was Olaf. He was lying on the ground now, and his wooden leg had come out of its socket. She tried to help him, but Widukind shoved her away. Olaf sensed the danger and told Theresa to get behind him. Widukind smiled at the young woman taking cover behind the lame man.

“A cripple and a whore… I’m going to enjoy ripping off your last leg—and you I’m going to f*ck raw.”

“Theresa! The scramasax!” cried Olaf, scrambling to his feet.

She didn’t understand.

“The scramasax!” he insisted.

The young woman handed it to him.

Widukind laughed at the absurdity of the situation—but Olaf grasped the scramasax, quickly took aim, and threw it.

Widukind felt a sudden blow to the throat, then the warmth of the blood as it spilled down his neck. And after that, he felt nothing.


As soon as he had reattached his artificial leg, Olaf made sure Widukind had stopped breathing. He then convinced Theresa, to avoid any problems, that it would be best if they kept their mouths shut. She agreed. Ultimately, she thought she had been fortunate that Olaf had heard Widukind’s screams and come to help her. Now Helga would have nothing to worry about. She could bring her child into the world without that rat ever bothering her again.

Olaf stripped him in order to burn his clothes. “If we bury him and they discover his body, they will undoubtedly know it was a murder. However, without clothes, after the wolves devour him, not a trace will remain.”

After gashing the body a couple more times so that the blood would attract scavengers, he hurled it over a sheer drop. Then he gathered the dead man’s clothes and shoes.

On the way back to Theresa’s estate, they barely said a word to each other, though before they arrived, the young woman gave Olaf her thanks.

“Any slave would have done the same for his mistress,” he said in justification.

When they reached the hut, Olaf searched the clothes before casting them in the fire. He kept the knife and shoes, which would serve him well as soon as he dyed them. He offered the dagger to Theresa, for a slave could not possess weapons, but she refused it.

“File the point and you will be able to use it without anyone accusing you,” she suggested.