The Scribe(132)
By midafternoon, the water was flooding the ship quicker than the oarsmen could bail it out, so Izam ordered them to moor the boat immediately. After positioning the lookouts, he divided the men into two groups, one that would guard the ship and another that would disembark. Then he approached Flavio and Alcuin to inquire after the health of the Roman prelate.
“We’ll remain anchored for four hours,” he informed them. “Enough to carry out some repairs. How is your injury?”
“It still hurts,” Flavio responded.
“If you wish, you can wait on board. We have work to do on land.”
“I’ll go down,” Alcuin announced. “And you should do the same,” he said to Flavio. “That leg needs some movement.”
“I would rather wait here,” he said plaintively.
Theresa joined the group disembarking, for she needed a few moments of privacy that she wasn’t afforded while on the ship.
On land, Izam divided the responsibilities among the men into those responsible for the repairs and those who would carry out guard duties. The first group patched up the hull with planks taken from the deck itself and caulked it with pitch that they had onboard. The rest established a defensive perimeter around the boat to prevent another attack.
Theresa took the opportunity to go off and wash in peace—something she hadn’t been able to do since they’d set sail. She was still squatting when Hoos appeared. She stood up, embarrassed, but he tried to take her in his arms anyway. Theresa protested, but Hoos persisted, laughing stupidly. When she moved away, he shoved her unceremoniously. At that moment Izam appeared.
“The lookouts need you,” he said to Hoos drily.
Hoos looked at him out of the corner of his eye and reluctantly obeyed, though not before stealing a kiss from Theresa and slapping her on the behind. When he had gone, she finished straightening her skirt, visibly angered. Izam picked up a clasp from the ground for her and she thanked him. Then she apologized for Hoos, as though she were responsible for his behavior. They walked for a while in silence, until Theresa noticed that Izam seemed perturbed.
“We’ve never talked about it,” she said, “but you’re not from these parts.”
“No, I’m not. I was born in Padua—I’m Italian.”
She was glad he had finally said something. “Would you believe me if I told you that I suspected it?” she joked. “I met some Roman monks on their pilgrimage to Constantinople. Their Latin was similar to yours, though their accent was sloppier. I was born there. Did you know?”
“In Constantinople! Well, I never! A beautiful city, by Januarius!”
“I don’t believe it—you’ve been there?” she asked in astonishment.
“I have indeed. I spent a few years there. My parents sent me to learn the art of war. A magnificent metropolis in which to buy, sell, and love. Though it’s not so good for solitary pursuits and meditation. I have never known such talkative folks.”
“That’s true,” she laughed. “They say a Byzantine can speak for several hours even after death. Do you not like a good conversation?”
“I wouldn’t prefer to say except that I can count with the fingers on one hand the number of times a discussion has proved to be edifying.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She reddened.
“No. I don’t mean you,” he hastened to add. “And you, what are you doing here? I mean, in Franconia, and now here with us on the ship.”
She looked at him. He wore his hair gathered up under a beaver-skin hat that contrasted with his green eyes. She surprised herself by staring at him without answering, so she quickly responded somewhat clumsily recounting the events that had led her to this point. She intentionally left out the events in Würzburg and the reason for her being on the boat, but she spoke of her childhood and flight from Constantinople. Izam, meanwhile, paid her little attention. He was busy looking from side to side like an animal stalking prey.
“A busy life,” he finally said.
Suddenly, he swooped down on her, violently pinning her to the ground. She didn’t even have time to scream. She just heard a swarm of arrows whistling around her and felt a throbbing at her temple.
Izam raised the alarm as several men dropped to the ground. The young man rose and readied his bow, but another volley of arrows forced him to take cover. He noticed that Theresa had hit her head and was lying unconscious. All around him people were crying out in pain.
He called for his men to cover him. On his signal, they all fired. Then, he picked up Theresa and ran like a madman toward the ship. Flavio and Alcuin pulled the young woman on board. The rest of the men jumped on board however they could, then they all fell upon the oars. Under a barrage of arrows, the boat started to move. Finally it gathered momentum, and gradually it made headway upriver away from the danger.
24
The oarsmen rowed the battered ship toward the breakwater at Würzburg’s port, turned it clumsily to the side, and, after pitching a couple of times, drove it abruptly into the riverbed at the wharf. Immediately, a throng of peasants threw themselves into the water wanting to help with the disembarkation.
Izam positioned himself at the prow to oversee the mooring, while the rest of the crew jumped into the river and pushed from the stern to refloat the hull. When the ship finally dropped anchor, the cries of jubilation drowned out the church bells that welcomed the newcomers to Würzburg.