The Scribe(133)
Gradually the arriving trickle of people turned into a stream of desperate scavengers, prepared to kill for a piece of bread. The crowd grew on the bank, competing for the highest and best spots. Children climbed trees and the elderly made do with cursing whoever shoved them aside. Some sang in joy and everyone thanked the heavens. Suddenly, it was as though the days of hunger and hardship were already melting away.
A boy went too close to the provisions and was jostled away by a crew member. Another youngster saw this and laughed and the first lad threw a stone at him.
Soon Wilfred’s soldiers arrived. A peasant jeered at them and then had to run off before he was discovered. The rest of the townspeople respectfully made way for the soldiers.
Wilfred’s men roughly made way through the crowd, opening up a path for the carts. Once they reached the wharf, they positioned archers along a corridor from the ship to the wagons.
Then Wilfred appeared on his wooden chair, pulled by his dogs. “Listen carefully, you bunch of scavengers!” he called out to the impatient crowd. “The first person to touch a single grain will be executed. The provisions will be taken to the royal granaries, where they will be inspected, and once they have been inventoried, they will be distributed, so move aside and let these men do their job.”
The count’s words riled some of those present, but they were soon appeased when the first supplies were unloaded.
Wilfred whipped the dogs and they pulled his contraption. The crowd stepped back even further as if that cripple could decide the fate of all those present with a mere glance.
As he reached the gangplank, Wilfred ordered two of his men to take him onboard, which they did by lifting him into the air and carrying him onto the deck of the ship. There he greeted Alcuin and Flavio, inquired about events during the voyage, checked the condition of the provisions, and looked sidelong at the wounded, instructing his servants to tend to them. It was some time before Izam approached him. He hadn’t known that the count of Würzburg was a cripple.
“Würzburg, at last. Deum gratia,” said Alcuin, and he passed his hand across Theresa’s brow. The young woman had not yet regained consciousness.
“No change?” Flavio Diacono asked him.
“I’m afraid so. Let’s get her off the ship. I hope her family is waiting for her.”
“She’s from Würzburg?”
“She’s the daughter of Gorgias, a Byzantine scribe.”
One of the peasants helping with the unloading stopped and looked at them openmouthed. He began to tremble. The bale of grain he was carrying slipped through his fingers overboard and into the water.
“Useless fool!” Wilfred bellowed. “That grain is worth more than your life.”
The peasant fell to his knees and crossed himself. Visibly shaken, he pointed to where the monks were standing.
“Lord help us! The scribe’s daughter! The dead girl has been resurrected!”
Not even the Volz woman’s cow giving birth to a two-headed calf had caused such a huge stir in Würzburg. When the calf was born, folks spoke of the Devil’s intervention, and there were those who attempted to burn the farmer along with her bicephalous monster. A resurrection was something that even the most fervent believers could not have imagined.
Tidings of the miracle spread like seeds to the wind. Before long, whispers turned into murmurs, which rippled through the crowd to every corner of the city. The boldest milled around the ship to try to see her with their own eyes, while others jostled for a spot near the gangplank.
Hearing the rumor left Alcuin feeling stone cold. He was still wondering what had caused all the commotion when the feverish crowd forgot about Wilfred’s threat and began to climb onto the ship. Wilfred deployed his men, but the mob ignored his soldiers. It was as though some collective madness had taken hold of them. At the count’s orders, an archer fired. The peasant at the front of the mob staggered and fell overboard as the arrow hit him. The rest of them stepped back. When a second arrow was released, they all left the boat.
Yet Wilfred felt just as disconcerted. He had walked over to where the girl lay so he could confirm her identity. At first he didn’t recognize her, but as he came closer, his eyes widened as though he were looking at the Devil himself. He was in no doubt. The young woman was Theresa, the scribe’s daughter.
He was so riled that when he attempted to cross himself, his nerves prevented him. When he finally calmed down, Alcuin suggested they take Theresa on land and Wilfred agreed. Between them Hoos and Alcuin improvised a stretcher on which to bear the young woman.
Wilfred had his servants unload him and his wooden carriage, ordering his men to make way for them as they began their return. As they proceeded, the people started going down on their knees, begging for mercy in the wake of the miracle. Some tried to touch the resurrected woman, while others prayed that her reappearance was not the work of the Devil. The procession traveled along the town’s streets in the direction of Wilfred’s fortress. Once they had arrived, the crowds once again thronged the walls.
A group of skeptics led by Korne the parchment-maker went to the cemetery to exhume Theresa’s body. They did not know exactly where she had been buried, so they dug up the most recent graves, but could not find her. Then they returned to the fortress and demanded to be allowed to join the deliberations that Izam, Flavio, Alcuin, and the count had begun.
By then Wilfred had informed Alcuin of the fire. He also spoke of Korne’s obsession with avenging the accidental death of his son. Without telling anyone, Alcuin hatched a plan to protect Theresa.