The Scribe(138)

When they inquired after the whereabouts of the young woman, Wilfred responded that Theresa had spent the night in the fortress storerooms, after Zeno had given her an infusion of willow and lemon balm. Rutgarda had stayed by her side, waiting for her to awaken. It would appear that Rutgarda had barely slept between praying, weeping, and tending to Theresa, hoping that the miraculous appearance of her stepdaughter was an omen that her husband would return.

At that moment Wilfred’s young daughters burst into the room. The two little girls laughed playfully, evading the wet nurse who tried to grab them. Ignoring her warnings, they scampered through the legs of the guests. Finally the devoted maidservant let herself fall to the floor and threatened the girls with a spanking, but they stuck out their little tongues and with a mischievous expression hid behind Flavio and Alcuin’s robes.

Wilfred celebrated his twins’ capers by clapping his hands, to which the girls responded by running over to him. He took them in his arms and kissed their heads until their hair was wild. The children laughed again, their little eyes dancing, then pulled away when he galloped his fingers across their round tummies. Wilfred was laughing, too. The two curly-haired and red-cheeked cherubs had brought him joy again. He kissed them once more and after asking them to behave like well-mannered little ladies, he handed them over to the exhausted wet nurse.

“Quite the little devils. Just like their mother,” he said with a smile. He picked up the rag doll they’d left on his lap and placed it on the table.

Most of those present knew that Wilfred’s wife had died the year before from a wicked fever. Some had immediately advised him to remarry, but he was not partial to the idea of cohabiting with a woman again, except for the occasional dalliance.

“Refresh my memory,” Flavio Diacono cut in. “Did you say that Theresa started the fire?”

“That’s right,” answered Wilfred. “Apparently the girl flew into a rage and set fire to the workshop where she was employed. Several people died.”

“And yet, yesterday you were of the opinion that Theresa could do no harm.”

“I did say that,” he confirmed. “One of the victims later confessed to me that it was Korne who’d caused the fire when he pushed the young woman. But I also believed her father to be an upright man, and look at him now: He is wanted for murder.”


After breakfast, Alcuin went to the fortress stables, where Bernardino, mounted on a donkey, waited for him. The midget bade him a good morning and invited him to also mount the animal. But the monk decided he would rather accompany him on foot.

As they walked, Alcuin pressed Bernardino for details of the froth that he discovered on Genseric’s face. The little man confirmed that the body lay face up, with the eyes open and a mass of bubbles on the face.

“Bubbles? You mean a froth on the lips?”

“How should I know! The man was stiff, like all corpses.”

They arrived at the place along a clear path that wound through an oak wood near the fortress. The sun was shining warmly and the patches of snow were beginning to thaw. Alcuin examined the footprints on the path.

“It was right here,” Bernardino announced, stopping the donkey. The midget jumped down from the animal and skipped off into the forest like a kid. He stopped behind some rocks, where he triumphantly indicated the place where the body had lain.

“Do you remember the exact day?”

“Of course. I had gone out in search of nuts to make a cake for Wilfred’s daughters. There are some walnut trees down there. I was passing through here when the donkey stopped and—”

“And that was what day?”

“Sorry, yes… it was last Friday. Saint Benedict’s Day.”

Alcuin crouched down at the spot Bernardino indicated. The grass was flattened down in some places where the body had lain. Then he examined the surroundings.

“How did you transport the corpse? I mean… did you drag it or put it on the donkey?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a laugh. “You think that because I’m a midget, I couldn’t have lifted him.”

“Well, yes, I suspected as much.”

Bernardino went over to the animal and struck it with his stick, making it lie down flat with a hee-haw. Then he skillfully mounted the donkey and, holding the mane tightly, he gave it another blow, making it give a start. When the animal stood up, Bernardino laughed proudly, baring his yellowing teeth.


On his return, Alcuin went to the storerooms to see how Theresa was faring. There he found Rutgarda, who went out of her way to praise him for the way he had behaved with her. Alcuin dismissed it as a minor thing and asked to speak to the young woman.

“Alone, if possible.”

Rutgarda and Hoos, who was also present, left the storeroom. Then Alcuin approached the bed. “It’s cold here. How are you feeling?”

“Awful. Nobody knows where my father is.” She had tears in her eyes.

Alcuin pursed his lips. He could tell that nothing he could say would do much to console her. He wondered whether she knew that her father had been accused of murder.

“Have you spoken to anyone about the miracle?”

She shook her head no. Then, answering Alcuin’s question without being asked, she said that her father would never have done anything like what a maidservant had told her he had done. Alcuin said he didn’t doubt it.