The Scribe(140)
“There are still two ships loaded with provisions downriver. If necessary we could repair our boat and sail down to them,” Izam suggested.
“And how have you fed yourselves until now?” Alcuin inquired. “I mean… apparently you have suffered from a severe famine.”
Wilfred confessed that they held out until the last of their reserves, but when the dead started to pile up, they had to resort to using the royal granaries. “The victuals were not arriving, and people were dying,” he explained. “As you know, the royal grain is kept to feed troops in the event of combat, but the situation became unsustainable, so I proceeded with rationing.”
“At any rate, it does not look like you are destitute,” Flavio pointed out. “Even the hard of hearing would be deafened by the mooing of your cows and the clucking of your hens,” he said, pointing toward the area of the courtyard where the animal pens were.
Wilfred reversed his carriage, pulling away from the table. “Is this how a guest thanks me for my generosity? Since when do Romans concern themselves with the troubles of mere country folks?” the offended count protested. “Shut away in your cathedrals as you are, you know nothing of the hardships of your congregation. You have orchards and vegetable gardens, livestock and poultry, lands that you lease out, serfs who in exchange for food clear the fields and repair the walls. You receive tithes from everyone around you and collect taxes for the use of your roads, but you are exempt from paying any yourselves. And still you come here and judge me? Of course I have food. I am no fool. I’m a cleric, but I also govern. What will happen when the townspeople can bear it no longer? When they grow desperate and hunger overcomes them? They will arm themselves with whatever they can find and raid our stores.”
Alcuin hastened to intervene.
“Please, accept our apologies. The severity of the situation has taken us by surprise, but I assure you we are as grateful for your hospitality as we are for your generosity. Tell me, do you truly believe the supplies brought on the ship are insufficient?”
Flavio was annoyed at what he considered to be Alcuin’s interference. Yet, he had to admit that his intervention had come at the right moment.
“Do the numbers yourself,” Wilfred grumbled. “Not counting priests and monks, about three hundred families live in Würzburg. But at this rate, by next month perhaps, there will be none.”
“And the market gardens?” asked Alcuin. “You must have garlic, shallots, leeks, cabbages, radishes, turnips…”
“The ice killed off every last thistle. Have you not seen how desperate the townsfolk are?” he responded, pointing at the mob of people in the lower part of the city. “They can’t tell the difference between an apple and an onion anymore.”
“And your reserves?”
“In the granary we still have around a hundred pecks of wheat, plus another thirty of spelt, but that grain is pure poison and we only use it to feed to what animals remain. Even so some desperate souls were bold enough to break into the storehouses and steal a couple of sacks. The next day we found the thieves outside Zeno’s house with their guts spilling out their mouths. Unfortunately, death took them before we could hang them.”
Alcuin shook his head. If Wilfred’s estimations were accurate, they were faced with a sizable problem.
“And the relics?” the count asked Alcuin hopefully, “will they not help us to find food?”
“Undoubtedly, Wilfred. Undoubtedly.”
MARCH
26
Since his arrival in Würzburg, Hoos Larsson hadn’t had a moment’s rest. Wilfred had assigned him to the troop led by Izam, who, foreseeing more attacks, was scouting the surrounding area every day. In the mornings they would inspect the walled perimeter. At twilight scouting parties would set off to circle the town from east to west before climbing to the top of the outcrop on which the fortress perched. Men, women, and children had to keep watch over streams and roads, shore up the defenses, and repair the walls.
In the second week, Hoos was charged with leading an expedition to the old mines. A shepherd with little work to do had apparently seen a fire there and Wilfred had decided to comb the area and turn the tunnels into a trap.
In the early morning, twelve men set off equipped with leather jerkins, shields, and bows. Izam sported the chainmail that he had brought on the ship. Hoos had never used it, but Izam insisted on its usefulness.
“I agree that on water they are a liability, for if you fall in you will be dragged to the bottom. But on land it’s like wearing an iron bell.”
Hoos looked at Izam with disdain, then tried to estimate the remaining distance to the mine. He thought to himself that if bandits appeared, Izam wouldn’t even have time to count his arrow wounds.
“Perhaps we’ll bump into Gorgias,” Izam ventured. “The mine wouldn’t be a bad hideaway.”
“Well, if we do, you heard Wilfred’s orders: ‘If you find him, riddle him with arrows.’ He killed Genseric and also some young boys with a stylus.”
“It seems that the count has been badly affected by the loss of his coadjutor, but Alcuin has other ideas around what may have happened. If we find him, I think we should take him alive.”
Hoos rode on. If it came to it, he thought, he wouldn’t waver.