The Scribe(147)

“May I ask what is going on?” Alcuin protested once inside. “That idiot struck me,” he said, pointing at the sentry at the gate.

In response Izam took him by the arm and asked Alcuin to follow him. On the way to the armory he informed him that the Devil had taken over the fortress.

“I don’t understand. You said Wilfred’s little girls are missing? What happened?”

“Nobody has seen them since this morning.”

“God’s wounds! Is that what all this fuss is about? They’re probably somewhere in the fortress playing with their dolls. Have you spoken to the wet nurse?”

“We can’t find her, either,” the distressed young man responded.

When they reached the hall, it was abuzz with servants, soldiers, and monks. Most were murmuring to each other in small groups, trying to find out the latest bit of news, while others stood about distraught. Izam and Alcuin continued on to the armory, where Wilfred awaited them. He was thrashing about on his stumps in his wheelchair.

“Anything to report?” he asked Izam.

The young man clenched his teeth. He informed him that his men were guarding all the entrances and he had organized thorough searches of the stables, storehouses, orchards, and latrines… if the girls were in the fortress, they would undoubtedly be found. Wilfred nodded begrudgingly, then looked at Alcuin in hope he brought news.

“I have only just found out,” he apologized. “You have searched their rooms I suppose?”

“Even behind the walls. Lord Almighty! Last night they seemed so happy, so relaxed.”

He remarked that the girls always slept with their wet nurse, a spinster who had never given cause for concern.

“Until now,” he added, and he smashed his cup against the hearth.

Izam decided they would interrogate all who were in the fortress, particularly the servants and those close to the wet nurse. Alcuin asked for permission to inspect the rooms, and Wilfred ordered a minion to accompany him.

When Alcuin arrived at the girls’ cell he found it a terrible mess. He asked the servant if the chaos was due to Wilfred’s men searching the room, which the servant confirmed, adding that the wet nurse was a very meticulous woman.

“You were present when they searched the cell?”

“I stood at this very door.”

“And how did it look before they came in?”

“Neat and tidy, as it is every morning.”

Alcuin asked the servant to help him pick up some of the clothes that were scattered around, seemingly most from two chests that Wilfred’s men had emptied in their frantic search. The biggest chest belonged to the girls, and the other was the wet nurse’s. They paired up shoes and dresses, dividing according to whether they belonged to the twins or the wet nurse. Then Alcuin stopped to examine some objects that were on a crudely built dresser. There was a polished metal plate to use as a mirror, a bone comb, several cords, a couple of fibulae, two little vials that seemed to contain makeup, another smaller one of rose perfume, a piece of soap, and a small washbowl. They were all perfectly arranged, which confirmed the tidy nature of the nanny. There were also two generously sized square beds in the room: one for the woman, located beside the window, and another for the two girls on the other side of the room. Alcuin paused at the former, smelling it and examining it as if he were a hunting dog.

“Do you know whether the wet nurse had relations with anyone? What I mean is, was there a man?” he asked, as he extracted some hair from between the blankets.

“Not that I know of,” the servant answered, a little surprised.

“All right,” he said gratefully. “You can lock up the room now.”


On the way to the scriptorium he bumped into Theresa, who was in such a state that he barely recognized her. Apparently some soldiers had come into her room and turned it upside down. Alcuin informed her that the twins were missing and that they had sealed off the fortress.

“But my stepmother is out there.”

“I suppose they will allow people through once the girls have been found. Now let’s go to the scriptorium. I need your help with something.”

They found that the scriptorium had also been searched. Alcuin gathered up the scattered codices while Theresa moved the furniture back into place. When they had finished, the monk sat down and asked Theresa to bring him a candle. He told her what he had learned about her father.

“It’s not much, but I’ll keep at it,” he said apologetically. “And you? Have you made any progress?”

She showed him the text with two new paragraphs. Each night, before she went to sleep, she would read the parchment hidden in her father’s bag and memorize the next few lines.

“It’s not much, but I’m making progress.”

Alcuin grumbled, then took a cloth from his bag and placed it on the table.

Theresa examined its contents closely. “Hair?” she asked.

“Indeed. I can’t see the strands very clearly in this light.” He cleared his throat as if he was embarrassed to admit it. “But they all seem different.”

Theresa moved the candle so close that a drop of wax fell onto the hairs. Alcuin told her to be careful, and she apologized for her carelessness.

She could distinguish three types of hair: some fine and brown; some curly, shorter, and darker; and finally, some similar to the latter, but grayer in tone.