The Scribe(151)

“It’s not that,” she complained, as if Alcuin understood nothing. “There was something strange in his expression.”

Alcuin relented, patting her on the back. As he gathered up his notes, he thought to himself that he had enough on his plate with the disappearance of the twins to also have to try to reason with a young woman in love. Instead, he asked her how the parchment was progressing.

“I’ve almost finished it,” she answered. “But I must admit there is something that has me worried.”

“I’m listening.”

Theresa went to find something and returned with an emerald-colored codex, which she placed in front of Alcuin.

“Aha! A Vulgate,” said the friar as he leafed through it.

“It’s my father’s Bible,” she said, stroking it with tenderness. “I found it in the crypt where he was imprisoned.”

“A nice copy.”

“That’s not all.” She picked up the Vulgate and opened it approximately from the middle. “Before the fire my father told me that if anything happened to him, I should look inside his book. I didn’t know what he was referring to at the time, in fact, I couldn’t even imagine that anything would happen to him. But now I believe that, while he was working for Wilfred, he began to fear for his life.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

She lifted the codex and forced the spine until a gap appeared between the gatherings. Then she inserted her fingers and pulled out a piece of parchment that she unfolded, and read from: “Ad Thessalonicenses epistula i Sancti Pauli Apostoli. 5.21. Omnia autem probate, quod bonum est tenete.” She translated: “Examine it all, retain the good.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?” he asked in surprise.

“On the face of it, nothing, so I did what it said in the quotation: I examined the Bible until my eyes hurt. Now look at this,” she said, pointing at a paragraph.

“What is it? I can’t see it.”

“It’s barely visible. My father must have diluted the ink with water so that it would barely leave a mark, but if you look carefully, you can see that between each line, as faint as morning dew, there are notes.”

Alcuin pressed his nose against the page but still could not make out a thing.

“Interesting. And what do the notes say?”

“I’m still confused. They provide information on the Donation of Constantine. But I believe my father discovered something strange in the text.”

Alcuin coughed and looked taken aback. “In that case it’s best I deal with this codex,” he decided. “And now, try to finish your work. I will keep searching for your father.”

When the monk left, she felt abandoned, and longed for a shoulder to lean on, for someone she could trust. Without intending to, she thought of Izam. He was so different than Hoos! Ever attentive and polite, always willing to help. She felt a little dirty thinking of him in such a way, but it was not the first time her thoughts had turned to him. His deliberate way of speaking, his warm voice, his kind eyes… Though she loved Hoos, sometimes she caught herself thinking of Izam, and it made her feel uncomfortable.

She considered Hoos’s strange conduct again, wondering why he was behaving in such a way. She trusted him. She truly loved him. She thought they would go to Fulda together, where they would start a family, and have strong and healthy children who she would raise and educate. Perhaps they would buy a large stone house, with stables outside, even. She even thought about decorating it with drapes so that Hoos would find it comfortable, and perfuming the rooms with rosemary and lavender. She wondered whether he had thought about such things, or if there was another woman, and that perhaps he had forgotten about Theresa’s love. Finally she turned to her parchments to continue copying, but she only got to the second line before thinking of Hoos again, and she knew that until she spoke to him, she would not be able to do anything well. She stopped writing, cleaned her instruments, and left the scriptorium intent on reclaiming the man she loved.


The soldier guarding the scriptorium informed her that Hoos Larsson could be found in the tunnel that connected the storehouses to the fortress. When Theresa arrived, she found him loading sacks of wheat onto a cart. At first Hoos appeared reticent to talk, but when she insisted, he stopped what he was doing and turned to her.

She spoke of her hopes and her needs. She told him that she dreamed of waking up beside him each morning, sewing his clothes, cleaning the house, and tending the vegetable garden, learning to cook so she could serve him as he deserved. She even asked him to forgive her, lest—without intending it—she had done something wrong.

Hoos acted distant, however, and impatient for her to finish. When she demanded a response, he said only that he had slept too few hours because he had been searching for her father. He told her he had interrogated half the city, scoured every nook and cranny, but it was as if he had been swallowed by the earth.

His words moved her. “So, you still love me?”

His only response was to kiss her, making all her fears fade away. Theresa felt happy. Still in his arms, she told him what had happened with Zeno and how he’d shown her to the crypt.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he said, stepping back in surprise.

Theresa argued that he was always busy. And she was terrified that someone might overhear and attempt to capture her father.