The Scribe(159)

In the early hours she awoke with a fierce headache. It was cold, and the slow swaying of the ship made her feel sick. She managed to hold it together as she negotiated the cargo on the deck, trying to locate Izam. At the other end of the boat she found Gratz, who informed her that the engineer had gone off to check the situation with the other ships.

“He told me to make sure you stay here until his return.”

Theresa acquiesced. She took the loaf of bread that Gratz offered her and went back to the stern. There she chewed on the bread while contemplating the fortress’s silhouette. The bread tasted rancid, but she swallowed it without reservation. Then, with the first light of morning, she went over the wax tablets again.

By the time the sun had climbed high in the sky, not even the tossing and pitching of the boat or the ruckus of the seamen with their tools could prevent her from poring over the strange phrases transcribed from the Vulgate. However, the words still jumbled into gibberish. The only certainty was that all the phrases repeatedly alluded to Constantine’s document.

She decided to arrange the four tablets on top of a barrel—as if merely the act of looking at them could reveal their secrets. Then her father’s words sprang to mind: Sic erunt novissimi primi, et primi novissimi.

What was he trying to say? She stood and asked Gratz for a Bible and he gave her the one they kept on the ship to protect them on voyages. Once alone again, she looked for the twentieth chapter in the Evangelium Secundum Matthaeum: Sic erunt novissimi primi, et primi novissimi. The last will be the first, and the first will be the last.

She read the previous and subsequent chapters through, without finding anything to help her understand. She looked at the tablets again while repeating the verse: The last will be the first. She slid her fingers over the scores in the wax.

Suddenly she understood. She tried to read the tablets in reverse order, from the last word to the first. As if by magic, neat sentences formed, combining to create clear paragraphs. When she finished reading, she understood what her father had discovered. Quickly, she hid the tablets under the bench and went to ask Gratz when Izam would return.

“Actually, he was supposed have returned by now,” he said, unconcerned.

Theresa paced up and down the boat until she had learned the contents of the tablets by heart. When she grew impatient she went to see Gratz again and asked him to accompany her on land, but he told her he couldn’t do that until Izam returned.

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always returns.”

Theresa was not convinced by his answer, so she decided that if Izam did not come back by midday she would go alone to the fortress.





29

As the sun reached its peak and there was still no sign of Izam, Theresa made up her mind. She covered herself in a sailor’s cloak, appropriated a bundle so that she could blend in, and with Gratz distracted mending a sail, she went down to the jetty and set off toward the fortress walls. An openwork woolen cap helped her go unnoticed. At the first entrance to the city they paid no attention to her, but to gain entry into the fortress itself, she had to wait for a diligent guard to be distracted by some passing carts.

Once inside, she skirted the outer courtyards with the intention of entering the building from the maze of kitchens. A couple of dogs barked as she went past, but she stroked their heads to soothe them. She crossed an atrium and from there made for the corridor that led to Alcuin’s cell. When she found it locked, she went directly to the scriptorium, where she found the monk reading her stolen Vulgate. When he saw her, Alcuin stood up. “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been searching for you all morning.” He set aside the Bible, making sure he closed the cover.

Theresa took a deep breath and walked in. She was scared, but determined that the murderous monk would release her father from the meat safe. He bolted the door behind her and offered her a chair, which she accepted. Then the monk took out the parchment that Theresa had been working on and placed it in front of her as if nothing had happened.

“You still have to clean the text and go over it again, so you may as well get on with it,” he said, turning his attention back to the Vulgate.

“You’re not going to ask about my father?”

Alcuin stopped reading and coughed, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just with so much going on, I’m a bit distracted. I don’t know if you heard, but a sentry had his throat cut in the fortress yesterday.”

Theresa was surprised at the monk’s peevish tone. He swallowed and took Constantine’s document from her.

“I won’t touch it,” the young woman blurted out.

Alcuin arched an eyebrow. “I can understand why you’re upset, but—”

“I’ve finished it—what more do you want? Have your damned document!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair in a rage.

Alcuin looked at her as if he didn’t understand. “What in the Devil’s name is wrong with you? There are still the conclusions,” he said, trying to calm her down.

“Do you think that I don’t know about your schemes? My father, the twins… that poor sentry.”

Alcuin froze as if he had seen a ghost. With a faltering step he went over to the door and bolted it shut. Then he slumped into a chair. He gave her a puzzled look and asked her to continue. Theresa gripped the stylus she had hidden under the folds of her dress.