The Scribe(16)
“If it is within my power.”
“I have seen terrible things of late: unclothed bodies lying in ruts, corpses thrown in dung heaps, remains dug from graves by desperate starvelings. I don’t want these things happening to my daughter.”
“Naturally. But I do not see how—”
“The cloister cemetery. I know only clerics and important men rest in that garden, but I ask you as a special favor. You know how much I have done for you.”
“And I for you, Gorgias, but what you ask of me is impossible. Not another soul will fit in the cloister, and the chapel tombs belong to the church.”
“I know, but I was thinking about the area near the well. It’s unused.”
“That place is almost pure rock.”
“It doesn’t matter. I will dig.”
“With that arm?”
“I’ll find someone to help me.”
“Regardless, I don’t think it’s a good idea. The people would not comprehend why a girl accused of murder should lie to rest in a cloister surrounded by saints.”
“I do not understand. You defended her yourself just a few moments ago.”
“True,” he said, shaking his head. “Nicodemus, one of the injured workers, asked for confession. He must have felt the presence of death and between confessing his sins he spoke of what happened. It would seem that events did not occur as Korne described them.”
“What are you saying? That it was not Theresa who caused the fire?”
“Let us say that it is not clear what happened. Nonetheless, even if Korne’s accusation was false, it would be very difficult to prove it. Nicodemus spoke under the secrecy of confession, and we can assume that the rest of the workers will confirm Korne’s version. I do not think Nicodemus will survive much longer in his condition, and even if he does, no doubt he will take back what he said. Remember that he works for Korne.”
“And Korne works for you.”
“My good fellow, sometimes you underestimate Korne’s power. People do not respect him for his work. They fear his family. Many townsfolk have suffered his wrath. His sons are as quick to draw their swords as an adolescent is to unsheathe his member.”
“But you know that my daughter could not have done it. You know Theresa. She was a kind and generous soul.” His tears began to flow.
“And stubborn as a mule. Look, Gorgias: I hold you in great esteem, but I cannot grant what you ask. I am truly sorry.”
Gorgias could understand Wilfred’s position, but he was not going to allow his daughter’s body to be defiled in some old dunghill.
“Then you leave me no option, Your Grace. If I cannot bury my daughter in Würzburg, I will take her body to Aquis-Granum.”
“To Aquis-Granum you say? You must be jesting. The passes are blocked, as are the relay posts. Even if you had a cart with oxen, the bandits would tear you to pieces.”
“I tell you that I will do it if it costs me my life.”
Gorgias held Wilfred’s gaze. He knew the count needed his services and would not permit anything to happen.
Wilfred took his time to respond. “You forget that there is a manuscript that needs finishing,” he eventually said.
“And you that there is a body that needs burying.”
“Don’t tempt fate. Until now I have protected you like a son, but that does not entitle you to behave like an insolent child,” he said, and resumed stroking the dogs’ heads. “Remember that it was me who took you in when you arrived in Würzburg begging for a scrap of bread. It was me who secured your place on the registry of free men, despite the fact that you lacked the required documents or weapons. And it was me who offered you the work that you have benefited from until now.”
“I would be an ingrate if I forgot it. But that was six years ago, and I believe my work has more than compensated you for your help.”
Wilfred gave him a stern look, but then his face softened. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help you. By now Korne will already have been to the judge to report what has happened. It would be reckless for me to accept the body of a person who might be found guilty of murder. And there is more. I would advise you to start worrying about yourself. You can be certain that Korne will go after you.”
“But why? During the fire I was with you in the scriptorium.”
“Hmm… I see that you still have no understanding of the complexities of Carolingian Law, something you will have to remedy if you value your head.”
Wilfred cracked his whip and the dogs moved obediently, dragging the wheeled contraption to one of the lavishly decorated chambers. Gorgias followed, obeying the count’s gesture to follow.
“This is where the optimates are given lodging,” Wilfred explained. “Princes, nobles, bishops, kings. And in this little room we keep the capitula that our king has been publishing since his coronation. Archived with these are the codices of Salic and Ripuarian Law, decretals and acts of the May Assembly—in short, the rules that govern the Franks, the Saxons, the Burgundians, and the Lombards. Now let me see…”
Wilfred brought his wheelchair up to a bookcase built low to the ground and, one by one, examined the volumes organized and protected in wooden covers. The cleric stopped in front of a threadbare tome. He removed it with difficulty, then leafed through it, wetting his finger with the tip of his tongue.