The Scribe(163)

“With Hoos? When? In the tunnel? I can assure you that wasn’t me.”

“And later in the cloister.”

“I think you’re raving.” He went to put his hand on Theresa’s shoulder, but she fended it off violently. “Stop taking me for a fool,” she warned.

“I will repeat that I never met Hoos in the tunnel, so you can forget about that. It’s true that I saw him in the cloister—as I did Wilfred, a couple of servants, and two prelates. But to conjecture that from my presence there that I am involved? For God’s sake, woman! When Genseric died, we were still on the ship. What’s more, why would I have told you how they were murdered?”

“Then why won’t you release my father now?” she cried. “Or are you hiding something?”

Alcuin looked at her sadly, smoothed his gray hair, and clenched his teeth. Then he asked her to sit down, using a tone she had never heard him use. The young woman refused, but she sensed he was about to confess something big.

“Sit down,” he insisted as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a cloth. He fell silent for a moment. “I think I can safely assert that Wilfred murdered Korne, as he did Genseric.”

“I don’t believe you. Wilfred’s a cripple.”

“He is, and his misfortune is his best ally. Nobody would suspect him… nor any of his devices.”

“What do you mean?”

“Four days ago, Wilfred showed me how one of his contraptions works. He did so when I showed an interest in how the dogs are attached to the chair. He triggered a spring that released their reins as if by magic. I had already noticed that the chamber pot was also equipped with an ingenious mechanism, so I went to see the blacksmith who admitted that he had built them. At first he refused to say anything more, but a few coins were enough to get him to tell me that he had installed an astonishing device in the rear handrail on the chair. Specifically, two small curved nails that were inserted in the grip, which when operated, shoot into the palm like two little darts. The blacksmith swore he never knew their purpose, which is understandable given how unusual the task was.”

“And Wilfred uses this mechanism…”

“To administer the poison. The nails must have been soaked in some evil solution. Viper’s poison, perhaps. I imagine that was how he killed Genseric—and also the parchment-maker.”

“But why would Wilfred commit these crimes? He has access to the document. And the murdered boys? Why would he accuse my father of killing them?”

“I don’t have all the answers yet, though I hope to have them soon. And now that you know the truth, and you know that I know your father is no murderer, I would ask you to please get back to work.”

Theresa looked at the document, with just three paragraphs left to complete. Then she fixed her eyes on Alcuin’s.

“I’ll finish it when you release my father.”

The monk looked away, then suddenly turned back to her, with an expression full of menace. “Your father, your father! There are more important things than your father!” he shouted. “Do you not understand that those who seek the parchment might still get their hands on it? To catch them I need them to think that I already have a culprit. Your poor father is innocent, yes, but so was Jesus Christ, and he give his life to save us from ourselves, did he not? Now answer me this: Do you think Gorgias is better than Christ? Is that what you think? Have you by any chance asked him whether he accepts his sacrifice? If he could speak, I am certain he would be grateful and more than willing. Moreover, let’s stop being frivolous. We both know he is inevitably, and imminently, going to die. How long has he got left? Two? Three days? What does it matter if he dies in a bed or in a dungeon?”

Theresa sprang to her feet and slapped him.

Alcuin was immobile as his cheek flushed red. He reacted as if he had just been woken up. Standing, he went to the window, his hand going to his face.

“I’m sorry, I should not have said those things,” he said. “But even so, take a step back. It’s difficult to hear, I know, but your father will die soon either way. Zeno has confirmed it, and nothing we can do will alter that fact. The future of this document depends on us. I have already explained its significance, and for those reasons I implore you to accept my stance.”

Theresa held back her tears. “I will tell you what,” she said, finally breaking down, “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if they steal the parchment from you and we all end up in hell. I will not stand by and allow my father to perish in that hole.”

“You don’t understand, Theresa. I’m about to—”

“You’re about to kill him, and sooner or later you will do the same to me. Do you think I’m stupid? Neither my father nor I have ever mattered to you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Really? Then tell me—where did you get the Vulgate? Or did it fly here?”

Alcuin looked at her with a distressed expression. “Flavio Diacono found it left in the middle of the cloister.” He closed the Vulgate and handed it back to Theresa. “If you don’t believe me, you can go and ask him yourself.”

“So why will you not release my father?”

“For God’s sake! I’ve explained that already! I need to find out who is after the document.”