The Scribe(165)

When the commotion on land subsided, they went back to the first ship so that his wound could be cauterized. He was limping a little, so she helped him by putting her arms around his shoulders. While they were preparing the iron, Izam confessed that he had spoken to the missus about her.

“Well, not about you, exactly. About your father and his predicament. He didn’t promise anything, but he told me that he would speak to Alcuin to find out more about the crime he’s accused of.”

He explained that the missi dominici were officials that Charlemagne sent throughout his lands to supervise the administration of justice. They tended to travel in pairs, but on this occasion there was just one. His name was Drogo and he seemed an upright man.

“I’m sure he will agree to our requests.”





30

The man responsible for cauterizing the wound handed Izam a stick to chew on before sinking the red-hot iron into his thigh. After withdrawing the iron, he applied a dark ointment, and finally wrapped the wound in some fresh bandages.

Izam and Theresa ate fresh fish and pork sausages while the seamen unloaded the supplies from the hold. In total the supplies consisted of four oxen, some goats, a few chickens, dozens of game, plenty of fish, and several consignments of wheat, barley, chickpeas, and lentils, which they loaded onto carts to transport to the fortress. When the unloading was complete, a mob of peasants followed Drogo and his men down the twisting narrow streets.

Izam stayed on board, for his leg was still uncomfortable. He also felt safer knowing that Theresa was on the ship instead of surrounded by strangers on land. He was pondering how best to help her when a servant sent by Alcuin appeared at the wharf, asking for the young woman.

With the gangplank removed, the servant had no way to board, so he called out a request that she disembark. Izam advised her to stay onboard, but Theresa kissed him on the cheek and, without giving him a chance to object, she climbed down a ladder.

On land, the servant informed her that Alcuin had agreed to her demands and had sent him to escort her to the citadel. Theresa thought about telling this to Izam, but she decided not to, for fear he would try to prevent her.

At the fortress, the servant showed her through the kitchens, a hive of activity with people preparing food for the feast to be held that night in honor of the missus dominicus. Theresa felt like she was somewhere new, for all around her were people she didn’t recognize. They left the storehouses behind them and headed for the meat safes. There, the guard dropped the ladder into the hole where Gorgias was captive. Theresa carefully climbed down. She found her father shivering, lying under a rotten animal skin. The guard pulled up the ladder, but Theresa didn’t care. She crouched alongside her father and kissed him tenderly. His face burned like a lit torch.

“Can you hear me, Father? It’s Theresa.”

He half opened his rheumy eyes. Although he was looking at her, Theresa knew he could not see her.

Gorgias raised his trembling hand to stroke the crying angel’s face, and as his fingers brushed against her, he seemed to recognize her. “My child?” he sputtered.

She wet his hot forehead with dirty water she found in a jar. Gorgias thanked her in a whisper. Then he forced a smile.

Theresa promised they would soon free him. She spoke to him of Rutgarda and his nephews, the four little urchins he adored so much. She invented a story in which Alcuin had sworn he would give him back his position with all manner of honors. And she also lied about what Zeno had said, telling him he would recover from his wounds. She cried when she realized that the life was draining out of him before her eyes.

“My little one,” he murmured.

Theresa squeezed his hand. She combed his thin hair with her fingers and Gorgias thanked her. Suddenly he began to cough. In a moment of lucidity he remembered Constantine’s document. He wanted to tell Theresa that he had hidden it on a beam in the slave huts at the mine. He had worked so hard, but the words did not come. His vision was fading. “Where are my books? Why aren’t they bringing my inks?”

He was dying.

“They’re here. Just as you like them,” she lied as she stroked his forehead.

Gorgias looked around him and his face lit up as if he could truly see them. Then he held Theresa’s hand tight.

“Writing is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Very much so, Father.”

Then his hand went limp as his final breath left his body.



Two men pulled Theresa out of the hole. Then they hoisted Gorgias’s body up with a rope and took him to the kitchen as if he were a sack of broad beans. More and more people were gathering around her, murmuring and whispering with no consideration for her terrible pain. Before long, barking announced Count Wilfred’s arrival. Theresa clumsily wiped her tears away, then stood face to face with the dogs, their breath on her face.

“Is he dead?” inquired Wilfred without an ounce of compassion.

Theresa bit her lip, throwing a look of hatred at that cripple who seemed to be enjoying the bitterness that overwhelmed her. Out of respect for her father she chose to be quiet, but at that moment, one of the dogs nuzzled its snout against her father’s body and started to lick him. Theresa gave it a swift kick that resounded around the kitchen. The dog spun about and bared its fangs, but Wilfred held it back, grimacing sardonically. “Careful, lass. My hounds are worth more than the lives of many people.”