The Scribe(166)

The livid young woman contained herself. She would have slapped him had she not known that the dogs, without a doubt, would tear her apart. The count laughed at her. “Take her to the meat safe,” he ordered, his expression changing.

Theresa didn’t understand, until suddenly two soldiers grabbed her and started dragging her toward the dungeons. She demanded an explanation, but not only did the men not listen to her, but they hit her with a stick to force her down into the hole. After the ladder was removed, Theresa looked up and estimated it would take the height of three men standing on each other’s shoulders to reach the hole, making escape impossible. Soon she saw the dogs’ snouts poking over the edge—and moments later, she saw Wilfred’s face.

“Do you know, lass, I am truly sorry about your father. But you should not have threatened Alcuin, and—more important—you should not have stolen his parchment.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t taken anything,” she responded with surprise.

“As you wish. But I must warn you: If you haven’t confessed by dawn, you will be charged with theft and blasphemy, meaning you will be tortured, and then burned to death.”

“Damned cripple! I’m telling you I haven’t stolen anything.” She threw an empty bowl at him, which ricocheted off the wall with a hollow thud before falling back down on her.

Wilfred didn’t respond. Instead he cracked his whip and the dogs dragged the chair back until he disappeared from sight.

When she was sure he had gone, Theresa slumped onto the same piece of ground where her father had died only moments earlier. She could hardly think, but she didn’t care about the accusations. She had returned to Würzburg for Gorgias. She had fought for him and even been bold enough to challenge Alcuin. But now that he was dead, nothing mattered. Crying bitterly, she lay on the scraps of straw that felt like needles and wondered which cemetery they would bury him in.

She cursed the document. It had caused the death of Genseric, Korne, a young sentry whose name she did not even know, the wet nurse… and Gorgias, a father for whom any daughter would give her own life. She cried inconsolably, and with the pain came the cold, until she was frozen numb.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a pebble hit her on the cheek. She thought it had just crumbled away from the edge, but another blow to her leg made her sit up. She looked skyward but couldn’t see a soul. Again a stone came in through the hole in the wall up above where the snow was poured in from the stables. She examined the duct: It had the diameter of a small barrel and was protected by bars. She pricked up her ears and heard a “Psst.”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“It’s me, Izam,” she heard in the distance. “Are you all right?”

Theresa lay down and went quiet as a sentry poked his head over the edge. The guard glanced at her a couple of times and then went away.

She sat up again, picked up a little stone, and threw it at the opening.

“Listen,” Izam said. “There are guards out here.” He paused. “I’m going to get you out of this place. Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she responded, and she waited for him to continue. But he didn’t speak again.

She could no longer sleep, so she stayed awake waiting for the cocks to announce the arrival of dawn. A faint glow seeped through the snow duct, reminding her where her only hope lay. She looked at the opening, willing Izam to appear, but he never came. Then she noticed some marks on the rock that seemed to illustrate a collection of buildings. Looking closely, she couldn’t recall seeing them on the day that Zeno tended to her father. She looked closer at the illustration, and noticed a repeated horizontal line that looked like it might represent a crossbeam.

Before long, the ladder was lowered and two sentries ordered her to climb out. Theresa obeyed. As soon as she emerged from the hole, they gagged and blindfolded her. Then, after tying her hands, they led her through the kitchens, which she recognized from the smell of baked bread and apple cake. From there they went to the atrium—where she felt the biting cold of the morning—and then they continued to the main hall where Wilfred was waiting. She assumed it was him, for the dogs were growling as if they wanted to devour her. Suddenly a blow from a stick tore her shoulder. The sentries demanded to know where the parchment was, and she repeated that she did not know. They lashed her several times and continued to interrogate her until they grew tired.


Theresa awoke in a pool of her own blood, the blindfold no longer covering her eyes. She looked around and saw that she had been taken to the scriptorium, where a guard was staring at her with a stupid smile. She realized that her hands and feet were chained. At that moment Hoos Larsson came into the room. He handed some coins to the sentry, who then left. He crouched down beside Theresa. He looked at her with such contempt that it seemed as if there had never been anything between them. “The lashes look good on you,” he whispered, touching her earlobe with his tongue.

She spat in his face.

He laughed and gave her a slap that left her cheek bright red. “Come on, be a good girl,” he continued. “Don’t you remember what a lovely time we had?” He ran his tongue across her face. Then he tied her hands together and gagged her so she couldn’t speak. He lowered his mouth to her ear again. “They’re saying that you stole the parchment. Is it true?” he asked with a smile. “Funny how things turn out. A few months ago I had to stab your father in order to get it—and now you’ve gone and stolen it, just like that.”