The Scribe(170)
Hoos dodged it with feline agility.
At that moment a succession of cracking sounds followed by a great din alerted them that everything was about to collapse. The wall end of the trunk suddenly started to drop, while the other end held fast. Izam and Hoos grabbed hold, but another shudder made Hoos lose his grip and he began to slip into the void. At the last possible moment, Izam caught his arm.
The trunk shook again and tilted even farther. Izam tried to lift Hoos, who was now pleading to be saved. He knew that in order to successfully lift him up, he would have to cast the axe into the moat. Izam dropped the axe, grabbing some branches to steady himself. With a final effort, he pulled Hoos up far enough to where he was able to grab hold of the trunk and scramble onto it.
Now Hoos was behind Izam, who was closer to the tower. The two of them carefully crawled toward the tower, trying to prevent the precariously situated trunk from slipping any farther, when the wall side suddenly dropped dramatically. It was on the verge of complete collapse.
Izam continued crawling forward and Hoos followed. When Hoos came to one of the arrows embedded in the timber, he pulled it out and continued to climb with it. Just as Izam was about to reach the safety of the tower, Hoos drove the arrow into his back.
Theresa cried out in desperation. She had been trying to free herself for some time, but now the rain had lubricated her wrists and soaked the ligatures.
The guards, absorbed in the fight overhead, paid her no attention. Theresa pulled with all her might and was able to free one arm, and then the other. She rubbed her wrists, which she could hardly feel, and picking up a heavy stick from the pyre she went up behind the guards, with her eye on Izam’s crossbow.
She was about to commandeer it when one of the soldiers turned around. Without hesitating Theresa slammed the stick into his head with all her might and he fell unconscious to the ground. She picked up the bow and a dart and ran toward the tower. Seeing her, the other guard tried to stop her, but Theresa was faster and went in through the tower door, bolting it behind her. Then she bounded up the stairs two at a time, her heart in her mouth. When she reached a window near the top, she could see Hoos striking Izam in an attempt to knock him off the trunk.
She aimed the already loaded crossbow out the window and fired. But the dart whistled through the air and disappeared into the distance. She cursed herself for rushing it. Once more she saw Hoos strike Izam, who clutched the trunk for dear life. Theresa was determined not to miss with her last remaining dart. She pulled on the lever to draw the bowstring, but all she managed to do was hurt her hand. Glancing toward Izam, she saw that he was about to fall. She pulled on the lever again and looked at Hoos. She thought about his false caresses and pulled… She thought of her father and pulled… She thought of Izam and pulled until the lever gave and she drew the string. Then she placed the dart in the groove and took aim, knowing she would only have one final shot.
Theresa gripped the crossbow until her arms stopped trembling. She closed one eye and, calmly, she fired. Hoos was about to thrust his dagger into Izam when he felt something thump into his back. He looked down toward his chest and suddenly his vision clouded. In utter disbelief he saw a bloody dart poking through his jacket. He turned in the direction of the arrow and saw Theresa’s face through the window wearing an expression of pure vengeance. It was the last thing he saw before falling into the void.
Izam didn’t stop to look. He quickly crawled up to the tower just as the trunk broke off and plummeted into the moat, taking the parade ground wall with it.
As soon as he got to his feet he embraced Theresa, who was crying inconsolably. Without a second thought he kissed her. They were both soaked to the bone. Slowly, they descended the stairs, in silence.
Down below, the soldiers were beating away at the door, but the thick timber and solid bar held. Izam drew aside the bar. On the other side Drogo, Alcuin, Flavio Diacono, and the two guards awaited them. Wilfred was some distance behind them, near the wall that had just been destroyed.
“Thank you,” Alcuin said to Izam.
Theresa did not understand. Izam had just defeated his champion and Alcuin was praising him. She was even more confused when the monk turned to her and shielded her with his cassock. At that moment, Drogo ordered the soldiers to leave the parade ground.”
“All will become clear,” Alcuin declared serenely.
The rain subsided. The monk approached Flavio, who curiously retreated toward the crumbling parapet. “I must admit it wasn’t easy,” he said. “You, Flavio Diacono, papal envoy of Rome. Who could have imagined you were the cause of so much adversity?”
Theresa made as if to say something, but Izam made her wait.
“The attack on Gorgias,” Alcuin continued, “the death of the poor wet nurse, the abduction of the little girls, the murder of the young sentry… tell me, Flavio, how far would you have gone?”
“You’re raving mad,” he said with an awkward smile. “The outcome of the trial by ordeal clearly proves your guilt. The defeat of your champion discredits you.”
“Defeat? It was you who chose Hoos Larsson.”
“To defend your honor,” Flavio argued.
“To save yourself is more likely. If Hoos died, you would rid yourself of your henchman, the only person who could give you away. Hoos always acted under your orders. And what do you say about Genseric, your other ally? You paid both very well with gold solidi minted in Byzantium.” Alcuin took out a pouch and showed it to him. “A coin whose circulation, as everyone knows, is prohibited in Frankish lands. Where did you get them?”