The Scribe(175)
“You could still stay and work with me,” Alcuin suggested. “I will be at the fortress for a while to organize the scriptorium and wrap up certain matters. As punishment, Wilfred will be sent to live in a monastery, so you could help me for now, and decide later about your future.”
But she had already made up her mind. Working among parchments was what she had always wanted, but now she longed for a different world, the world Izam told her about and that she yearned to discover for herself. Alcuin understood.
As he helped her pack up her bundles, he asked her again about Constantine’s document. “I am interested in the first transcription,” he explained. “The one your father made while he was held captive. He must have nearly completed it.”
“I never saw such a document,” the young woman lied, recalling the parchment she had found in her father’s bag. But it didn’t matter. She had long since destroyed it.
“It would be monumental if it exists. If we found it, we could still present it to the chapter’s council,” he insisted.
“I’m telling you that I don’t know anything about it.” She reflected before adding: “And even if I did know its location, I would never deliver it to you. In my mind there’s no place for lies, or death, or ambition, or greed—even if you wield it in the name of Christianity. So you stick with your God, and I’ll stick with mine.”
Theresa said a polite farewell without another thought of the parchment.
As she walked to the wharf, she recalled the strange symbols that she guessed her father had drawn in the meat safe and she wondered for a moment about the intensity with which he had etched those beams.
She found Izam on the riverbank helping his men caulk the ship. As soon as he saw her, he dropped his bucket of pitch and, with his hands still black, ran to help her with her belongings. She laughed when he took her face in his hands, leaving streaks of black across her cheeks. Cleaning herself with a cloth, she kissed him, then rubbed the pitch on his clean, dark hair.
APRIL
32
The day’s voyage passed pleasantly, with the quacking of ducks and wildflowers festooning the banks as if they had been arranged by a welcoming committee. They disembarked in Frankfurt, where they parted company with Drogo to join a caravan leaving for Fulda.
When they arrived back in Fulda, they found Helga the Black with her belly rounder than any Theresa had ever seen. Recognizing them, Helga dropped the haystack she was carrying and tried to run to meet her friend, wobbling like a cantharus. She hugged Theresa so hard that the girl thought she would burst. When Helga heard that they planned to settle in Fulda, she gave so many leaps of joy that it seemed as if she might give birth right there.
On the way to Theresa’s lands, Helga asked her surreptitiously whether she was going to marry Izam. The young woman gave a nervous laugh. He had not asked her, but she knew that one day he would. She spoke to her of her plans to plow more lands and build a large, solid house, like those constructed in Byzantium, with several rooms and a separate latrine. Izam was a resourceful man and had some funds saved, so she thought it would be well within their means.
When Olaf saw Theresa and Izam arriving, he ran to them like a little boy. Izam was surprised at how well the slave moved with his wooden leg, and he asked how the joint was working. While they became engrossed discussing contraptions, horses, and land, Theresa and Helga went to the rudimentary hut that Olaf and his family had transformed into a cozy home. The children had put on weight and Lucille greeted them with food on the table.
That night, crammed together, they did not sleep well, despite Olaf spending the night outside. The next day they surveyed the sown fields, which were already beginning to germinate, as well as the uncultivated land. In the afternoon, they went down to Fulda to buy timber and tools, and over the next few days they began to build what would become the family home.
On the fourth day, while Olaf and Lucille were in town, Izam took the opportunity to speak to Theresa alone. He put down the firewood he was carrying and approached her from behind, tenderly embracing her. She could feel the sweat of his brow on her neck, and she turned to kiss his sweet, plump lips.
Izam stroked her hands, which were now covered in blisters. “They used to be so delicate,” he lamented.
“But I didn’t have you before,” she replied, kissing him again.
Izam looked around him as he wiped the perspiration from his eyebrows. The house was progressing slowly, and it was not going to be as large as Theresa had wanted. What’s more, the virgin soil required more work than they had calculated—perhaps too much for the meager yield they hoped to gain from it. However, he admired the pride with which Theresa confronted every undertaking.
Together, they walked beside the stream. Izam kicked the odd pebble. When Theresa asked what he was thinking about, his response was that all they had was not what he wanted for her.
“What do you mean?”
“This kind of life. You deserve more,” he responded.
Theresa didn’t understand. She told him that she was happy simply to know he loved her.
“And your reading and writing? I have seen you rereading your tablet every night.”
She tried to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.
“We could go to Nantes,” Izam suggested. “I have fertile lands there, inherited from a relative. The climate’s mild, and in summer the beaches are filled with gulls. I know the local bishop, a good and simple man. I’m sure he’ll lend you books and you’ll be able to write again.”