The Scribe(33)
She reached the entrance to the pass with enough light remaining to see that it was impassable in the dark, so she decided to spend the night on the mountain. The next day she would continue to the east in search of the path to Fulda. All she knew was that there was a peculiar rock formation that, according to Hoos, marked the beginning of the route.
At first she thought she could endure the cold, but when her feet started to freeze, she decided to light a campfire. She arranged some firewood under a handful of tinder before striking her steel against the pieces of flint. The tinder ignited, but just as easily as it caught fire, it also extinguished before the branches could start to burn.
She knew that the damp wood was the problem and she would have to position the drier branches on top of the damp ones. She restacked the firewood, placed another little pile of tinder upon it, and repeated the operation, with the same result. Distraught, she saw there was only enough tinder left for a couple more attempts. Perhaps if she used it all at once instead of little by little, she might have a chance.
She pulled out the flask of oil and poured a little onto the branches. Once they were soaked, she put the tinder onto a piece of leather and stamped on the little box until it was shattered into pieces. Then she arranged the splinters under the tinder and prayed that they would catch.
For the third time, she struck the flint, which spat out sparks as if by magic. On the fourth attempt the tinder caught. She quickly blew on the flames that licked against the splinters. For a moment they faded until they had almost died, but gradually they began to gain strength until they spread to the oiled branches.
That night she slept peacefully. In the warmth of the fire she imagined her father watching over her. She dreamed of her family, of her work as a parchment-maker, and of Hoos Larsson. She pictured him noble, strong, valiant. At the end of the dream, he was kissing her.
The storm woke Theresa just before dawn. She gathered her belongings and ran to take shelter under a nearby oak tree. When it stopped raining, she felt like the cold would return. But gradually the clouds dispersed and the sun timidly cast its rays on the mountain peaks. She took it as a good omen.
Before setting off again she prayed to God for the good health of her father and her stepmother, and also for the soul of Hoos’s unfortunate horse. She also thanked him for allowing her to live another day. Then she wrapped herself in her cloak, bit into a piece of cheese, and started walking, still wet from the rain.
Three miles later, she began to wonder whether she had taken the right route. The tracks had narrowed to footpaths, appearing and disappearing in the endless white surroundings. Yet she went on undaunted, on a course that appeared to lead to nowhere.
At midday she came across a fast-flowing stream that blocked her path. She walked along the bank for a while, looking for somewhere to wade across, until she reached a section where the water had formed a large pool. There she stopped to admire the scenery, the fir trees and mountain peaks reflected in the clear surface of the water as though it were a mirror, doubling their beauty. She was captivated by how the trees bunched together like a vast army, with snow dotting their olive-green foliage. The water gurgled peacefully and the intense aroma of resin mixed with the cold to clear her lungs.
Hunger growled softly in her stomach.
Though she knew she would find nothing, she rummaged through her bag once again before deciding to do something she had sometimes seen the village boys do: She looked for a shady bend in the stream and lifted up some rocks until she found a seething mass of worms. Then she made a hook by taking a clasp from her hair and bending it over a branch before threading a couple of worms. She tied one end to a string of wool that she pulled from her dress and cast it as far into the water as she could. If she was lucky, she would be having roast trout for lunch.
No sooner had she cast her line, she saw something unsettling. Half-hidden in the undergrowth, a few paces away, she noticed some sort of grounded craft. Hoos wouldn’t have bothered to mention something like that to her, but no doubt it was one of those ferries used to transport goods back and forth over the river.
She pushed aside the thicket and jumped onto the boat, which creaked under her weight. Near the bow she found a pole, resting on a rope that formed a bridge from one bank to the other. She thought it was probably used to prevent the current from dragging the ferry off during loading. After checking that the hull was intact, she decided to use it to cross to the other side of the bank.
Walking around to the grounded end, she pressed her back against the stern and pushed with all her weight, her feet sinking into the mud. The ferry didn’t budge. She attempted it several more times, until her legs and arms were trembling. Exhausted, she finally fell to the ground, crying bitterly.
Since fleeing Würzburg, she had lost count of the times she had cried. Wiping away her tears, she thought about giving up and wondered if she should return and beg Wilfred, God, or whoever necessary for mercy. At least then she could be with her family, and perhaps with their help she could prove that she had not caused the fire. However, she remembered the dead girl and shuddered. Her idea was surely deluded. She decided that if she were to make any sort of life for herself, it would have to be on the other side of this river.
Dismayed, she looked around until she found a medium-sized pebble, which she threw with all her strength toward the opposite bank. The stone flew a quarter of the way across the pool before sinking, so she estimated that it was around a hundred paces wide. In that cold water she would never make it across by swimming. She thought there might be a bridge farther on. But just as she was about to continue on her way, it occurred to her that if she hung from the rope, perhaps she could claw her way to the other side. On either side of the bank the rope was knotted to a tree, and the trees seemed secure enough to support a man’s weight. She could also see that, though the rope dipped halfway across, at no point would she be entirely submerged.