The Scribe(45)

“Do you feel better?” she asked timidly. They were the first words she had said to him. Hoos hesitated before answering.

“You weren’t so concerned when you took off with my dagger,” he said.

Theresa didn’t know what to say. She went to her bag and returned red-faced. “I don’t know how I could have done it,” she said, tears in her eyes.

Hoos’s expression changed. He took the dagger and stuffed it under the blanket. Then he closed his eyes and turned away.

Theresa understood that nothing she could say or do would change his mind. After all, if it had been the other way round, she would have reacted the same. She wiped away her tears and with a trembling voice asked him to forgive her. Finally, faced with the young man’s indifference, she left the cave with her head bowed.

On the way to the second cave she came across Leonora, who noticed the young woman’s reddened eyes. But Theresa walked past, not giving her a chance to say anything. Leonora went back to the bear cave. When she questioned Hoos about what had happened, he replied with a terse, “It’s none of your business.”

Leonora was affronted by his response. “Listen to me, young man: I don’t care where you come from or what titles you have. You should know that you are only alive because that girl, who you’ve just made cry, made sure of it, so you had better start behaving like a prince toward her or it’ll be me who breaks your ribs.”

Hoos didn’t answer. He thought to himself that nobody would know or care about the impulse he had to follow the girl in the first place.





DECEMBER





9


First it was just a slight tingling. Then the wound stabbed at him. Gorgias threw the wax tablet that Genseric had given him onto the old bed and approached the light that sifted through the little window high up in the cell. He undid the bandage around his arm, taking care not to pull off the scab. When he looked at his flesh underneath he noticed that his entire arm was violet and a cluster of pustules was starting to appear between the stitches. If it had been possible he would have had the physician Zeno take a look at it, though the absence of a foul smell was reassuring. With the point of his stylus, he flicked off the driest scabs and cleaned out the yellowish pus underneath. Then he tightened the bandage and prayed that his arm would scar without further complications.

For the first hour of his confinement, he merely waited, examining the little window that not even a small child could have squeezed through. Try as he might, he could not see anything through the alabaster. He thought about breaking it, but controlled his urge. When he heard the bells signaling Sext, he knew his wife would have probably come to the chapter by now, worried about his absence.

He imagined the lies they would tell her.

Gorgias wanted to believe that Genseric was telling the truth: That it was Wilfred who was responsible for his imprisonment. Perhaps he did want to protect him from the parchment-maker. Or was it more that he wanted to watch over his progress with the document? But, why in such a place of confinement where he had so little control? He could have chosen the scriptorium, where all the necessary equipment could be found, or even his own chambers, to keep him under close scrutiny. After all, Wilfred didn’t know about the attack, so if he was being sequestered for his own safety, as the coadjutor claimed, Wilfred probably would have thought the scriptorium sufficient.

As night fell, he heard the sound of the bolt announcing someone’s entrance. He thought it might be the count, but the stench of urine announced the arrival of the coadjutor. Then he heard his slow, deliberate voice ordering him to go to the back of the room.

Gorgias did so and asked after his wife, but received no answer. The hatch at the foot of the door started to revolve, and when it stopped turning, he went to investigate and found Genseric had placed inside his cell a hunk of bread and a jug of water. From the other side of the door, he heard the coadjutor tell him to take the food and put the list of the items that he would need to complete his work in the hatch.

“Not until you answer me,” he insisted.

A few moments went by, which felt like an eternity to Gorgias. Then the hatch turned again, taking with it the bread and water. Gorgias thought he could hear Genseric retrieving the food from the hatch on the other side. Then he heard a door slamming, and then silence, a silence that lasted until deep into the early hours.

Midmorning, Genseric returned, this time humming a tune. After checking to see if Gorgias was awake, he informed him that Rutgarda was well. He had visited her at her sister’s house.

“I told her you would be spending a few days in the scriptorium, working, and you know what? She was perfectly understanding. I gave her two loaves and some wine, and I promised her that while you remain with us, she will have the same every day. She asked me to give this to you.”

Gorgias watched the hatch revolve. Along with the bread and water that he had taken away the day before, there was a little embroidered scarf. It was Rutgarda’s—she wore it all the time.

Gorgias held it gingerly against his chest. Then he took the bread, which he eagerly began to eat. From the other side Genseric pressed him for the list of things he would need. Still wolfing down the bread, Gorgias wrote a long list on the tablet. Next he pretended to go over the notes before leaving the tablet in the hatch and rotating it back to its initial position. Genseric grasped the tablet, read it closely and disappeared without saying a word.