The Scribe(52)

When Theresa saw Helga a little while later, it was as though a completely different person stood before her. Her loose hair, decorated with colorful ribbons, seemed less gray. She had painted her lips blood red and accentuated her plump cheeks with an extravagant rouge. Her pronounced cleavage revealed ample breasts, which, though sagging, were pushed up by an underskirt. She wore a long overskirt and her outfit was cinched with an eye-catching belt. With every step beaded necklaces danced over her chest, clicking invitingly. The woman sat down and filled her cup to the brim.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” she said, looking at Hoos. A roll of flab had flopped out over her belt, which she absentmindedly pushed back into her skirt.

“I don’t think this poultice is helping. We should take him to the apothecary,” said Theresa.

“He must rest now. Tomorrow we’ll see what dawn brings, and then decide what to do. Althar told me you intend to stay in Fulda.”

“That’s right.”

“And he mentioned you have no family. Have you thought about how you will earn a living?”

Theresa flushed. The fact was she hadn’t considered it yet.

“I see,” Helga continued. “Tell me something: Are you a maiden?”

“Yes,” she responded, taken aback.

“You can certainly see it in your face.” She shook her head. “If you’d been a whore it would make things a lot easier, but there’s still plenty of time for that. What’s wrong? You don’t like men?”

“They don’t interest me.” She looked at Hoos and realized she was lying.

“And women?”

“Of course not!” She stood up, offended.

Helga the Black laughed brazenly. “Don’t be scared, princess, God isn’t here to hear us.” She had another sip of wine, looked her over again and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smudging her lipstick. “Then you’ll have to think of something. Food costs denarii, clothes cost denarii, and the bed that this young man is sleeping in, when it’s not used for f*cking, also costs denarii.”

Theresa’s head was spinning. For a moment she didn’t know what to say.

“I will find work tomorrow. I’ll go to the market and ask at the stalls and in the fields. I am sure to find something.”

“What trades do you know? Perhaps I can help.”

She explained that in Würzburg she had worked in a tanning workshop. She also knew how to cook, she said, having just learned a thing or two from Leonora. However, she didn’t mention her ability to write. Helga thought the tanning workshop was intriguing and pushed for more details, so Theresa told her that she had prepared parchment, sewed quinternions, and bound codices.

“There are no leather workshops here. Everyone makes do by themselves. They might make parchments at the monastery, but I couldn’t say for sure. Did you earn much doing that?”

“I was given a loaf of bread each day. Apprentices aren’t paid.”

“Ah! So you’re still learning. And what did a day laborer earn?”

“One or two denarii a day, but usually they also received food.” She didn’t explain that she was as skilled with the leather as they were.

Helga the Black nodded. Payment with food or goods was normal. However, when Theresa informed her that the laborers were given a peck of wheat, which was the equivalent of a denarius, the woman burst into laughter.

“You have obviously never been to the market. Let’s see.” She moved the jugs to one side of the table and began making little balls of bread with the leftover crumbs. “A pound of silver is twenty solidi.” She finished making the little balls and positioned two rows of ten to one side. “And a solidus is equal to twelve denarii.” She did a few more calculations, but miscounted and then sent all the balls flying onto the floor with an accidental swipe of her arm. “Basically, solidi are gold and denarii are silver, right?”

Theresa looked up as though she were searching for something on the ceiling. Suddenly she responded: “If twelve denarii make a solidus, and twenty solidi make a pound”—she counted with her fingers for a moment—“then one pound is equal to two hundred and forty denarii!”

Helga looked at her in astonishment, thinking she must have already known the answer. “That’s right,” she conceded, and then launched into explaining how it all works in the marketplace. “Two hundred and forty denarii. With one denarius you can buy a quarter of a peck of wheat or a third of a peck of rye. Even half a peck of barley—or one of oats. The problem is that, to grind them, you need a millstone, and the old ones are expensive as hell. So if you find work, it would be best if they paid you in bread rather than grain. If you could earn one denarii a day, that would equal twelve one-pound loaves, but that would be too much for one person.” She continued to speculate about how it all might work out, barely taking a pause for breath. “You really only need one loaf for your own consumption, so you would have to go to the market to trade the nine remaining loaves. And I say nine, because if you stay here, you will have to give two to me for your lodging. A pound of meat or fish costs about half a denarius—or, in other words, the equivalent of six loaves of wheat bread. After that, you will still have three to trade for salt, which doesn’t go bad, so you can always trade that again at any time. If you don’t like it here, I can ask around the area. You might find another room for that price.”