The Scribe(56)
In the afternoon two drunks visited the tavern, drinking cheap wine until they ran out of money. After they left, Theresa suggested to Helga that they visit the monastery to check on Hoos, but Helga advised her to wait until the appointment with the apothecary the next morning. A little later on, three young men turned up at the hostelry, ate some dinner, laughed among themselves, and left. Soon afterward five laborers arrived, stinking of sweat and eager for food. They sat near the fire, ordered copious amounts of beer and joked about which of the two women would be the first to end up with her underskirt around her ankles. After serving them some food, Helga left Theresa in charge of the kitchen and went out in search of some friends, for they would soon be needed. She returned arm in arm with two women, also plastered in makeup and dressed in colorful clothes. Upon arriving they sat on the laborers’ laps, yelping and laughing as the men caressed them. One of them slid his hand under a skirt and the woman feigned a squeal. Another man, already the worse for drink, offered his girl a swig of wine and spilt it down her cleavage, but the young woman, far from scolding him, responded by showing him a breast.
That was when Theresa decided it was time to withdraw, but one of the laborers noticed her leaving and stood in her way. Fortunately, Helga placated him by whispering in his ear and promising him a night of abandon. Then she told Theresa to go to the storeroom and shut herself in the wine store.
Theresa soon discovered that a brothel’s wine store was not a good place to spend a peaceful night. From the attic she could see the corner that one of the laborers had chosen to have a woman kneel and bring his member back to life. When the tart had achieved this, the man pushed her head away, positioned himself between her legs, and began to pump his backside up and down vigorously. Then he gave a couple of jerks and cursed the prostitute before slumping onto her pale body.
Before long Helga came in accompanied by the perfume merchant. The two of them laughed when they saw the other couple asleep on top of each other. The merchant made as if to wake them up, but Helga stopped him. They started to fondle each other on a nearby bed, and Theresa was thankful they at least covered themselves with a cloak that hid their bodies from view.
When she finally managed to sleep, Theresa dreamed of Hoos. He appeared naked—as did she. He stroked her hair, her neck, and her breasts—caressing her entire body. A strange feeling woke and alarmed Theresa. When she calmed down, she asked God to forgive her for sinning in such a way.
In the morning, Theresa tidied the tavern, which looked like a battleground. Afterward she prepared some breakfast, eating alone since Helga was still hung over. When at last she rose, the woman washed her crotch in a grubby bowl, complained about the cold, and then offered Theresa some advice before she left for the abbey. “And most important, don’t mention that you know me,” she impressed on her with puffy eyes.
Theresa kissed Helga good-bye, recalling that she had already told the apothecary where she was staying. Then she ran to the abbey because the bells announcing the beginning of the Terce service were already chiming.
A stout monk with a retiring demeanor met her at the main gate, and he seemed surprised to hear her intentions.
“Indeed, I am the cellarer, but explain something to me. Who have you come to see? The apothecary, or Brother Alcuin?”
Theresa was taken aback, for she had assumed that the apothecary and Brother Alcuin were the same person, but the cellarer, seeing her hesitation, closed the wicket, leaving her alone outside. She rapped on the little door again with her knuckles, but the monk did not answer until he returned to empty a bucket of scraps outside.
“If you keep making a nuisance of yourself, I’ll take a stick to you,” he threatened.
Theresa tried to respond but couldn’t think what to say. For a moment she considered pushing the monk aside and running to the garden, but it occurred to her to offer him the meat she had brought for the apothecary. Perhaps it would persuade him.
When the cellarer saw the chops, his eyes widened. “Well, make up your mind, then, lass. Who do you want to see?” he asked, snatching the meat from her.
“Brother Alcuin.” She had to assume the gatekeeper was an idiot.
The man bit into one chop, stuffing the other into the sleeve of his robe. He stepped aside to allow her through, and closing the wicket behind them, told her to follow him.
To Theresa’s astonishment, rather than head toward the garden, the cellarer crossed the animal pens, kicking cocks and hens out of the way. They passed the stables, and the kitchen, and after skirting round the granaries, made for an imposing stone building that stood out majestically from the rest. The friar knocked on the door and waited. “The optimates’ residence. Where important guests stay,” he explained.
An acolyte answered, his dark robe contrasting with his pale face. The man looked at the cellarer and nodded as if he had been expecting them. Theresa followed the man in. They avoided the communal chambers by taking some stairs that led them to a hall, its walls lavishly decorated with woolen tapestries. The furniture was finely carved and on the main table were several volumes arranged in a circle. A thread of light filtered onto them through the alabaster window. The acolyte told her to wait and thereupon left the room. Moments later the tall figure of the apothecary entered wearing an exquisite white penula fastened to the waist by an embroidered belt decorated with silver plaques. Theresa felt embarrassed by her own outfit.
“You will excuse the attire I was wearing yesterday, though perhaps I should apologize more for today’s outfit.” The monk smiled. “Please, take a seat,” he said and made himself comfortable on a wooden armchair. Theresa sat on a stool beside him. She looked at his bony face and aging white skin, thin as the layers of an onion.