The Scribe(64)
“I can assure you that is not the case, Father. Rather, I need a scribe, and one who speaks Greek, so her coming is a godsend.”
“Then do as you wish. But she must not be allowed in the chapter at night, lest she stir the baser desires of the clergy.”
Alcuin was pleased. He drank a little wine and served himself another slice of pie. At that moment he remembered the matter of The Swine and asked Lothar about his crime.
“You seem distressed by the affair,” observed the bishop after wolfing down a piece of pie larger than his mouth. “Indeed, when I invited you to the event, you didn’t show much interest, and I must admit, Brother Alcuin, that it troubled me.”
“You must forgive me if I do not share your enthusiasm.” He served himself a thin slice of cheese. “But I have never enjoyed treating death like a special occasion. Perhaps if I knew the details of what happened, I would understand your stance better, but in any case, do not concern yourself more than necessary: I will accompany you to the execution and pray for the condemned man’s soul.”
Lothar pushed the bread aside with one swipe of his arm. “Actio personalis moritur cum persona. Here in Fulda, the clergy is respectful of the law, just as I assume it is in your own country. Our humble presence not only comforts the prisoner in his final trial on earth, but also instills the necessary respect in the common folks, who, as you know, are by nature tempted to follow examples that are contrary to the doctrine of Our Lord.”
“And I admire such laudable intentions,” Alcuin responded, “however, I believe that certain spectacles only serve to distract the masses and accentuate their primitive instincts. Have you not seen how their faces twist into grotesque grimaces as they applaud the agony of the condemned man? Have you not heard the boorish blasphemies they utter while the accused writhes on the rope? Have you not seen their lustful expressions, still sullied by the effects of wine?”
The bishop stopped eating and challenged Alcuin with his stare. “Listen to me carefully! That bastard murdered a girl in the prime of her life. He beheaded her with a sickle and defiled her innocent body.”
Alcuin choked and spat out his mouthful. He had not imagined an offense so grave. “A truly heinous crime,” he said, “which I knew nothing about. But even so, this punishment…”
“Dear brother, the law is not dictated by we humble servants of God. It is Charlemagne’s capitularies who decide such matters. What’s more, I do not understand why you would argue against giving this man the ultimate punishment.”
“No, no. Please, do not misunderstand me. I believe like you that the crime must be punished, and that the punishment—so that justice prevails—must be proportionate to the offense committed. Only, this morning after the Terce service, I heard a most disconcerting comment from some chaplains.”
“What did they say?”
“That this poor half-witted fellow, alluding to the condemned man, should not have been born. Do you know what they might have meant by these words?”
“You said it yourself. They were talking about that cretin. I do not see anything that should concern us in those words,” replied Lothar, serving himself another slice of gourd pie.
“But when I asked them about The Swine—I believe that is what they called him—they told me that he has been a half-wit since birth, and that until the day of the murder, he had not once done anything serious. They said that on a few occasions he had scared someone, but more because of his slovenly appearance than his behavior, and that nobody would have imagined that he was capable of committing such a cruel and abominable act.”
“And if everything they have told you is true, it would seem, dear Alcuin, that you know more about the case than you let on.”
“Just the details that I have recounted. However, I do not know how his guilt was determined. Pray tell, was he caught attacking the young woman? Did a witness see him in the area? Or perhaps someone found his clothes covered in blood?”
The bishop rose and abruptly batted his plate aside. “Habet aliquid ex inicuo omne magnum exemplum, quod cautra cingulos, utilitate publica rependitur. The monster is guilty. He has been tried and sentenced. And like any good Christian, I expect you to applaud when we send him to hell.”
Alcuin was taken aback by the bishop’s reaction. He had not intended to pass judgment on his methods, but merely to make a comment. However, he could see that his words had been ill considered. In reality he had no reason to question Lothar’s views.
“Esteemed Father, forgive me,” he said. “If it is still your desire, please count on me to be there this afternoon.”
Lothar looked him up and down. “I hope so, Brother Alcuin. And I suggest that you think more about victims and worry less about murderers. There is no place for them, nor those who sympathize with them, in the Kingdom of Heaven,” said Lothar, departing without saying good-bye.
Alcuin realized too late how foolish he had been. Lothar would now see him as an arrogant Briton more eager to demonstrate his superiority than to concern himself with his own matters. And worst of all, he was certain that, sooner or later, their confrontation would come back to bite him.
After breakfast, he went to the kitchen to pick up a couple of apples for a midday snack. He chose them ripe and yellow, highly perfumed, just as he liked them. Then he set off for the old library located on the opposite side of the palace. They had told him that the bishop had ordered it constructed at the southern end of the building, facing the interior of the atrium, to shelter it from the wind and damp.