The Scribe(7)

“It’s curious,” she said confidently. “My father not only assured me that Wilfred would witness the examination, but also that, aware of my progress, he wanted to keep my first parchment for himself. A parchment that—as you know—I must mark with my seal,” she pointed out. She prayed that Korne would swallow her lie. If he did, perhaps she would have a chance.

The parchment-maker’s stupid smile immediately disappeared from his face. Ultimately, he did not know whether what she was saying was true, but if they were Wilfred’s wishes, he could hardly risk going against them. In any event, he could not care less what the count said or thought, because the girl would not pass the test. Not, at least, while he was master of the parchment-makers.

Theresa was still waiting to hear whether she would be allowed to take the test when Korne summoned the rest of the workers. Laborers and craftsmen immediately stopped their work filling the courtyard and turning it into a sort of arena. The youngest workers nabbed the front spots, spreading out around the yard. One boy shoved another lad, who fell into a pool, making the crowd cheer with approval. The craftsmen made themselves comfortable in the corners out of the rain, but the laborers were unfazed by a little water. One of them came out with a basket of apples to share with those who were waiting impatiently as if for the beginning of the show. It seemed like everyone except Theresa knew what was about to happen. Korne clapped his hands and addressed the improvised audience.

“As you all know, young Theresa has applied for admission to the guild.” There was a roar of laughter.

“The lass,” he said, pointing at her as he clutched his groin, “thinks she is cleverer than you, cleverer than my sons, and cleverer than me. This woman! A woman who shits her skirt and hides under a blanket when she hears a dog bark! But she has some courage, I’ll give her that. Ha! The audacity to ask for a job that by its very nature is for men.”

The laborers laughed in unison. One joker threw an apple core, which flew across the yard and hit Theresa in the face. Another flailed about, imitating a girl running scared, and the rest applauded until Korne interrupted the jesting to continue his tirade.

“Women doing men’s work… can someone explain to me how a woman could work here and also tend to her husband? Who would cook and clean for him? Who would take care of his children? Or perhaps she would bring her brood of little girls here to join the guild, too?”

Laughter rippled around the yard again.

“And when summer comes and the heat arrives, when sweat soaks her body and her smock presses tight against her breasts, will she expect us to look elsewhere and repress our desires—or perhaps she will offer us her fruits as a reward for our efforts?”

The crowd continued laughing, shoving each other and winking as they applauded Korne’s witticisms.

At that moment, Theresa stepped forward. Until then she had kept quiet, but she was not going to put up with any more jeering. “If I have a husband one day, how I look after him will be my business. And as for my breasts,” she said, “given the attention you pay them, I will be only too pleased to inform your wives of your lecherous desires so they can make up for the lack that you so clearly suffer from. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to start the test.”

Korne reddened with rage. He had not expected such a feisty reaction, let alone the derisive snickers her words provoked among the youngsters—snickers that he imagined were aimed at him. The parchment-maker went over to the basket of apples and picked out the most damaged one. Then he turned and walked over to Theresa. Planting himself a few inches from her, he slowly bit into the apple. After slobbering all over the fruit, he held it out in front of the girl’s lips.

“Want some?”

He smiled at Theresa’s disgust. Looking at the fruit again, he saw a worm squirming in its rotten center. Without batting an eye, he bit through the core and the worm, casting the rest of the apple into one of the pools. As he chewed, he gathered his unkempt hair into a grotesque ponytail. Then he went over to the pool where he had discarded the apple.

“Here you have your test,” he said, and he opened the latticework lid that protected the pool. “Make ready the skin and you will earn the qualification you so crave.”

Theresa’s lips tightened. Scraping and preparing the skins was not a task befitting a craftsman, but if that was what Korne wanted, she would not disappoint him. She walked over to the edge of the pool and observed the layer of blood and fat floating on its surface. Taking a spade, she pushed the remains left by the caustics to one side and fished around for the skin that she would work on. But after several attempts, she still could not find one. She turned with a look of puzzlement on her face, demanding an explanation.

“It’s in there,” Korne indicated toward the deepest pool.

Theresa walked over to the pool that received the skins just as they had been torn from the animals. Carefully, she took off her boots. Then she gathered up her skirt and stepped into the water, holding her breath.

Scraps of skin and clots of blood floated in the bath, intermingling with the filth of the maceration pool. Under the attentive gaze of the crowd, she lowered herself until the liquid reached her stomach. The cold made her groan.

She waited a moment before taking another deep breath and letting herself sink into the depths of the pool. For a blink of an eye she disappeared underwater, but she quickly emerged with her head veiled in grease. Spitting, she wiped the filth from her face. Then she plunged further into the center of the bath, pushing away the floating detritus. The lime stung her skin under her clothes and the ice numbed her bones. Under her bare feet she could feel a bed of slime. And she groped the surface like a blind woman looking for a rail to cling to. But she kept going, feeling her way forward as the water lapped against her chin.