The Scribe(70)
When they reached the abbey, their hands and feet were frozen, but in the kitchens they found hot soup, which soon warmed them. They ate quickly because Alcuin wanted to get back to work, but Theresa suggested that they visit Hoos first. The monk agreed, and after clearing their plates they made for the hospital.
At the infirmary they were greeted by the same monk as before. However, his usually cheerful face now bore a concerned expression. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you receive word?”
“Word? Why? What has happened?” asked Alcuin.
“Come in, by God, come in. Two more have come down with the sickness, with the same symptoms.”
“Gangrenous legs?”
“One of them has already started the convulsions.”
The two monks rushed to the room where the infected patients were dying. They were a father and son who worked at the sawmill. Alcuin observed that the father already displayed the telling signs of a black nose and ears. He tried to question them, but all he obtained was incoherent babble. All he could do was prescribe them some purgatives.
“And give them milk mixed with charcoal to drink. As much as they can take,” he instructed.
While the infirmarian prepared the remedies, they went to check on Hoos. However, when they arrived at his room, they found his bed empty. No one present knew where he was either. They looked in the latrines, in the adjoining dining hall, and in the small cloister where the healthier patients went to recover, but he was nowhere. After searching so thoroughly, they had to accept that he had disappeared.
“But it’s not possible,” Theresa complained.
“We’ll find him,” was all Alcuin could say.
He advised the young woman to go home and stay calm. He had to return to the library, but he would issue an order for them to inform her as soon as Hoos appeared. They agreed to meet the next morning at the chapter gates. Theresa thanked him for his concern, but as she turned away, she couldn’t stop the tears from coming.
Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon shut away in the loft so that Helga would not ask her what was wrong. However, just before nightfall she decided to go for a walk around the nearby streets. As she wandered the alleyways she wondered about the meaning of the tightness in her chest. What was the shiver that ran down her spine every time Hoos came to mind? Each morning she could not wait for the moment when she would see him, speak to him, feel his eyes on her. Her tears returned. Why was her life such a punishment? What had she done so that everything she loved ended up disappearing? She walked on aimlessly, trying to guess Hoos’s whereabouts, trying to imagine what might have happened to him. She recalled that on her last visit, Hoos had barely managed a few steps around the cloister, and that was just the day before. He was still so unwell that it seemed impossible that he could have fled.
She kept walking, not realizing that gradually she was straying farther away from the busier streets. It was cold and she closed her cloak around her face, trying to shield her nose. By the time she registered her surroundings, she found herself in a dark, narrow street that smelled of something rotten. A bark made her jump.
She looked around and saw that most of the houses appeared to be abandoned, as though their owners had changed their minds about living in such a gloomy place and fled without even closing the windows. Frightened, she decided to return home. Walking quickly back, she saw a hooded figure appear at the top of the street. Theresa waited for it to pass, but it did not move. She tried to stay calm, telling herself it was nobody, that nothing would happen to her. She kept walking, but as she approached the cloaked figure, her heart accelerated. Whoever it was remained silent, watching, immobile, like a statue.
Theresa quickened her step and lowered her gaze, but as she reached the hooded figure, it swooped down on her and tried to hold her fast. She wanted to scream but a hand prevented her. All she could do was whimper in terror. In a desperate attempt to escape, she bit the hand that was gagging her. The man screamed and at that moment his voice made her freeze. “Jesus, woman! What are you trying to do? Amputate my hand?” he said, sucking on the wound.
Theresa could not believe his voice. His accent, his intonation… it could only be Hoos. Without giving it a second thought she threw herself into his arms, which received her with tenderness.
Hoos pulled back his hood, revealing a good-humored smile. He stroked her hair and breathed in her perfume. Then he suggested they walk on, for it was not safe where they were.
“But where were you?” the young woman sobbed. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He told her that he had followed her. He had just fled the abbey because he needed to return immediately to Würzburg.
“If I stay at the hospital, I’ll never make it in time.”
“But you can hardly stand.”
“Which is why I need a horse.”
“You’re crazy. The bandits will kill you. Have you forgotten what they did to you the last time?”
“Forget that. You have to help me.”
“But I don’t know—”
“Listen to me,” he interrupted, “it is vital that I reach Würzburg by next week. I risked my life to save yours, and now I need your help. You have to get hold of a mount for me.”
Theresa could see the desperation in his face.
“All right, but I don’t know anything about horses. I will have to ask Helga.”