The Scribe(75)
“It may seem that simple, but unfortunately that’s not sufficient enough. Whoever is selling it likely already knows that the wheat is killing people, so a mere warning would only alert the criminal to the fact that we have discovered him.”
“But at least people would stop eating wheat bread.”
“I can see you are unaware of the extremes a famine will push one toward. Folks will eat waste, rotten food, sick animals. And don’t think that it is only the rich who have been affected, for today two beggars died. What’s more, we would not just ruin the merchants, the millers, the bakers, and the hundreds of families who make a living from the cereal—but it is likely that the criminal, knowing that he is being sought, would grind all the contaminated grain and thus spread the poison irremediably. No.” He gave Theresa a grim look. “All we can do is find out who the ultimate perpetrator is before the wheat kills anyone else. And to do so, you must swear to the utmost secrecy.”
The young woman took the crucifix that Alcuin held out to her, pressed it against her chest, and swore to him, knowing that if she broke her promise her soul would be condemned forever.
After thoroughly cleaning the containers, they left the apothecary and made for the cathedral, dashing from porch to porch as though they feared someone was following them. Occasionally they stopped to catch their breath and Theresa would ask Alcuin what he knew about ergot. The monk informed her that during his time at the school in York, they had suffered the Plague on more than one occasion.
“But it was always in the rye,” he insisted.
He told her that, coinciding with his appointment as librarian, several monks had fallen ill. It was a time of famine, he explained. When the wheat had been used up, some batches of rye were brought in from the fields of Edinburgh. This grain produced dark, bitter-tasting bread, though it was not as bitter as spelt, and it was resistant to the cold. It did not harden so quickly, so it could be kept after baking. But then people started to die. He also managed the library’s collection, but also administrated tolls, market taxes, and corvées. His access to these documents enabled him to make the connection between the arrival of the rye and the first signs of the illness. However, only after a fourth novice died did they ask for his advice and help.
“By then, half the monastery had been contaminated,” he lamented. “We called it Ignis Sacer, or sacred fire, due to the burning sensations that it caused in the limbs. I discovered the presence of the little horns among the rye grain, and confirmed their deadly effects after feeding them to some dogs. In later years the Plague would visit us again, but by then we knew how to protect ourselves.”
“Did you find a cure?”
“No, unfortunately. Once the poison penetrates the body, it spreads like sand in water. From that moment on, the fate of the sufferer depends on God’s will and the amount of ergot that has been ingested. However, we prevented many deaths by thoroughly inspecting the grain before eating it.”
They walked on toward the chapter, for Alcuin wanted to consult the provisioning book for its mill. He had already inspected the abbey’s polyptychs and he intended to inspect Kohl’s books, too.
“What I don’t understand is why we have to inspect the chapter’s polyptychs, when I found the ergot at Kohl’s mill,” said Theresa, involving herself in the investigation.
“The capsule… the casing of the ergot was dry. Dead,” the friar responded as they climbed the steps to the cathedral. “Yet even so, it still preserves its lethal properties. We can assume that the grain was harvested over a year ago, for that is how long the ergot survives before drying out.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I found it at Kohl’s mill.”
“It is undeniable that a batch ended up there. Yet, as Kohl himself says, no wheat is planted on his lands, which I confirmed, naturally, by checking the various polyptychs.”
“So why, when you offered to buy wheat, did he even consider your offer?”
“An interesting observation,” he said with a smile. “And of course, a detail to reflect upon, as long as we do not forget that the purpose of this inquiry is to prevent more deaths. Now wait here until I return. I will be back after speaking to the bishop.”
Theresa sat on the cathedral steps, away from the vagrants competing for the spaces nearest the portico. While she waited, she watched a group of soldiers dismantling some stalls in the middle of the square.
“What are those men doing?” she asked a beggar who was gazing at her, captivated.
The mendicant hesitated before opening his mouth. “Preparing for the execution. They came a while ago and started digging in the middle.” He pointed at a medium-sized cavity.
“The hole is for the gallows?”
“No! They’re building a pond!” he guffawed, flashing his single tooth. “Can you spare a little coin?”
Theresa took a couple of walnuts from her pocket, but upon seeing them, the beggar spat on the ground and turned away. She shrugged, put them away and headed toward where the soldiers were working. Near them, two laborers toiled to widen a ditch so large it could fit an entire horse. The workers appeared talkative, but when she asked them what the hole was for, one of the soldiers told her to move on.
Alcuin found Lothar on his way back from the refectory. After the customary greetings, the bishop inquired after the progress of his writing.