The Scribe(76)
“I have not made as much headway as I would have liked,” he complained, “but to be honest, the writing is the least of my concerns now.”
“Oh?”
“As you know, my presence in the abbey is at the express desire of Charlemagne.” Alcuin noticed Lothar assume an expression of weariness, but he continued. “Our monarch upholds an uncommon balance between devotion to the divine and rectitude in worldly affairs, which is perhaps why he has commissioned me to ensure particular observance of the Rule of Saint Benedict.”
Lothar nodded. He was well aware of the king’s qualities, for it was thanks to him that he held the bishopric, but he allowed Alcuin to continue his address.
“I have seen, much to my regret, that in the monastery the monks come and go, frequent the markets, speak during services, sleep instead of attending Nocturns, and sometimes even eat meat. And although we are lenient when it comes to sins like laxity or complacency—which after all, are limitations of human nature itself—we cannot approve of, let alone consent to, the depravation and impurity of those whose duty is to watch over their inferiors and set an example.”
“Forgive me, my good Alcuin, but where is this leading? You know that the monastery has nothing to do with the chapter.”
“The Devil resides in Fulda,” Alcuin said, crossing himself. “But not Satan, or Azazel, or Asmodeus, or Belial. Lucifer does not always need princes to do his despicable work. And do not assume I speak of rituals or sacrifices: I am referring to miscreants. Subjects unfit to call themselves ministers of God who use their position of power for their own loathsome ends.”
“I still fail to understand, but by the cape of Saint Martin you are starting to worry me.”
“I am sorry, Father. Sometimes I talk without realizing that the person who is listening to me cannot hear all of my thoughts. I will try to be clear.”
“Please do.”
“A couple of months ago, Charlemagne received news of certain irregularities taking place in the monastery. As you know every abbey behaves like a small county.” Alcuin looked at the bishop who nodded, but he continued anyway to build his case. “It has lands from which the abbot obtains a monthly income, generally paid in-kind. Some tenants hand over barley for brewing, others spelt, wheat, rams, ducks, or pigs. Some pay their rent in wool, others in tools or implements, and most give their labor.”
“That’s right. Our chapter functions in a similar way. What is your point?”
“As you are well aware, here in Fulda most of the wealthy folks grow wheat, which they grind into flour at the abbey. In exchange the monastery keeps a portion as payment.”
“Go on.”
“The fact is that dozens of townsfolk have fallen ill or died recently from unknown causes.”
“And you believe the sickness is related to our mills?”
“That is what I intend to establish. At first I speculated that it might be some kind of pestilence, but now I’m suspecting otherwise.”
“Then tell me how I may assist you.”
“Thank you, Father. The truth is that I need to inspect the mills’ polyptychs from the last three years.”
“The chapter mills?”
“Actually, all three of Fulda’s mills. I already have in my possession two books from the abbey in my cell, but I need your permission for my assistant to accompany me to the episcopal scriptorium so that I may inspect the other chapter mill books.”
“You can request the polyptychs from my secretary Ludwig, but I doubt you will be able to obtain Kohl’s. That man does not record his accounts in books. He has it all in his head.”
Alcuin grimaced, for it was a setback he had not foreseen. “As for my assistant…” He omitted the fact his assistant was a woman.
“Oh, yes! Of course your assistant may accompany you. Now, if you will forgive me.”
“One last thing,” Alcuin paused for a moment to consider.
“Speak, I am in a hurry.”
“This sickness… do you remember a similar event occurring before? I mean, years ago.”
“No, not that I can recall. On a few occasions folks have died from gangrene, but as you know, regrettably that is quite common.”
Alcuin gave the bishop his thanks, a little disappointed. Then he made for the exit where Theresa was waiting for him, still staring at the hole that had been dug in the center of the square.
Alcuin informed her that they would dine in the chapter house that evening since they would continue working through the night. Theresa was surprised by the news, but did not question it. She asked for permission to return to Helga’s house for warm clothes, and they agreed to meet in the same place after the bells had rung for None.
When Theresa arrived back at Helga’s tavern, she found that the door had been barred. Surprised, she checked the rear entrance and the window shutters, which were also locked. There appeared to be no one inside, so she stayed outside for a while looking through the cracks, until suddenly she felt a tugging on her robe. She turned to see a small toothless child.
“My grandmother wants to speak to you,” he blurted out.
Theresa looked in the direction in which the boy was pointing and saw some small hands poking through a little door in a nearby house, beckoning to her. She picked up the infant and ran toward the house. The door opened, revealing the frightened face of an elderly woman, gesturing for her to hurry. As soon as Theresa entered, the old woman re-secured the door with a wooden bar.