The Scribe(98)

Lothar clapped his hands and immediately three servants appeared and led the mill owner out of the church. When they returned they were accompanied by Kohl’s wife, dressed in mourning.

The woman seemed alarmed, but Lothar soothed her. “If you cooperate, nothing bad will happen to you. Now swear on this Bible.”

She obeyed. Then after paying her respects to the king, she sat on the stool Lothar gave her.

From her hiding place, Theresa could see that the woman was trembling with fear. She remembered having seen her at the mill the day she accompanied Alcuin.

“You have sworn on the Holy Bible, so answer truthfully or so God help you. Do you recognize this man?” Lothar asked, pointing at Alcuin.

The woman looked up fearfully, then nodded yes.

“Is it true that he was at the mill a week ago?”

“Yes, Your Excellency, that’s right.” She started crying inconsolably.

“Do you remember the matter that brought him there?”

The woman wiped her tears away. “Not clearly. My husband asked me to prepare something to eat while they spoke business.”

“What kind of business?”

“I don’t remember. About buying some grain, I suppose. I beg you, Your Excellency, my husband is a good man. He has always treated me well—anyone can tell you. He has never beaten me. We have been punished enough with the death of our daughter. Please release us.”

“For pity’s sake, just answer the questions. Tell the truth, and perhaps the Almighty will have mercy on you.”

The woman nodded, trembling. She swallowed and continued. “The monk asked my husband for a batch of wheat, but my husband told him that he only traded in rye. I heard this because, when they started talking money, I paid more attention.”

“So Alcuin proposed a deal to Kohl.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. He said that he needed to buy a large amount of wheat, that it was needed in the abbey. But I swear, Lord Bishop, that my husband would never have done anything unlawful.”

“Very well. Now leave.”

The woman kissed the bishop’s ring and curtsied to Charlemagne. Then she stole a glance at Alcuin before following the same servants that had brought her there. When the woman had left the church, Lothar turned to Charlemagne. “Now it transpires that your monk trades in wheat. Were you aware of this activity?”

The king gave Alcuin a stern look. “Your Majesty,” Alcuin stepped in. “I know you will think it strange, but I was merely trying to discover the source of the sickness.”

“And make a tidy profit along the way,” Lothar interrupted.

“In heaven’s name! Of course not. I needed to earn Kohl’s trust in order to obtain the wheat.”

“Oh! To reach the wheat you say! So what have you concluded, Alcuin? Is Kohl guilty or innocent? Are you pursuing him or defending him? Did you lie to him at the mill, or are you lying to us now?” He turned toward Charlemagne. “This is the man you place your trust in? He who makes falsity his way of life?”

Alcuin clenched his teeth. “Conscientia mille testes. In God’s eyes, my conscience is worth a thousand testimonies. The fact that you do not believe me does not concern me.”

“Well, it should concern you, for neither your eloquence nor your contempt will free you from the dishonor with which you conduct yourself. Tell me, Alcuin, do you recognize this document?” He showed him an ink-stained folia, visibly crumpled.

“Let me see,” he said, examining it. “May I ask where the devil you found this?”

“In your cell, naturally,” he said, snatching it back from him. “Did you write it?”

“Who gave you permission to enter my cell?”

“In my congregation, I do not need it. Answer! Are you the author of this letter?”

Alcuin nodded begrudgingly.

“And do you remember its contents?” Lothar persisted.

“No, not really.”

“Then pay attention,” he said, and repeated the request more politely to Charlemagne before reading: “With God’s help. Third day of the calends of January, and the fourteenth since our arrival at the abbey,” he read. “All the evidence points toward the mill. Last night Theresa discovered several capsules among the cereal, which Kohl kept in his storehouses. Without doubt the miller is guilty. I fear that the pestilence will spread through Fulda, however, the time has not yet come to put a stop to it.”

Lothar stuffed the parchment into his clothing with a grimace of satisfaction. “Certainly these do not seem like the devotions of a Benedictine. What does Your Majesty think?” he asked the king. “Do they not reveal clear intent to cover up a crime?”

“It would seem so,” Charlemagne lamented. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Alcuin?”

The monk hesitated before responding. He argued that he tended to write down his thoughts in order to reflect on them later, adding that nobody had the right to rummage through his belongings, and that he had never done anything that might harm a Christian. However, he did not elaborate on the text.

“And if you suspected Kohl, what compels you now to defend him?” Charlemagne asked.

“It is something I determined later. Actually, I suspect it was his red-haired assistant who—”

“You mean Rothaart, the late Rothaart?” Lothar interjected. “What a coincidence! Does it not seem odd to you that the person responsible for poisoning the entire town should also be poisoned to death?”