The Scribe(99)
“Perhaps it was not such a coincidence,” Alcuin retorted, directing a defiant look at Lothar.
Still crouching behind the choir, Theresa was torn between trusting Alcuin and believing Lothar. Hoos had warned her against the monk and now Lothar was also accusing him of misdeeds with complete conviction. Even the king himself was starting to doubt his own adviser. She wanted to believe him innocent, but then, why would he have locked her in that room?
“Do you know this woman Theresa?” she heard Lothar ask him.
“Why do you ask?” Alcuin responded. “You know her as well as I.”
“Yes, but is it not true that you have spent many hours working with her?”
“I still fail to understand what you mean.”
“If you do not understand, then imagine what we must think about a young, attractive girl, as I seem to remember, helping a monk at all hours of the night in matters that fall beyond a woman’s abilities. If you please, Alcuin, be honest. Aside from conducting business, do you also pursue daughters of Eve?”
“Hold your tongue. I will not permit you to—”
“And now you order me to be quiet,” he said, laughing affectedly. “Confess, for the love of God. And isn’t it also true that you made her swear an oath? Did you or did you not order her to keep your secret? Was this how you attempted to keep your abominable plans secret? By abusing your position, using your superior knowledge, and taking advantage of the shortfalls inherent to the female intellect?”
Alcuin was now visibly grinding his teeth as he stood face-to-face with Lothar. “But what plans do you speak of? God knows that what I say is true.”
“And I suppose God will also be aware of your attempted poisoning, will He not?”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ha! And you think I am the ludicrous one! Very well. Let us see what our King Charlemagne thinks about all of this. Ludwig! Step forward.”
The coadjutor obeyed wearily, looking at Alcuin with scorn.
“Beloved Ludwig, would you be so kind as to tell us what you saw last week, during the ceremony for the execution of The Swine?” Lothar requested.
The coadjutor bowed as he went before Charlemagne. Then he straightened up as if he had swallowed a stick and began speaking in a proud tone, as though his testimony alone could solve the mystery.
“There was a great sense of expectation that day,” he began. “All the monks were transfixed by the gallows. Unfortunately, I do not see well at a distance, so I amused myself by sampling the food and observing the guests. However, the dignitaries were seated close enough to me, I could see them clearly. That was when I caught him,” he said pointing at Alcuin. “I was surprised to see him raising a cup, for the Briton balks at drink. Yet my incredulity doubled when I noticed that, rather than his own, he was holding Lothar’s cup. That was when I saw him fiddle with his ring, opening it, and emptying some powder into Lothar’s cup. Lothar drank from it before I could warn him, and moments later collapsed. Fortunately we were able to tend to him before the poison could take full effect.”
“Is this true?” Charlemagne asked Alcuin.
“Of course not,” he answered categorically.
But at that moment Lothar grasped Alcuin’s hand and pulled on the ring around his little finger. Alcuin resisted, but as they struggled, the lid came open and a cloud of white powder was strewn over Charlemagne’s cloak.
“And what is this?” said the sovereign, standing up.
Alcuin stammered and retreated. This was not how he had envisioned events unfolding.
Before he could answer, Lothar responded for him. “This is what is hidden in a man with a dark soul. A man who brandishes the Word of God while his tongue spits the poison of evil. Abbadon, Asmodeus, Belial, or Leviathan: Any of them would be proud to have him as a friend. Alcuin of York—a man capable of lying to make a profit, capable of keeping quiet while people die in order to protect himself, and capable of killing—he brushed the powder from Charlemagne to prevent his true nature from being unmasked. But I will show you his true face, the face of the beast. Because he was the first to discover what Kohl was doing. Yet rather than stop him, he blackmailed him for his own gain. He lied to him to earn his trust, and he lies now, defending him in order to defend himself. It was his assistant Theresa who was unable to bear her burden of guilt. Refusing to participate in the murder that Alcuin was eager to repeat, she came to me in confession.” He turned challengingly to Alcuin. “And now you can hide behind whatever falsities you can conjure, for nobody born under God’s mantle will dare heed your barking.”
Alcuin silently scanned the faces that had already condemned him. Finally, he took the Bible and placed his right hand on it.
“I swear before God Almighty—for the salvation of my soul—that I am innocent of the charges made against me. And if you will grant me time—”
“Time to continue killing?” Lothar interrupted.
“I have sworn on the Bible. Why don’t you also swear?” challenged Alcuin.
“Your oath is worth as much as the word of that woman who helped you. No, not even that much. Catullus said that the oaths of women are written in the wind and on the surface of waves, but yours evaporate while they are still in your thoughts.”
“Cease spouting old wives’ tales and swear!” Alcuin demanded. “Or do you fear that Charlemagne will strip you of your position?”