Garrido, Antonio - The Scribe

“What problem?” a fearful Theresa asked.

“The problem, Theresa, is that even if we find your father, he will not be able to finish the job!” he screamed again like a man possessed.

Theresa’s quill slipped from her hand.

“And you know why?” he added, still roaring. “Because he is an invalid now. A useless one-armed scribe incapable of writing a docket.”

At that moment Theresa saw everything clearly. The monk had never intended to help her father. His only intention was to help himself, and now that her father was of no further use to him, he would no longer look for him and would only focus on the document.

Instantly, she hated him with every fiber of her being and suddenly had the urge to plunge her own stylus into his stomach. But then, just as suddenly, she remembered the parchment hidden in her father’s bag. Perhaps she could still defeat this devil.

She mustered the courage to offer a deal. “Find my father and you’ll have your parchment ready for you.”

Alcuin gave her a sidelong glance and turned back to continue brooding.

“Did you not hear me?” She boldly grabbed him by his habit. “I can finish it, I tell you.”

The monk smiled sardonically, but then Theresa took a quill and quickly began to write.

IN-NOMINE-SANCTAE-ET-INDIVIDUAL-TRINITATIS-PATRIS-SCILICET-ET-FILII-ET-SPIRITUS-SANCTI

- - -

IMPERATOR-CAESAR-FLAVIUS-CONSTANTINUS

Alcuin turned pale. “But, how the hell?”

The script was as crisp as her father’s, and the copied text was an exact replica.

“I know it by memory,” she lied. “Find my father, and I will finish it.”

Astounded, Alcuin accepted. He asked her to write a list of what she would need to write it and then ordered her to return to her chamber.

Alcuin found Zeno at the tavern in the main square, his face buried in a whore’s chest, drunk with wine. Seeing him arrive, the prostitute rummaged through the physician’s pockets and after appropriating a coin she left the table without a word. It was not the right place to talk about such serious affairs, so Alcuin convinced Zeno to exit the inn. As soon as they stepped out into the street, Alcuin threw a bucket of water over the physician, which sobered him up enough so that he could confirm what Theresa had said.

“I swear I had no dealings with Genseric. I removed Gorgias’s arm, and that was it,” he said defensively.

Alcuin clenched his teeth. He had hoped Theresa had been wrong, but if Zeno had truly operated on Gorgias, then he would surely die. The physician confirmed that it was Genseric who hired him to tend to the scribe.

“Genseric, who incidentally was found dead the next day,” Alcuin pointed out.

Zeno acknowledged it, though he doubted that Gorgias was the murderer. “He lost so much blood when I cut off his arm,” he said, shaking his head.

Alcuin understood.

“Now that you mention it, Genseric was behaving strangely, as if he were intoxicated, which I thought odd because he never drank. I recall that he mentioned something about an itchy hand. It was red and looked to be covered in bites.”

Zeno couldn’t provide Alcuin with much more information, only the location of the stables where he had operated on Gorgias and also the entrance to the crypt. After telling him these things, he walked unsteadily back into the tavern.

Alcuin had no difficulty finding the two places Zeno had mentioned. In the stables he found nothing of interest, but in the crypt he gathered several clues that improved his understanding of the situation.

On his return to the fortress, he found that there was a great stir at the gate. When he asked what was happening, a woman told him that the guards had closed the gates, locking them outside.

“I am Alcuin of York,” he said, identifying himself to a sentry. The guard paid him as much attention as he would a junk merchant.

“You can shout as much as you want—they won’t let anybody in,” a boy assured him, pushing and shoving.

“Neither in nor out. Not even their own soldiers are allowed through,” said another boy who seemed a little more informed.

Alcuin attempted to climb the hillock on which the sentry was posted, but the guard dealt him a blow with his stick. As he fell to the ground, Alcuin realized that he had just cursed out loud the man who hit him. Several peasants laughed at his unholy outburst.

Though there were rumors, nobody really knew what was happening. Some were saying that a pestilence had broken out. Others claimed the Saxons were attacking. There were even those who purported that more dead boys had been found.

Alcuin was about to head to the nearest church when he noticed Izam on the wall. Without giving it a second thought he clambered onto a barrel and waved his arms. Izam recognized him and ordered his men to allow him through.

“May I ask what is going on?” Alcuin protested once inside. “That idiot struck me,” he said, pointing at the sentry at the gate.

In response Izam took him by the arm and asked Alcuin to follow him. On the way to the armory he informed him that the Devil had taken over the fortress.

“I don’t understand. You said Wilfred’s little girls are missing? What happened?”

“Nobody has seen them since this morning.”

“God’s wounds! Is that what all this fuss is about? They’re probably somewhere in the fortress playing with their dolls. Have you spoken to the wet nurse?”

“We can’t find her, either,” the distressed young man responded.

When they reached the hall, it was abuzz with servants, soldiers, and monks. Most were murmuring to each other in small groups, trying to find out the latest bit of news, while others stood about distraught. Izam and Alcuin continued on to the armory, where Wilfred awaited them. He was thrashing about on his stumps in his wheelchair.

“Anything to report?” he asked Izam.

The young man clenched his teeth. He informed him that his men were guarding all the entrances and he had organized thorough searches of the stables, storehouses, orchards, and latrines… if the girls were in the fortress, they would undoubtedly be found. Wilfred nodded begrudgingly, then looked at Alcuin in hope he brought news.

“I have only just found out,” he apologized. “You have searched their rooms I suppose?”

“Even behind the walls. Lord Almighty! Last night they seemed so happy, so relaxed.”

He remarked that the girls always slept with their wet nurse, a spinster who had never given cause for concern.

“Until now,” he added, and he smashed his cup against the hearth.

Izam decided they would interrogate all who were in the fortress, particularly the servants and those close to the wet nurse. Alcuin asked for permission to inspect the rooms, and Wilfred ordered a minion to accompany him.

When Alcuin arrived at the girls’ cell he found it a terrible mess. He asked the servant if the chaos was due to Wilfred’s men searching the room, which the servant confirmed, adding that the wet nurse was a very meticulous woman.

“You were present when they searched the cell?”

“I stood at this very door.”

“And how did it look before they came in?”

“Neat and tidy, as it is every morning.”

Alcuin asked the servant to help him pick up some of the clothes that were scattered around, seemingly most from two chests that Wilfred’s men had emptied in their frantic search. The biggest chest belonged to the girls, and the other was the wet nurse’s. They paired up shoes and dresses, dividing according to whether they belonged to the twins or the wet nurse. Then Alcuin stopped to examine some objects that were on a crudely built dresser. There was a polished metal plate to use as a mirror, a bone comb, several cords, a couple of fibulae, two little vials that seemed to contain makeup, another smaller one of rose perfume, a piece of soap, and a small washbowl. They were all perfectly arranged, which confirmed the tidy nature of the nanny. There were also two generously sized square beds in the room: one for the woman, located beside the window, and another for the two girls on the other side of the room. Alcuin paused at the former, smelling it and examining it as if he were a hunting dog.