Garrido, Antonio - The Scribe

“Quiet, woman! What do those mere details prove?”

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “In the introductio and the conclusio the handwriting of the imperial era is poorly imitated, and the formulae are from another time. How would you explain the fact that in a fourth-century document, the passage on Constantine’s conversation is based on the Acta o Gesta Sylvestri , or explain the references to the decrees of the Iconoclastic Synod of Constantinople against the veneration of images, which you know was held several centuries later?”

“The fact that the document contains errors does not prove that the donation is false,” he retorted, striking the table. “The difference between real and genuine is as slight as it is between false and spurious. How could you, a descendant of the sinner Eve, have the authority to judge the morality of an act guided by the Holy Spirit?”

“Do you truly believe that is what they will say in Byzantium?”

“You are playing with fire,” he warned her. “I would never harm you, but there are many who would. Remember Korne.”

The chiming of bells sounding an alarm interrupted them.

“Release my father, and I will finish the document. Make something up. Whatever you want—another miracle, whatever springs to mind. After all, you’re a real expert at inventing lies.” Then she gathered her tablets and told him to send his answer to Izam’s boat. And she left without giving Alcuin a chance to argue.

On the way to the wharf, a crowd of townsfolk swarmed around her, leaping and dancing and shouting “Supplies!” Surprised, she followed a family until she realized that the commotion was due to four newly arrived boats that were at that moment mooring at the docks. One of them, painted red and lined with shields, was notably bigger than the rest, making the other boats look like mere shallops by comparison. She looked for Izam and finally found him on the last boat. She tried to board, but was stopped. However, as soon as Izam spotted her, he came down to meet her. As he approached, Theresa noticed he was limping.

“What happened?” she asked, alarmed. Without thinking about it, she threw herself into his arms. He stroked her hair and soothed her.

They moved away from the crowd to a solitary rock. Izam explained that he had gone out to meet the missus dominicus since a scout had informed him of his arrival.

“Unfortunately, it seems they also warned the owner of this arrow,” he joked, pointing at his leg.

Theresa saw they had cut off the end of the arrow, but a hand’s width of the shaft still protruded. She asked him if it was serious, though it didn’t seem so.

“If an arrow doesn’t kill you straightaway, rarely does anything come of it. It’s curious, but the opposite is true of a sword wound. And you? Where have you been? I told Gratz to keep you on the ship.”

Theresa told him what had happened with Alcuin. When she finished, Izam looked uneasy but didn’t respond right away. Instead he pulled out the arrow with some pincers. He placed the bloody arrowhead to one side and then sealed the wound in his leg with some herbs.

“I always carry them with me,” he explained. “They’re better than bandages.”

He held the herbs in place with his fingers and asked why she had disobeyed his orders. She told him she feared he would not return.

“Well, you weren’t far off the mark,” he said with a smile, casting the piece of arrow into the river. However, when Izam learned the details of her conversation with Alcuin, his smile quickly turned to concern. He insisted that the English monk enjoyed Charlemagne’s favor, and that going against him was suicide.

When the commotion on land subsided, they went back to the first ship so that his wound could be cauterized. He was limping a little, so she helped him by putting her arms around his shoulders. While they were preparing the iron, Izam confessed that he had spoken to the missus about her.

“Well, not about you, exactly. About your father and his predicament. He didn’t promise anything, but he told me that he would speak to Alcuin to find out more about the crime he’s accused of.”

He explained that the missi dominici were officials that Charlemagne sent throughout his lands to supervise the administration of justice. They tended to travel in pairs, but on this occasion there was just one. His name was Drogo and he seemed an upright man.

“I’m sure he will agree to our requests.”

30

The man responsible for cauterizing the wound handed Izam a stick to chew on before sinking the red-hot iron into his thigh. After withdrawing the iron, he applied a dark ointment, and finally wrapped the wound in some fresh bandages.

Izam and Theresa ate fresh fish and pork sausages while the seamen unloaded the supplies from the hold. In total the supplies consisted of four oxen, some goats, a few chickens, dozens of game, plenty of fish, and several consignments of wheat, barley, chickpeas, and lentils, which they loaded onto carts to transport to the fortress. When the unloading was complete, a mob of peasants followed Drogo and his men down the twisting narrow streets.

Izam stayed on board, for his leg was still uncomfortable. He also felt safer knowing that Theresa was on the ship instead of surrounded by strangers on land. He was pondering how best to help her when a servant sent by Alcuin appeared at the wharf, asking for the young woman.

With the gangplank removed, the servant had no way to board, so he called out a request that she disembark. Izam advised her to stay onboard, but Theresa kissed him on the cheek and, without giving him a chance to object, she climbed down a ladder.

On land, the servant informed her that Alcuin had agreed to her demands and had sent him to escort her to the citadel. Theresa thought about telling this to Izam, but she decided not to, for fear he would try to prevent her.

At the fortress, the servant showed her through the kitchens, a hive of activity with people preparing food for the feast to be held that night in honor of the missus dominicus . Theresa felt like she was somewhere new, for all around her were people she didn’t recognize. They left the storehouses behind them and headed for the meat safes. There, the guard dropped the ladder into the hole where Gorgias was captive. Theresa carefully climbed down. She found her father shivering, lying under a rotten animal skin. The guard pulled up the ladder, but Theresa didn’t care. She crouched alongside her father and kissed him tenderly. His face burned like a lit torch.

“Can you hear me, Father? It’s Theresa.”

He half opened his rheumy eyes. Although he was looking at her, Theresa knew he could not see her.

Gorgias raised his trembling hand to stroke the crying angel’s face, and as his fingers brushed against her, he seemed to recognize her. “My child?” he sputtered.

She wet his hot forehead with dirty water she found in a jar. Gorgias thanked her in a whisper. Then he forced a smile.

Theresa promised they would soon free him. She spoke to him of Rutgarda and his nephews, the four little urchins he adored so much. She invented a story in which Alcuin had sworn he would give him back his position with all manner of honors. And she also lied about what Zeno had said, telling him he would recover from his wounds. She cried when she realized that the life was draining out of him before her eyes.

“My little one,” he murmured.

Theresa squeezed his hand. She combed his thin hair with her fingers and Gorgias thanked her. Suddenly he began to cough. In a moment of lucidity he remembered Constantine’s document. He wanted to tell Theresa that he had hidden it on a beam in the slave huts at the mine. He had worked so hard, but the words did not come. His vision was fading. “Where are my books? Why aren’t they bringing my inks?”