Garrido, Antonio - The Scribe

Theresa was spellbound. For a moment she thought she was seeing far-off Constantinople.

“And are there games, a forum, a circus?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like in Byzantium: buildings of marble, paved avenues, gardens and fountains, theatres, libraries…”

Hoos raised an eyebrow. He thought Theresa was joking. He told her places like that only existed in fables.

“You’re wrong,” she answered, slightly put out and stood up, turning away. She did not care whether Aquis-Granum had gardens with fountains, but it hurt that Hoos should doubt her word.

“You should see Constantinople,” she added. “I remember the Hagia Sofia, a cathedral like you couldn’t imagine. So tall and wide you could fit a mountain inside it. Or Constantine’s hippodrome, two stadia in length, where games and chariot racing took place every month. I remember walking along Theodosius’s walls.” Her eyes lit up. “Stone defenses that could withstand the onslaught of any army. The illuminated fountains, making water sprout from the ground. The magnificent imperial parades with endless legions of troops led by columns of exquisitely festooned elephants… yes, you should see Constantinople. Then you will know what paradise is like.”

Hoos’s mouth gaped. Though it was nothing but fantasy, he admired the girl’s prodigious imagination. “Naturally I would like to see paradise,” he said to her mockingly, “but I don’t wish to die so soon. By the way… what are chariots?”

“They’re carriages pulled by several horses. But not like the ones to which oxen are yoked. They’re smaller and lighter and fast as the wind.”

“Aha! Like wind, eh? And elephants?”

“Oh, elephants! You should see them,” she laughed. “They’re animals as huge as houses, with skin so hard it stops arrows. They have legs as thick as tree trunks and two giant tusks thrust out from their mouths that they wield like lances when they charge. Under their eyes sways a nose like a great snake.” She smiled at Hoos’s disbelief. “And yet, despite their fierce appearance, they obey their masters—and mounted by six riders they become as docile as a pony.”

Hoos tried to contain his mirth, but before long he burst out laughing. “Well, that’s enough for today. We should get some rest. Tomorrow we have a trek to Würzburg,” he said.

“So what’s the reason for your visit?” Theresa asked, choosing to ignore him.

“Go to sleep.”

“It’s just that I don’t want to go back to Würzburg.”

“You don’t? So what do you intend to do? Wait here for more Saxons to arrive?”

“No, of course not.” Her expression darkened.

“So stop talking nonsense and get some sleep. I don’t want to have to pull you along tomorrow.”

“You haven’t answered me yet,” she insisted.

Hoos, who had already settled down by the fire, sat up annoyed.

“Two ships loaded with food are soon to leave Frankfurt for Würzburg. Two important people will travel on them. The king wishes them to be received in accord with their rank, which is why he sent me as an emissary.”

“But will they come even now, with the storms?”

“Look, it’s business that doesn’t concern you,” he snapped. “It doesn’t even concern me, so lie down and sleep until morning.”

Theresa lay quietly, but she could not get to sleep. The young man had helped her, yes, but he was no different than the laborers, and no doubt the fact that he had saved her was merely due to Providence. It also seemed odd that someone in his position should cross the mountains unarmed and unaccompanied. Almost instinctively, she clutched her knife she had hidden under her clothes and half closed her eyes. Then, after some time imagining her beloved Constantinople, she began to drift to sleep.

In the morning she woke before Hoos. The young man was fast asleep, so she rose carefully. Tiptoeing to the door, she pushed her face against a crack and was greeted by the chill of the morning. Disregarding any danger, she slowly opened the door and went out onto the blanket of fresh snow that covered the path. It smelled peaceful, and there was no threat of rain.

Hoos was still sleeping when she returned. Without knowing why, she lay down next to him, pressed against his back, and felt comforted by the warmth of his body. For a moment she surprised herself by imagining a life with him in some distant city—a warm and bright place where nobody would give her grief for her interest in writing; a place where she would converse with this young man with his honest face—so far from the problems that had unexpectedly entered her life. But in the next moment she remembered her father, and she scolded herself for being so selfish and cowardly. She asked herself what kind of daughter she was to be fantasizing about a happy world while her father bore the dishonor of her sins. She did not want to be such a daughter and swore to herself that one day she would return to Würzburg to confess her sins and give her father back the dignity that she should never have taken from him.

Then she turned her gaze to Hoos. She thought for a moment about waking him and asking him to take her to Aquis-Granum, but she resisted the temptation, knowing that, no matter how hard she pleaded with him, he would not approve of such a plan.

With trembling fingers she stroked his hair, before whispering a farewell wrought with guilt. Taking care not to wake him, she stood up and looked around. By the window rested the belongings that Hoos had taken off the bodies: hunting equipment mostly, and a disorderly pile of clothes. Although the young man had already scoured their contents for anything useful, she decided to examine them herself.

Among the folds of a cloak, she found a little wooden box containing a sharpened piece of steel, a small piece of flint, and some tinder. She also found several amber beads on a thread and a portion of dried roe, which she quickly put in her bag along with the box. She threw aside a half-rotten belt but kept a small skin of water and a couple of enormous boots, which she pulled over her own shoes. Then she turned to the weapons that Hoos himself had cleaned and sorted according to type. As he had done so, he told her about the Saxons’ skill with the scramasax, a broad dagger sometimes used as a short sword, and their ineptitude with the francisca, the throwing axe used by the Frankish armies. She looked over the assortment, passing over the yew bows and stopping in front of the deadly scramasax. As she took it in her hand, a tremor ran down her spine. Weapons frightened her, but if she intended to make it through the passes, she would have to carry something. Finally she decided on a shorter and lighter sheath knife, but as she picked it up, she noticed a dagger that Hoos had set slightly aside.

Unlike the crude Saxon knives, this dagger had intricate carvings running down both sides of the blade, interweaving into a silver handle crowned with an emerald. It was light and cold. Its delicate edge glistened in the glow of the embers. It looked priceless.

Glancing at Hoos sleeping peacefully, her heart filled with shame. He had saved her life and in return she was stealing from him. She hesitated, but then discarded the knife’s sheath and secured the ornate dagger to her belt. Whispering an imperceptible apology to Hoos, she wrapped herself in her new furs, picked up her bag, and went out into the biting cold of the early morning.

At dawn Hoos was taken by surprise, with Theresa already far from the cabin. He searched for her around the quarry and the adjoining woods, and even followed the river upstream, before giving up the hunt. As he returned to the house he was saddened at the fate that awaited the girl, but even more grieved by the fact that she had stolen his emerald-studded dagger.