Authors: Antonio Garrido
As night fell, he heard the sound of the bolt announcing someone’s entrance. He thought it might be the count, but the stench of urine announced the arrival of the coadjutor. Then he heard his slow, deliberate voice ordering him to go to the back of the room.
Gorgias did so and asked after his wife, but received no answer. The hatch at the foot of the door started to revolve, and when it stopped turning, he went to investigate and found Genseric had placed inside his cell a hunk of bread and a jug of water. From the other side of the door, he heard the coadjutor tell him to take the food and put the list of the items that he would need to complete his work in the hatch.
“Not until you answer me,” he insisted.
A few moments went by, which felt like an eternity to Gorgias. Then the hatch turned again, taking with it the bread and water. Gorgias thought he could hear Genseric retrieving the food from the hatch on the other side. Then he heard a door slamming, and then silence, a silence that lasted until deep into the early hours.
Midmorning, Genseric returned, this time humming a tune. After checking to see if Gorgias was awake, he informed him that Rutgarda was well. He had visited her at her sister’s house.
“I told her you would be spending a few days in the scriptorium, working, and you know what? She was perfectly understanding. I gave her two loaves and some wine, and I promised her that while
you remain with us, she will have the same every day. She asked me to give this to you.”
Gorgias watched the hatch revolve. Along with the bread and water that he had taken away the day before, there was a little embroidered scarf. It was Rutgarda’s—she wore it all the time.
Gorgias held it gingerly against his chest. Then he took the bread, which he eagerly began to eat. From the other side Genseric pressed him for the list of things he would need. Still wolfing down the bread, Gorgias wrote a long list on the tablet. Next he pretended to go over the notes before leaving the tablet in the hatch and rotating it back to its initial position. Genseric grasped the tablet, read it closely and disappeared without saying a word.
An hour later he returned laden with sheets of parchment, inkwells, and other writing utensils. He told Gorgias that he would visit him every day to check on his progress, bring food, and remove his excrement. Before leaving he also assured him that he would visit Rutgarda. Then he said farewell and left the crypt, leaving Gorgias with his equipment.
When Gorgias was sure he was alone, he began work. He took one of the codices from among those that Genseric had brought and turned his back to the door to hide his movements as an extra precaution. With the utmost care, he unfolded a blank parchment. Spreading it out on the desk, he brought the words to mind as if he were reading them:
IN-NOMINE-SANCTAE-ET-INDIVIDUAL-TRINITATIS-PATRIS-SCILICET-ET-FILII-ET-SPIRITUS-SANCTI
- - -
IMPERATOR-CAESAR-FLAVIUS-CONSTANTINUS
He knew the text by heart. He had read the heading a hundred times and transcribed it just as many. He crossed himself before
beginning and checked the quality of the skin on which he would make the copy. Despite its rather large size, it was still too small for the twenty-three pages in Latin and twenty in Greek that he would need. He ran his fingers over the imperial seal printed at the foot of the parchment that depicted a Greek cross over a Roman head. Encircling the seal was the name
Gaius Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus
—Constantine the Great, the first Christian emperor and founder of Constantinople.
Legend had it that Constantine’s conversion had taken place four centuries ago, during the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. It was said that, shortly before the attack, the Roman emperor saw a cross floating in the sky. Inspired by the image he embroidered the Christian symbol onto his standards. The battle ended in victory for Constantine and in gratitude he renounced paganism.
Gorgias reflected on the document, which was divided into two different texts. The first part, or the
Confessio
, recounted that Constantine, now afflicted with leprosy, went to see the pagan priests at the Capitol in Rome, who advised him to dig a ditch, fill it with the blood of newly sacrificed children, and then bathe in it while the blood was still warm. However, the night before he was to do this, Constantine had a vision in which he was told to turn to Pope Sylvester and give up paganism. Constantine decided to obey his dream, so he converted and was cured.
The second part, entitled
Donatio
, spoke of the honors and privileges that, as payment for his cure, Constantine would grant the Church. The preeminence of the Roman Papacy over the patriarchates of Antioch, Alexandria, Constantinople, and Jerusalem was thus recognized. Moreover, to guarantee that the pontifical dignitaries held lands and possessions befitting their rank, he also donated the Lateran Palace, the city of Rome, all of Italy, and the entire West. Finally, so that he would not infringe upon the rights he had granted, Constantine declared he would build a new capital in Byzantium, where he and his descendants would
limit themselves to governing the eastern territories. There was no doubt: That donation represented a great leap in the expansion of Christendom.
With the utmost care, he divided the parchment into the gatherings that would form the quinternions. Next he split the sheets into bifolios of an identical size and ensured that there were enough of them. Then he dipped his quill in the ink and began to transcribe the text on the sealed parchment from memory. Despite the persistent pain in his arm, he did not stop until the day’s end.
10
Theresa was surprised to find she wasn’t disturbed by the taxidermic process, and it even made her forget for a moment about the dagger. She could see that Althar had started building the frame for the bear’s great pelt. The structure had a central trunk, with two thinner poles serving as legs. The old man asked her to remove the skin to test the balance of the frame. Then he changed the position of the legs and shored them up with nails and wedges.
“We can always keep it together with some rope,” he said, unconvinced.
He assigned Theresa the job of separating the skin from the remains of fat, delousing it properly, and washing it with soap. She was accustomed to doing these same tasks in Korne’s workshop so it didn’t prove to be difficult. When she had finished, she dried the skin and hung it on the frame to air it out.
“Shall I clean the heads, too?” she asked.
“No. Not for now.” Althar climbed down from the stall and threw his mallet on the ground. “That’s a another matter entirely.”
He sat on a rock with the head between his legs to better examine it. After confirming that the blood had stopped flowing, he made a vertical incision with his knife from the crown to the back of the neck, and then added a second, horizontal line on the nape,
forming an inverted
T
. He then removed the skin by pulling hard from the vertices, revealing the skull.
“Chuck the head in the cask,” Althar ordered.
Theresa did as she was told. As Althar added the hot water, the boiling lime ate away at the tissue still stuck to the skull. Althar repeated the operation with the other head.
By midmorning they had finished preparing the frame. Althar took one of the perfectly clean heads and patted it dry. Then he positioned it at the end of a branch, which served as a kind of spinal column, with the wooden poles sticking out like legs. The frame took on the appearance of a horrendous scarecrow. But Althar seemed satisfied with the work.
“When the skin’s been cured, we’ll be able to finish the job,” he declared.
On their way back to the cave, they passed some strange, very dirty-looking wooden chests. Theresa asked what they were used for.
“They’re beehives,” Althar informed her. “The boxes are covered in mud because bees are fragile in winter. Sealing the structure, it keeps them warm.”
“So where are the bees?”
“Inside. When winter is over I’ll open the hives and then we’ll have honey again before long.”
“I love honey.”
“Who doesn’t?” he said, laughing. “The little creatures sting like bastards, but they give us enough honey to sweeten our puddings for a whole season. And not just honey. You see that old honeycomb?” He went over to one of the chests that appeared abandoned and lifted the lid. “It’s pure wax. Ideal for candles.”
“I didn’t see any candles in the cave.”
“That’s because we sell nearly all of them. We only burn them with good reason: when we’re sick and whatnot. God created night so we could sleep, otherwise He would have made us like owls.”
Theresa wondered if she might take some wax to fill the tablets she still had in her bag so she could practice her writing. However, when she suggested it to Althar, he roundly refused.
“But I’d return it to you intact,” the young woman argued.
“In that case, you will have to earn it.”
They closed the lid and walked back toward the cave where Leonora welcomed them with an appetizing hare stew. They all ate together, for Hoos was already up and about, and they drank heartily to celebrate their successful hunt. When they had finished, Althar said he was delighted with the return from the new traps, and announced that he would stuff Satan that afternoon, a task he would do alone because of the considerable patience it required. Before he set off, he told Theresa he would let her have some beeswax if she could find some suitable eyes.
“Eyes?” she asked in astonishment.
“For the bears,” he explained. “The real ones rot, so we need false ones. Some amber would be perfect, but I don’t have any. I’ll have to make do with whatever round pebbles you can find at the river.” He took some stones from his bag and showed her. “Like these, more or less, but smoother. Varnished with a little resin, they’ll appear genuine.”
Theresa nodded. When she finished washing the dishes, she told Leonora that she intended to head to the river.
“Why doesn’t Hoos go with you? A bit of fresh air won’t do him any harm.”
He seemed surprised at the suggestion, and Theresa was surprised that he gladly accepted. They left the bear cave together, but soon she walked on ahead, keeping her distance until they reached the stream where she bent down to search among the stones.
“This one might do,” said Hoos.
Theresa took the pebble he held out and compared it to one she had chosen. She was loath to admit that Hoos’s stone was smoother and more uniform.
“Too small,” she objected, and gave it back, barely giving it a second glance.
He put it in his bag. Looking at Theresa, he remembered again the day the young woman fled the cabin. He continued to observe her closely, the delicacy with which she examined the texture and color of the stones. He watched her fingers move deftly over the pebbles to feel how smooth they were, how she wetted them to bring out their color, delicately tested their weight, and categorized them according to some system that only she seemed to know. At that moment, she turned around and he saw her eyes blaze like amber.
He was deep in thought when Theresa lost her footing and fell into the river. Hoos ran to help her and, as he pulled her out, he felt his chest constrict followed by a strange burning sensation. They finished collecting the stones and made for the cave. Hoos asked about the pebbles she had collected, and she said she was quite pleased with what she’d found. They walked on in silence until they reached the beehives.
“In the winter they cover them in mud. It stops the bees from dying,” Theresa declared.
“I didn’t know that.” He did not mention that his chest was throbbing.
“Neither did I,” she admitted with a smile. “Althar told me. He seems like a good man, don’t you think?”
“We are here thanks to him.”
“See that chest over there?” Theresa pointed to the abandoned chest. “Althar said I could use its wax to fill my tablet.” She approached it and lifted the lid.
“What’s a tablet? Some kind of lamp?”
“No,” she laughed. “A flat box, the size of a loaf of bread. Well, there are bigger ones, and smaller ones, too. Mine is wooden and once it’s filled with wax, I use it to write on.”
“Aha!” said Hoos as if he understood—though he was none the wiser.
“When I’m finished drying off, I’ll go to the cave where Althar keeps his trophies. That place is amazing! Do you want to come with me?”
“I’ve done enough walking for one day,” he complained. “You go. I’ll lie down for a while and change my bandages.”
“Hoos…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know why I stole it from you. I am truly sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just don’t do it again.”
Theresa changed her clothes before setting off for the cave of trophies, but not before she had inspected the stones and chosen four lenticular pebbles of a similar size. She thought that once they had been painted they would without a doubt resemble real eyeballs.
When she reached the cave she found that the door was closed. She assumed Althar was inside, so she pushed it open and went in without knocking. Sure enough she found the old man working on the bear’s frame, to which he had added two branches as front legs, in a downward direction.
“Oh! I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said in surprise. “So, tell me, what do you think?”
The young woman looked at the bizarre structure. “Horrible,” she said without thinking.
Althar took it as a compliment. “As it should be,” he asserted. “It will sell for more that way. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought the stones for the eyes,” she said, showing him.
Althar examined them carefully. He put them on the box that contained the scalpels, scrapers, and awls.
“They’ll do,” he confirmed.
Between them they mounted the treated skin on the crude frame, sewing the seams and filling the cavities with hay and rags.
Finally, they attached the skull, pulling the skin of the head over it. When they had finished, the bear resembled a gigantic and rather battered toy.
“It doesn’t look very fierce,” Althar complained.
They changed the filling several times, but the result was worse still. It was the first time Althar had attempted such a large specimen. After a while, the old man cursed and went outside to clear his head.