The Scribe (28 page)

On the way to the market, Alcuin admitted that the deaths of his assistant and the apothecary did not seem accidental. Several people had died in terrible pain, and since he now had some free time, he wanted to put his mind to finding out what was happening.

The attendant working at the grain stall in the market, a haggard, one-eyed man, informed them that Hansser Kohl had already left. He said that if they hurried they would find him at the mill, for he was there taking a new shipment of barley. He gave them directions to the mill, which was located in a precipitous place that they would reach by exiting through the southern gates of the city and following the course of the river for a couple of miles toward the mountains.

Alcuin thanked the man for his explanation and set off at once. They crossed the city and left through the south gate just as directed before continuing along the riverbank, heading upstream at a good pace. If she had not been so out of breath, Theresa would have asked him how it was possible that he did not tire, but the monk didn’t give her the chance to rest even once. When they
finally arrived in the vicinity of the mill, she felt ready to drop to her knees. They paused only briefly to observe the scenery.

The mill stood imposingly on the crag that the river torrent had carved out from the rock. A giant water wheel was positioned in the middle of the river and Theresa was surprised by its continuous, heavy creaking, only partially masked by the murmuring of the water itself. As they approached, she could see that the paddles were not driven by the river exactly, but by the current of a channel beside it, the flow of water regulated by a rudimentary sluice gate.

Alcuin admired the mill that was constructed like almost all buildings of its type on three levels. On the ground floor were the pulleys and cogs responsible for transferring the movement of the waterwheel to the great vertical axle that passed through the mill. The main level, the milling floor, housed two slotted-stone wheels threaded on the axle—one fixed and the other mobile that ground the grain by turning in opposite directions. And on the third floor were the grain store and its loading funnel. The cereals were poured down this chute, which ran through a hollow duct to the hole bored into the upper wheel, to finish grinding it between the millstones.

Alcuin observed that there was a small, fortified house adjoined to the mill. He could also see a stable and an enclosed storehouse where, he assumed, they kept the grain.

“What surprises me is its location so far from the town,” said Alcuin, looking at the building. “It’s also interesting that the house is made of stone. Perhaps the mill owner and his family are seeking extra protection.”

“And what have we come here for? To accuse them of something?”

“In truth I didn’t want to explain it to you because it’s still mere conjecture, but I suspect that the source of the sickness has been the wheat.” He took some grains from his pocket and handed them to Theresa. “To confirm it, I need to examine the cereal, so my plan
is to pretend to be interested in doing business so that owner will give me a sample.”

“You think they’re poisoning the wheat?”

“Not exactly, no. But just in case, you keep your mouth shut.”

At that moment some dogs loitering around the stables started barking as though they were being thrashed, and two men appeared at the door armed with bows.

“What brings you here?” asked the better-dressed one, still aiming an arrow at them. Theresa presumed it was Kohl, and Alcuin was certain of it.

“Good morning,” Alcuin said, waving with both arms to show they were unarmed. “I come to talk business. May we come in? It’s freezing out here.”

The two men lowered their bows.

They were taken into the house rather than the mill, because according to the more modestly dressed man, the mill was cold and—for safety reasons—they did not light fires in the mill. Once inside, Kohl ordered the servant to bring some food. Then he called for his wife, who appeared, running from room to room as though the Devil pursued her. First she brought bread and cheese, then she filled all four cups from a jug of wine.

“Not a drop of water,” boasted Kohl, savoring the rich wine in his mouth. “So tell me—what business do you speak of?”

“From my attire you may have guessed that I come from the abbey.” He took a moment to raise his cup to everyone. “However, I must confess that I do not represent the abbey, but King Charlemagne. You see, the monarch is to visit Fulda soon, in two weeks’ time or less, and I would like to receive him with the greatest reverence. Unfortunately, our grain reserves have been considerably depleted, and what remains is starting to go bad. The chapter is also short of provisions, so I thought that perhaps I could acquire a batch from you. Let’s say… four hundred pecks?”

Kohl choked when he heard the figure, then coughed and poured himself another cup. Four hundred pecks was enough to feed an army. Without a doubt it would be a lucrative deal. “That will cost a large sum of money. I assume you know the cost of grain: three denarii for a peck of rye, two for a peck of barley, and one for oats. If what you need is flour…”

“Obviously, I would prefer it as grain.”

Kohl nodded. It was logical that if the abbey possessed two mills, it would want to save costs by doing its own processing.

“And by when do you need it?”

“As soon as possible. We need time to mill the wheat.”

“Wheat?” Kohl rose in surprise. “As far as I know nobody here mentioned that cereal. I can supply rye, barley, and oats—even spelt, if you want—but the chapter handles the wheat crops. You should know that.”

He did know it. He considered how to respond. “I also know that the abbey sometimes
mislays
batches that end up on the market,” he answered. Then he reminded him: “Four hundred pecks for sixteen thousand denarii.”

Kohl paced up and down, his eyes fixed on Alcuin. He knew it was risky, but it was precisely by taking risks that he had become wealthy.

“Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk. I have work to do this afternoon and I won’t be able to arrange anything.”

“Can we visit the mill?”

“They’re working in there at present. Perhaps some other time.”

“Excuse me for insisting, but I would like—”

“A mill is a mill. I’ve told you that they’re working.”

“Very well. Until tomorrow, then.”

When they had left the house, Theresa asked him if he had discovered anything, but Alcuin merely grumbled something about
his bad luck. As they walked past the stables he told her that he needed to inspect the inside of the mill, but he had not insisted further to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Did you see the horses?” he added. “Six, not counting the ones that pull the cart.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well, that there are a minimum of six people guarding the mill.”

“Too many?”

“Too many.”

Then he abruptly stopped as if he had remembered something. He retraced his steps back toward the house. Theresa followed. After making sure nobody was looking, he suddenly jumped over the fence and ducked into the stables. Again Theresa did as he did. Walking over to the horses’ saddlebags he rummaged through them, also inspecting the boards of the cart and the straw on the ground. He was on his knees when he called to Theresa. The young woman ran over and pulled out a wax tablet, assuming that he wanted her to write something down, but Alcuin shook his head. “Search the floor for grains like the ones I gave you.”

They rooted through the dung until they heard noises coming from the mill, at which point they stood and hastily made their escape.

When they reached the abbey, their hands and feet were frozen, but in the kitchens they found hot soup, which soon warmed them. They ate quickly because Alcuin wanted to get back to work, but Theresa suggested that they visit Hoos first. The monk agreed, and after clearing their plates they made for the hospital.

At the infirmary they were greeted by the same monk as before. However, his usually cheerful face now bore a concerned expression. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you receive word?”

“Word? Why? What has happened?” asked Alcuin.

“Come in, by God, come in. Two more have come down with the sickness, with the same symptoms.”

“Gangrenous legs?”

“One of them has already started the convulsions.”

The two monks rushed to the room where the infected patients were dying. They were a father and son who worked at the sawmill. Alcuin observed that the father already displayed the telling signs of a black nose and ears. He tried to question them, but all he obtained was incoherent babble. All he could do was prescribe them some purgatives.

“And give them milk mixed with charcoal to drink. As much as they can take,” he instructed.

While the infirmarian prepared the remedies, they went to check on Hoos. However, when they arrived at his room, they found his bed empty. No one present knew where he was either. They looked in the latrines, in the adjoining dining hall, and in the small cloister where the healthier patients went to recover, but he was nowhere. After searching so thoroughly, they had to accept that he had disappeared.

“But it’s not possible,” Theresa complained.

“We’ll find him,” was all Alcuin could say.

He advised the young woman to go home and stay calm. He had to return to the library, but he would issue an order for them to inform her as soon as Hoos appeared. They agreed to meet the next morning at the chapter gates. Theresa thanked him for his concern, but as she turned away, she couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon shut away in the loft so that Helga would not ask her what was wrong. However, just before nightfall she decided to go for a walk around the nearby streets. As
she wandered the alleyways she wondered about the meaning of the tightness in her chest. What was the shiver that ran down her spine every time Hoos came to mind? Each morning she could not wait for the moment when she would see him, speak to him, feel his eyes on her. Her tears returned. Why was her life such a punishment? What had she done so that everything she loved ended up disappearing? She walked on aimlessly, trying to guess Hoos’s whereabouts, trying to imagine what might have happened to him. She recalled that on her last visit, Hoos had barely managed a few steps around the cloister, and that was just the day before. He was still so unwell that it seemed impossible that he could have fled.

She kept walking, not realizing that gradually she was straying farther away from the busier streets. It was cold and she closed her cloak around her face, trying to shield her nose. By the time she registered her surroundings, she found herself in a dark, narrow street that smelled of something rotten. A bark made her jump.

She looked around and saw that most of the houses appeared to be abandoned, as though their owners had changed their minds about living in such a gloomy place and fled without even closing the windows. Frightened, she decided to return home. Walking quickly back, she saw a hooded figure appear at the top of the street. Theresa waited for it to pass, but it did not move. She tried to stay calm, telling herself it was nobody, that nothing would happen to her. She kept walking, but as she approached the cloaked figure, her heart accelerated. Whoever it was remained silent, watching, immobile, like a statue.

Theresa quickened her step and lowered her gaze, but as she reached the hooded figure, it swooped down on her and tried to hold her fast. She wanted to scream but a hand prevented her. All she could do was whimper in terror. In a desperate attempt to escape, she bit the hand that was gagging her. The man screamed and at that moment his voice made her freeze. “Jesus, woman!
What are you trying to do? Amputate my hand?” he said, sucking on the wound.

Theresa could not believe his voice. His accent, his intonation… it could only be Hoos. Without giving it a second thought she threw herself into his arms, which received her with tenderness.

Hoos pulled back his hood, revealing a good-humored smile. He stroked her hair and breathed in her perfume. Then he suggested they walk on, for it was not safe where they were.

“But where were you?” the young woman sobbed. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

He told her that he had followed her. He had just fled the abbey because he needed to return immediately to Würzburg.

“If I stay at the hospital, I’ll never make it in time.”

“But you can hardly stand.”

“Which is why I need a horse.”

“You’re crazy. The bandits will kill you. Have you forgotten what they did to you the last time?”

“Forget that. You have to help me.”

“But I don’t know—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted, “it is vital that I reach Würzburg by next week. I risked my life to save yours, and now I need your help. You have to get hold of a mount for me.”

Theresa could see the desperation in his face.

“All right, but I don’t know anything about horses. I will have to ask Helga.”

“Helga? Who’s that?”

“You don’t remember? The woman who helped us when we arrived in Fulda. I live with her now.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you not have any money? Althar left you a pouch of coins.”

“But I gave it to Helga that very day, as a down payment for board and lodging. I only have a couple of denarii left.”

“Damn it.” He clenched his teeth.

“I could ask Alcuin. He might help us.”

Hoos gave a start when he heard the friar’s name. “Have you lost your mind? Why do you think I fled the abbey? Don’t trust that man, Theresa. He’s not what he seems.”

“Why do you say that? He’s been so good to us.”

“I can’t explain, but you must trust me. Stay away from that friar.”

Theresa did not know what to say. She believed Hoos, but Alcuin seemed like such a good person.

“So what will we do? Your dagger!” she remembered. “We could try to sell it. I’m sure it will fetch you enough to buy a horse.”

“If only I still had it. Those wretched monks must have stolen it,” he complained. “You don’t know anybody who deals in horses? Someone who would let you borrow a mount?”