The Scribe (46 page)

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she managed to say.

Charlemagne grunted, finished drying himself, and then covered himself with a woolen cloak.

“I would like your behavior to serve as an example for my subjects. I have discussed it with Alcuin, and he has agreed—so I have decided to reward you in some way. Perhaps with those lands that belonged to the bishopric.”

Theresa was speechless. Now she was sure he must be joking.

“After all,” continued the king, “the land was only half-plowed, and if it is not cleared, then it will be a waste.”

“But I… I don’t know anything about crops or land.”

“That’s what Alcuin told me, so I told my engineer to take a look. He will give you the help you need. Furthermore,” he added, “just the verses you recited would have earned you this reward.”

Theresa left the room in a daze. She could not believe that overnight she had gone from being a poor, frightened outsider to an estate owner. And not only that: Charlemagne had assured her that
she would have the grain needed to sow the fields immediately. When she told Helga, her friend said she was not convinced.

“You know what? Nor am I!” Theresa replied, and they both burst out laughing like madwomen. They curled up in front of the fire and talked, trying to guess the size and location of the land and fantasizing about the wealth that it would bring. Helga warned that, in reality, land itself was worthless. If it was to provide income, she would need laborers, oxen, seeds, equipment, and water, and even then, rarely did they yield more than the sustenance needed by the families who worked them. But Theresa preferred to close her eyes and imagine herself alongside Hoos as a powerful landowner.

Then the two friends went to bed side by side, huddled up against each other to keep the cold out. Helga soon fell asleep, but Theresa spent the night thinking, imagining what would happen if the king was good for his word.

The next morning Theresa went to the scriptorium, where she found Brother Alcuin absorbed in his texts. The monk greeted her without raising his head, but then he looked up to congratulate her on her good fortune.

“I don’t think he was serious,” she ventured.

“Then you had better start believing it. The king is not a man who speaks lightly.”

“But I know nothing of farming. What will I do with the lands?” She waited for him to give her the answer.

“I don’t know. Work them, I suppose. Reading and writing is not a trade that supports a family. You should be happy.”

“I am. But I don’t know…”

“If you don’t know, then learn.” He turned back to his mass of documents, signaling that their conversation had ended.

Midmorning a servant appeared in the scriptorium asking for Theresa. He informed them that one of Charlemagne’s men awaited her in the main square ready to accompany her to her new land. Theresa asked Alcuin to go with her, but he refused, saying
he had too much work. With the monk’s permission, the young woman wrapped up warmly and went with the servant to the place where a young man was waiting for her on horseback.

The king’s engineer was brown-skinned and wavy-haired. His green eyes contrasted attractively with his weather-beaten complexion. Despite his different appearance, he reminded her somehow of Hoos Larsson. He said his name was Izam of Padua.

“Can you ride?” he asked. A riderless mount was grazing beside him.

Theresa held on to the reins and with a leap she was in the saddle. The young man smiled. He turned his horse, spurred it on and started to trot slowly through Fulda’s narrow streets.

They rode north, following the river through a lush forest of beech trees with the sun’s tepid rays evaporating the damp earth smell that merged with the sweet aroma of the morning. After traveling in silence for some time, Theresa inquired about the meaning of the word
engineer
.

“I confess it’s a little-used term,” he responded with a laugh. “It’s used to describe people, like me, who built
engines
for war.”

The young man continued to speak as if he were discussing the matter with a colleague, enthusiastically explaining the importance of catapults and the difference between onagers and mangonels, without realizing that Theresa was yawning continually. By the time he noticed, he had already told her almost everything he knew.

“Sorry. I’m boring you.”

“It’s not that,” Theresa said, “it’s just that I don’t share your passion for weapons. Plus, I don’t understand what your profession has to do with my land.”

Izam thought about replying, but decided not to waste his breath on a girl who didn’t value his knowledge. A couple of miles on they reached a clear demarcation of hawthorn wattle that stretched into a far-off forest. A small part of the land seemed to
have been plowed, but most of it was still uncultivated. The young man jumped down from his horse, opened what appeared to be a rudimentary gate, and walked into the enclosure.

“It appears the bishop knew what he was doing. Wait here a moment.”

As Theresa dismounted, Izam started walking with exaggerated steps. Suddenly he turned around with an expression of astonishment. He climbed back on his horse and told Theresa to wait as he galloped off.

But soon he returned in a state of excitement. “Lass, you can’t imagine what has fallen into your hands. The fief has about ten
bonniers
of arable land, of which half has already been plowed. Beyond, on the other side of the hill, there are around six arpents of vines and three or four of pasture. But that’s not all: The river we left behind us branches off into a stream that runs into this area.”

Theresa looked at him blankly.

“Let me explain. Do you know what a fief is?”

“Of course. It’s the land that a family owns,” she responded, offended that he had assumed she might not know.

“But its size does not depend on the amount of land available, but on whether the family is able to cultivate it.”

“I know.” She was still none the wiser, and she felt that she would never learn to cultivate the land.

They wandered around the estate on horseback, talking about plots, fiefs, arpents, and perches—and admiring the work that the bishop had already done. They found pens for animals, a newly built shepherd’s hut, and timber foundations for what could be a magnificent home. Theresa was surprised that Izam knew about farming, but the young man explained that his trade was not restricted to building engines of war. In truth, he told her, battles between armies usually ended in endless sieges that required exhaustive knowledge of the surrounding land, for they had to prevent the movement of supplies, divert watercourses, assess the position of
defenses, choose the right places to make camp, and, on occasion, dig saps or mines into walls. The same factors also had to be considered when an army wanted to build a new settlement.

“And that’s not all. Sometimes sieges continue for years, so it’s important to know which fields are appropriate, both for growing grain for the soldiers and fodder for the animals.” He bent down to pick up a pebble. “For instance, see that hillock?” He tossed the stone, which flew into the tops of some fir trees. “It’s to the north. It will protect the sown fields from the icy winds. And look at this soil,” he said as he squashed a clod under his foot. “Light and damp, like brown bread soaked in water.”

Theresa bent down and picked up another pebble.

“And that there?” she said, pointing toward a little mound. She took a step back and tried to launch the stone at it. Izam moved his head out of the way instinctively. The stone fell far short of its mark. After his initial surprise, he burst into laughter like little boy.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Theresa complained.

“Oh, so you did it on purpose!” he replied, laughing heartily again.

They sat down to eat lunch on some piles of wood that marked the ground plan of the house. Izam had brought a bag of freshly baked bread and cheese, which they savored as they listened to the gurgle of a nearby stream. A couple of hours had gone by, but Izam admitted that they were actually very close to the town still. “Half an hour on horseback,” he told her.

“So why did we take so long?”

“I wanted to follow the course of the river, to see if it’s navigable. If you can get your hands on a barge, then you’ll be able to use it to transport grain. By the way, there is something that worries me.” He went over to his mount and took a crossbow from a saddlebag. “Recognize it?”

“Nope,” she responded without paying it much attention.

“It’s the one picked up and used the other day at dinner.”

“Ah! I don’t know. I wouldn’t know one from another.”

“That’s precisely what intrigues me. I don’t believe there is another one like this in all Franconia.”

He explained that the crossbow was a rare weapon. In fact, he had never seen any other.

“I built this following the descriptions provided by Vegetius in his work
De Re Militari
, a fourth-century manuscript on the art of war that Charlemagne showed to me. That was why I was surprised, not just that you not only chose it from the pile, but also that you knew how to use it.”

She told him that a man who had helped her in the mountain possessed a similar weapon. But when she told him that he had bought it from a soldier, he shook his head in wonder.

“The first one I built was stolen from me. Perhaps it was the soldier you mention, or even the man who helped you.”

They chatted for a while longer before she suggested they return. Izam agreed. He took one last look at the land and led the horses to the stream to water them. Once they had set off, Theresa spurred on her mount, for she was eager to tell Helga about all she had seen.

As they returned to Fulda, Theresa thanked the engineer again. Izam smiled, but told her that it was Charlemagne who she should be thanking. All he had done was follow his orders. When they finally went their separate ways, his green eyes lingered with her.

Back in the kitchens, Theresa found Helga plucking a pheasant. She seemed busy, but as soon as she saw Theresa, she dropped the bird and ran to meet her. Theresa suggested they go out to the well and take a break on the way. They sat on a stone bench and Helga demanded to hear every last detail. She listened to Theresa with such excitement it was as if the land belonged to her.

“And all that is yours?” she asked in disbelief.

Theresa nodded. She told her about the great expanse of the arable areas, the vineyards, the hay meadows, the river, and the house. Finally, she also mentioned the young man, Izam.

“He was very kind,” she said.

“And handsome,” Helga added, giving her a wink. She had seen him through the window.

Theresa smiled. Indeed, the engineer was attractive, though of course, not as handsome as Hoos. They continued to talk about the lands until Favila, fed up with their chitchat, came out to prod them back to work with a poker.

The two women laughed and ran to the kitchen to continue their conversation whenever the cook left the room. Theresa told her that she was worried about her lack of means to work the land, and Helga reassured her.

“But you can’t imagine how much there is to do! The lands are only half-tilled. I’ll need a plow and an ox—and someone to help me. So many things!”

“Oh! I bet you’d be less worried if you had debts instead of lands.”

Theresa fell silent. Perhaps, she thought, there was a neighbor who could give her advice, but the fact was that the only person she had to turn to for help was right in front of her. Seeing her despondency, Helga put her arm around her.

“Cheer up! I still have some of the money you gave me when you sold the bear’s head. You could use it to buy a young ox.”

“But that money’s for my lodgings.”

“Don’t be silly, lass. You got me this job, so don’t you worry about it. Anyway, this is your opportunity: When the land starts to bear fruit, you’ll pay me back with interest.” She pinched her cheek.

She explained that a one-year-old ox cost twelve denarii, while an adult one ranged between forty-eight and seventy-two, or in other words, around three months’ wages. To Theresa the price
seemed within anyone’s reach, but Helga explained that nobody can go three months without eating. When they had finished their cooking duties, Theresa continued the conversation.

“Izam said we can return to the lands tomorrow. What do you think I should call them?”

“Hmmm, let me think… Theresa’s wonderlands!” she said, laughing.

The young woman cuffed Theresa around the head and Helga returned the gesture, making them laugh like little girls.

In the afternoon Theresa returned to the scriptorium, where she found Alcuin buried in his documents. She had hundreds of questions for him, but as she was about to start asking them, the monk stood.

“I saw Izam. He told me that your lands are excellent.”

“Yes… though I don’t know how they can be excellent if I don’t even know how to work them,” she lamented.

“You appear to have two good hands.”

“And little else. What good are those fields to me if I have no tools, no animals?”

“In that case, you could lease it and obtain an income.”

“Izam suggested the same thing. But to whom? Those who could afford it already have more than enough land.”

“Find someone who will work it in exchange for part of the crop.”

“Izam proposed that, too, but he explained that those folks do not possess plows or oxen, so they would not be able to work the land and generate a profit.”

“All right. Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Tomorrow is Thursday. After Terce we’ll go to the market, find a hardworking slave and buy him for your lands. There are tons of them, so we might get a good price.”

Theresa could not believe what she was hearing. It felt like her life was growing more complicated by the moment. If she did not even have enough for herself, how could she own a slave?

Alcuin admitted to her that Charlemagne had already suggested this possibility, then Alcuin assured her that keeping a slave did not have to be expensive.

The next morning they left early for the camp that the king’s men had set up on the outskirts of the city. According to Alcuin, the slave traders used the monarch’s visits as an opportunity to conduct business, whether buying captured enemies who had been enslaved or selling some of their best slaves. However, after a few days, the traders reduced their prices in order to get rid of the less sought-after individuals.