The Scribe

“Yes, but not of goose feather. And as you know, there are no geese left in Würzburg.”

“Then continue with the ones that you have, I don’t see the issue.”

“The problem lies with the flow. The ink descends too rapidly, and this could cause leaks that would ruin the entire document. Remember that I am using unborn calf’s vellum. The surface is so soft that any mistake handling the pen would have irreparable consequences.”

“Then why don’t you just use another type of parchment?”

“Not possible. At least, not for your purposes.”

Wilfred shifted in his seat. “So what do you propose?”

“My idea is to thicken the ink. Using the right binding agent, I could ensure that it flows more slowly, while maintaining the required glide. I could do it in a couple of weeks, I think.”

“Do what you must, but if you value your head, make sure the codex is ready by the agreed day.”

“I have already begun the preparations, don’t worry.”

“Very well. And since I’m here, I would like to take a look at the parchment. If you would be so kind as to bring it to me.”

Gorgias clenched his teeth. He did not want to explain that he faced a delay because the attacker had stolen a valuable copy and the original was tucked away in the bag that he had left behind in the workshop.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean it’s not possible?”

“I don’t have it here. I left it in Korne’s workshop.”

“And what in hell’s name is it doing there, at the risk that anyone could discover it?” roared the count. The dogs fidgeted restlessly.

“I’m sorry, Father. I know I should have consulted you, but late last night I noticed that one of the pages was starting to peel. I don’t know the cause, but when it happens it is vital that the problem is dealt with immediately. I needed an acid that Korne uses, and knowing how distrustful he is, I thought that it would be best to take the codex there, rather than ask him for the acid. At any rate, aside from Theresa, no one at the workshop can read, and one more parchment among the hundreds they have there would not attract anyone’s attention.”

“I don’t know… that all seems reasonable, but I don’t understand why you are here instead of at the workshop applying that acid. Finish what you have to do and bring the document back to the scriptorium. And for God’s sake, do not call me Father! I haven’t worn a habit for years!”

“As you wish. I will leave as soon as I have tidied the lectern and gathered my blades. However, there was one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“The time that I will need to prepare the new ink…”

“Yes?”

“If Your Grace will allow it, I would like to be excused from coming to the scriptorium. At home I have all the required tools, and there I could carry out tests in peace and quiet. I also need to find certain ingredients in the forest, so I will have to stay outside the city walls overnight.”

“In that case, I will tell a soldier to escort you. If you were attacked just this morning inside the shelter of the walls, just imagine what might happen to you on the other side.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. I know the area well, and Theresa can accompany me.”

“Ha!” bellowed Wilfred. “You still look at Theresa with a first-time father’s eyes, but that young woman attracts men as if they were in heat. If bandits get a whiff of her you won’t have time to cross yourselves. You worry about the codex, and I will take care of you. The soldier will be at your house this afternoon.”

Gorgias decided not to persist. He had planned to spend the next two days looking for the man who had attacked him, but with the soldier at his heels it would be too difficult. Still, he decided to end the conversation to avoid alarming Wilfred any further.

Gathering his belongings, he changed the subject. “How long do you think the king will take?” asked Gorgias.

“Charlemagne? I don’t know. A month. Maybe two. The last letter announced that a convoy with supplies was to set off immediately”

“But the passes are blocked.”

“Indeed. But sooner or later they will arrive. The pantries will be completely empty before long.”

Gorgias nodded. Rations were becoming meager, and soon there would be nothing left.

“Very well. If there is nothing else,” added Wilfred. The count took his reins, tightening the harnesses on the dogs. He cracked his whip, and the beasts labored to turn the heavy contraption around.

He was about to leave the scriptorium when a servant burst into the room, screaming as though he had seen the Devil himself:

“The factoriae! For the love of God! Fire is devouring them!”





4

When Gorgias saw what was left of the workshop, he prayed to God that Theresa wouldn’t be found under the wreckage. The flames had consumed the exterior walls, leading to the collapse of the roof, which in turn only fueled the fire, turning the place into a gigantic pyre.

Onlookers arrived in throngs to watch the spectacle, while the bolder ones toiled to assist the wounded, rescue anything of use, and smother the embers. After a few moments of confusion, Gorgias recognized Korne, lying on some wooden boards. He looked ragged, his clothes blackened and a wild look in his face.

Gorgias ran over to him. “Thank God I’ve found you. Have you seen Theresa?”

The parchment-maker recoiled as though Gorgias had spoken of the Devil. Then he jumped up and lunged for Gorgias’s throat.

“That dammed daughter of yours! I hope she burns to the last bone!”

Gorgias threw Korne off just as two neighbors attempted to separate them. The men apologized for Korne’s behavior, but Gorgias suspected his words stemmed from more than some common fit of anger. He thanked them for their intervention and left to continue his search.

After walking around the perimeter of the site, he observed that the fire had not only devastated the workshops and Korne’s home, but also the storerooms and adjoining stables. Fortunately, there were no animals in the stables, and as far as he knew the storerooms contained no grain, so the losses would be limited to the value of the buildings. Both buildings would surely be condemned, for the fire had started to vent its rage on their roofs.

He noticed that the wall between the courtyard and the workshops was still standing, and he remembered that Korne, fed up with so many thefts, had ordered the primitive palisade to be replaced with a stone wall. Thanks to that decision, it appeared that the area between the wall and the pools had been saved from the flames.

A trembling hand touched Gorgias on the shoulder. It was Bertharda.

“What a tragedy. Such a great tragedy!” she said, tears in her eyes.

“Bertharda, for the love of God, have you seen my daughter?” he asked with desperation in his voice.

“She saved my life. Do you hear me? She saved me.”

“Yes, yes, I hear you. But where is she? Is she hurt?”

“I told her not to go in. To forget the books. But she ignored me.”

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