“Not at all. A monastery or abbey is a place where monks withdraw into solitude to pray and ask for the salvation of mankind. Generally they are closed-off places, sometimes far from the towns, with their own laws and lands, governed by a prior or abbot according to his best judgment.
“A chapter, on the other hand, is an open congregation, made up of a group of priests guided by a bishop who administrates a diocese.” He saw Theresa’s expression and continued. “To be clear, in Fulda there is both the abbey, with its abbot, its monks, its orders, and its walls—and the chapter, with its bishop, its clerics, and its ecclesiastical duties. The monks pray without leaving the monastery, while the chapter’s priests attend to the townspeople in the churches.”
“I always get the clergy mixed up: Monks, bishops, deacons… aren’t they all priests?”
“Of course not,” he laughed. “For instance, I have been ordained as a deacon, but I’m not a priest.”
“How is that?”
“It might seem a little odd, but pay attention and you will understand quite easily.” He picked up Theresa’s wax tablet and drew a cross at the top of the rectangular space. “As you know, the Church is governed by the Holy Roman Pontiff, who we refer to as the Pope or Patriarch.”
“In Byzantium there’s another pope,” she said, pleased with herself. It was one of the few things about these matters that she did know.
“True.” And he added another four crosses to the first. “The Roman Pope governs the Patriarchate of the West. Aside from this, there are the four Eastern Patriarchs: Constantinople, Antioch, Alexandria, and Jerusalem. Each Patriarchate presides over the various kingdoms or nations that fall under their jurisdiction through the Primatial Archdioceses or Primacies, which are overseen by the most senior archbishops in each kingdom.”
“So they would be the spiritual leaders of each nation,” the young woman ventured.
“Guides, more than leaders.”
Under the first cross he drew a circle to represent the Primacy. “Several archbishoprics are dependent on this Primatial Archdiocese.” He drew some small squares to symbolize the archdioceses.
“The Papacy, the senior archdiocese, archdiocese, and then the diocese.”
“Corresponding to the Pope, the senior archbishop, the archbishop, and the bishop.”
“It’s not so complicated,” she confessed. “And these Roman clerics belong to the Papacy.”
“That’s right. Though it doesn’t mean that they have been bishops. In fact, most of the time it is ties of kinship or friendship that determine who fills these positions.” He gave Theresa a suspicious look. “Tell me—why this sudden interest in priests?”
She looked away, red-faced. In truth she was worried about her dwindling responsibilities as a scribe, and she thought that the more she knew about religious matters, the easier it would be to keep her job.
Alcuin had mentioned to Theresa that the papal mission had traveled to Fulda on its way to Würzburg. The mission was transporting some relics that Charlemagne hoped would put a stop to the continual insurrections to the north of the Elbe. Very soon the mission would continue on its way to the citadel to deposit the sacred artifacts in its cathedral.
When Alcuin told her that he would join the expedition, a blot appeared on the parchment that Theresa had been working on.
That afternoon she came across Izam on his way to the stables. The young man asked how the lands were doing, but Theresa barely paid any attention to him, her head filled with thoughts of Würzburg. When Izam said farewell, she regretted her rudeness.
That night she could hardly sleep.
She pictured her father, humiliated and dishonored. Every night since she had fled she had asked God for His forgiveness. She missed the two of them, her father and her stepmother. She pined for their hugs, their laughter, their joking banter. She longed to hear the stories that Gorgias would tell about Constantinople, his passion for reading, their nights of writing by candlelight. How many times had she wondered what had become of them, and how many times had she avoided thinking about the answer!
Sometimes she felt tempted to return and prove to everyone that she was not to blame. As the months passed she had reflected deeply on the parchment-maker’s role in causing the fire, recalling his every action, his provocation, the blow he dealt to the frame and how it fell into the flames.
She should be going back to fight Korne, she thought, and would cry at her cowardice. She feared losing what by some miracle all that she had gained in Fulda: the love of Hoos Larsson, Helga the Black’s friendship, Alcuin’s wisdom, and the wealth from her lands. If she were condemned in Würzburg, she would lose her new life.
She estimated that it had been three months since she fled. Finally she slept, thinking that she would never have the courage to return.
The next morning, Alcuin scolded her after she chose an ink that was too fluid by mistake.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I slept poorly last night.”
“Problems with your land?”
“Not exactly.” She wondered whether she should tell him. “Do you remember what you were saying yesterday? About your impending trip to Würzburg?”
“Yes, of course. What about it?”
“The thing is… I was thinking it over, and I would like to go with you.”
“Come with me?” He paused. “What kind of a foolish idea is that? It is a very dangerous expedition. There will be no women traveling, and I don’t see what interest—”
“I want to go with you,” she persisted. Alcuin was surprised by the brusqueness of her interruption.
“And the slaves? And your land? Is that why you slept so poorly?”
“Helga will look after Olaf and Lucille. She’ll look after all of it. I beg you… You told me yourself that you need an assistant.”
“Yes, but here in Fulda, not on board a ship.”
Theresa had finally decided to take the risk. Although she could not admit to her part in causing the fire, she had to return to Würzburg and face up to her responsibilities.
“I will go all the same,” she protested. Alcuin could not believe his ears.
“Excuse me? May I ask what brew have you been drinking?”
“If you don’t want to help me, I’ll go by myself, on foot.”
The monk was taken aback by the young woman’s insolence. He thought about giving her a slap, but ultimately he pitied her. “Listen to me, you pigheaded devil! You will stay in Fulda, whether you like it or not. Now, forget all this nonsense and concentrate on your work.” He left the scriptorium, slamming the door violently behind him.
The next day, an acolyte informed Alcuin that the papal delegation had decided to move their departure forward to Sunday morning. It would appear that someone had arrived from Würzburg bearing ill news. When the acolyte left, Alcuin closed the door and turned to Theresa.
“Guess who has arrived?”
“I don’t know, some soldier?” She feared they might be searching for her.
“It’s your friend—Hoos Larsson.”