“My God, you persist with that ludicrous idea? Thirty-one men cannot—”
“Granted, more might be needed. As you were speaking, ten crewmembers from the second boat climbed down a ladder to come and join us,” Theresa pointed out.
Flavio didn’t even look at her. “Then permit me to inform you that you are not the only one who can speculate. If we are unable to refloat the ship, then we must transfer our cargo to one of the other boats and return to Frankfurt to wait for the ice to thaw. Those men who are crossing over now must be coming to help us unload our cargo onto their boat.”
“Is that why they are coming with all of their belongings?” Alcuin asked. “They will indeed help us, but in the manner in which I have already explained. Incidentally, if it seems such a bad idea to you, then surely you should board the other returning ships.”
“You know as well as I do that we need to reach Würzburg.”
“Well, then, stop complaining and get your belongings off the boat so that we may lift it a little easier. Theresa, help me with this volume. Look.” He pointed at the crew. “Two of the men onshore have already begun to head upriver, no doubt to see the extent of the ice. As you can see, the rest have started to cut and prepare logs.”
“Timber to repair the ship?” the young woman suggested.
“Actually, it looks like they are making levers for moving the boat. Observe the terrain: In this area, the river pools—and this fact, along with the shade from that great mountain,” he said, pointing at it, “are the likely causes of this unexpected freeze. However, farther up, where there is no shade and the slope of the river steepens, I warrant that the water flows without hindrance.”
At that moment Hoos returned with a satisfied expression. He left his weapons on the ice and boarded the boat to talk with Izam. “As I suspected, we’ll have to go upriver for a couple of miles. But farther up, the ice begins to break up and we’ll be able to continue the voyage.”
“And the bank?” asked the commander.
“There are two or three places where it narrows, but the rest of the passage shouldn’t be difficult.”
“All right. And the lookout?”
“I posted him up high, like you ordered.”
“Then all we have to do is lift this bastard up and drag her upriver over the ice.”
Wrapped in rigging, the crew pulled in unison, clenching and straining every muscle fiber in their bodies. On the first attempt, the boat merely creaked. At each signal, the men lurched forward, jolting the ship forward with an almost imperceptible rattle. Then the creaking turned into a groan, and finally, the keel lifted into the air and dropped down onto the frozen surface. Slowly, as progress was made, the pulling became more constant. With the oxen out front, twelve oarsmen pulled the ropes at the prow. Helping were another eight located on each side of the hull and straining to steer it. Theresa and Alcuin joined in where they could. Only four men remained on the second boat, guarding the supplies and equipment, with everyone else helping. Gradually the ship was dragged up out of the ice like a dying beast, revealing a deep scar in the ice when it finally slid forward all the way.
In the middle of the afternoon, causing a string of oaths, the ice cracked as clear as a bell under the hull.
“Stop! Stop, you damned bastards, or the ice will give way and we’ll all drown!” shouted Izam.
The men quickly released the ropes and took a few steps back. By that point the ice was thinner, and farther on it began to break up into a labyrinth of ice plaques.
“Gather in the rope and the animals. Make a hole in the ice and let the animals drink a little. You two, when the oxen have recuperated go back for the provisions,” Izam ordered.
Flavio, who had taken no part in the pulling, took a few steps away from the ship. Soon Theresa and Alcuin appeared, their faces flushed from their effort. The monk attempted to say something, but all he could manage was a groan. Then he let himself drop to the ground and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.
“You shouldn’t have been helping,” Flavio rebuked. “The men look at me as if I were from another planet. People like us aren’t expected to help.”
“A little exercise raises the spirits,” Alcuin panted in retort.
“You are wrong there. Leave the work to those who are obliged to do it. We oratores devote ourselves to prayer, the role that God has given to us.” He helped him shift the lightest bundle.
“Ah, yes.” Alcuin said. “The rules that govern the world: The oratores pray for the salvation of mankind, the bellatores fight for the Church, and the laboratores do everyone else’s work. I’m sorry, I had forgotten,” said Alcuin with a sarcastic smile.
“So you should not—” Flavio raised his voice, but Alcuin cut him off.
“However, you will agree that even peasants must pray once in a while. Pass me a little water, for pity’s sake.”
“Of course, and not just once in a while.”
“And additionally you will also acknowledge that the bellatores, in addition to training for battle, must not forget their spiritual obligations.” He took a swig of water.
“Naturally,” Flavio admitted.
“Then I don’t see why we should not do some work from time to time,” he said, feeling a little better.
“You forget that I am not a monk like you. I’m a papal chancellor. The Primicerius of the Lateran.”
“With two arms and two legs,” Alcuin reminded him, pulling himself up. “And now, if you will excuse me, there is still work to do.”
The monk looked over toward the bank. Then he stole a glance at Izam, leaning against the parapet on the ship.
“No doubt he’s worried about that lookout who left some time ago and hasn’t yet returned,” Theresa said looking at Izam.
“By God, lass, don’t be so dramatic. The scout is probably emptying his bowels somewhere or still exploring the terrain,” said Flavio.
“But look at Izam: He’s staring at the woods with such concern.”
Flavio realized she was right. The engineer was pacing up and down like a caged animal, giving orders one after the other, and his hand was positioned firmly on his bow.
Alcuin left Flavio and approached Izam. “I estimate we still have a day and half’s journey ahead of us. Am I wrong?” he probed.
Izam gave him a sidelong look. “Sorry but I don’t have time for confessions right now,” he said, walking away.
“I understand. You’re not the only one wondering about that lookout. I, too, would be alarmed.”
Izam looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t yet shared his concerns with the crew, but this priest seemed to have guessed. He fixed his gaze on the trees and stroked his chin. “I don’t know why they haven’t attacked us already. Waiting for nightfall, perhaps,” he observed, taking it for granted that they both knew what he was talking about.
“I think the same,” Hoos interjected, joining the conversation. “There can’t be many, or they would’ve already struck.”