Wilfred explained that he only used them in the morning—for certain routes free of stairs. He also liked to go out with them into Würzburg’s streets, particularly the best kept ones.
“Sometimes I even venture out of the city,” he said with a smile. “You should see how they understand my expressions. One blink from me and they will set upon the first person I signal.”
“With the carriage still harnessed to their backs?”
“I will tell you a secret,” he said, still smiling.
Wilfred activated a device on one of the armrests and a spring released the rings used to harness the hounds to the contraption.
“Very clever.”
“Indeed,” he said with pride. “I had it installed myself. The most difficult thing was hardening the strip of metal so that it could be used as a spring, but our blacksmith is talented enough he could build a harp and make it play itself.” He reinserted the rings into their housing and reset the spring. “But that’s enough about dogs—let’s talk about Theresa. I don’t think any other matter is more significant now.”
They spoke of the celestial apparition, which Alcuin repeated from top to bottom, adding one or two more fabricated details.
When he had finished, Wilfred seemed perplexed, but without stopping to reflect, the count seemed to accept Alcuin’s theory and insisted again that he try the wine. This time the monk accepted. When he had finished his cup, he inquired again about the parchment.
“It’s almost complete. You will be able to see it soon,” said Wilfred apologetically.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather see it now.”
Wilfred cleared his throat and shook his head. Then he nodded toward his contraption. “Help me, please.”
Alcuin positioned himself behind the wheelchair and pushed Wilfred in the direction he indicated. As they reached a chest of drawers in his room, the count asked Alcuin to pass him a coffer that the monk estimated to be one cubit long by half a cubit wide. Wilfred opened it, revealing its interior, which was empty. Then he lifted a false bottom and took from it a document that he held out nervously to Alcuin. The monk took it and held it in the candlelight.
“But this is just a draft.”
“As I said, it is not ready yet.”
“I know that’s what you told me, but Charlemagne will not accept that answer. It has been several months. Why is it not ready yet?”
“There was only enough parchment left for two trial runs. It is a special parchment. Uterine vellum: you know, the one made from unborn calf’s skin.”
“Everyone knows what vellum is,” he murmured.
“This is different, brought in from Byzantium. Anyhow, the only copy was lost in the fire, so Gorgias started another. But a few weeks ago the scribe disappeared from the scriptorium along with the document.”
“I don’t understand—what do you mean?”
“About two months ago I met with him in my chambers, and he assured me that he would have it finished within a few days. However, that same morning he vanished as if by magic.”
“And since then?”
“Nobody has seen him,” he lamented. “As far as I know, Genseric was the last person to see him. He accompanied him to the scriptorium to collect a few things and was never seen again.”
When Alcuin suggested they go to speak to Genseric, Wilfred fell silent for a moment. Then he downed his wine and looked at the monk with glazed eyes.
“I’m afraid that will not be possible. Genseric is dead. They found his body last week in the middle of the forest, run through with a stylus.”
Alcuin coughed when he heard this last part, but his astonishment turned to stupor when he heard that, according to Wilfred, Gorgias was the murderer.
The next morning Alcuin went to the kitchens early. As in other fortresses, they were located in a separate building so that, in the event of a kitchen fire, the flames would be contained. Indeed, as soon as he entered, he noticed the blackened walls—a clear sign of repeated fires. He asked a maidservant for the head cook, who turned out to be Bernardino, a stout monk the size of a wine barrel. The squat man greeted him without a glance as he dashed about as nimbly as a squirrel organizing the supplies. When he finally stopped, he gladly turned his attention to Alcuin. “Sorry about the rush, but we were in desperate need of the provisions you brought.” He handed him a hot cup of milk. “It’s an honor to meet you. Everyone is talking about you.”
Alcuin accepted the milk with pleasure. Since he had left Fulda he had drunk nothing but watered-down wine. Then Alcuin asked Bernardino about Genseric. Wilfred had told him that it was the cook who had found the coadjutor’s body.
“That’s right.” With difficultly he perched on a chair. “I discovered the old man in the middle of the forest, lying face-up with froth at the mouth. He couldn’t have been dead long, for the vermin had not yet devoured him.”
He told him about the stylus sunk into his belly. It was of the type used by scribes to write on wax tablets, he explained. It had been driven deep into him.
“And you think it was Gorgias?”
The midget shrugged.
“The stylus undoubtedly belonged to Gorgias, but I would never have attributed an act like that to him. We all thought him a good man,” he added, “though lately some strange events have taken place.” He explained to him that, in addition to Genseric, several young boys had turned up dead, and it was rumored that the scribe was also behind those murders.
When Alcuin asked him about the coadjutor’s body, Bernardino informed him where it had been buried. The midget was surprised at the monk’s interest in the whereabouts of the clothes that Genseric had been wearing, for normally they washed the garments of the dead and if they were in good condition they were reused.
“But Genseric’s stank of urine, so we decided to bury him in his habit.”
Alcuin finished his cup of milk and asked the cook if the young boys had also been stabbed.
“They were. Strange goings-on.”
Alcuin nodded, disconcerted. He thanked Bernardino for the information and wiped the remnants of milk from his mouth. Then he asked when they could examine the place where he had found Genseric. They agreed they would meet that afternoon following the Sext service. So he said farewell and returned to his chambers. On the way he decided to ask Wilfred to exhume the coadjutor’s body, for something did not add up.