“And that means…?”
“Think about it. Books aren’t the only things missing from the scriptorium. Also gone are inkwells, pounce, pens… everything that your father would need to prepare a document. And curiously, all the prints left behind from this equipment display a similar amount of dust as the large stylus, which allows us to deduce that the equipment and the large stylus were taken at the same time. So, it doesn’t make sense that the other stylus would disappear later, especially considering that, after your father’s disappearance, Wilfred closed the scriptorium. So, someone other than Gorgias took that stylus that was found in Genseric.”
“But why?”
“To frame your father, of course. And not only that. I am certain that Genseric did not die from the stabbing. Rather, the suspected murderer drove the stylus into him after he was killed.”
“But, how can you be so sure?” Theresa asked in surprise.
“Well, with the far-fetched excuse that I wanted to bless the coadjutor’s body with some relics, I was allowed to exhume his coffin, and was able to examine his habit. I must confess that if Genseric had not been of weak bladder, they would have buried him in other clothes, and his habit would be lost by now, so I was fortunate that he was. During my examination I found the entry wound, with the corresponding hole in his clothes at stomach level. An injury like that would have made him bleed to death. But interestingly there was nothing more than a small ring of blood on the habit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, a living heart pumps the blood through the wound, causing death by exsanguination, which never happens when a body is already dead.”
Theresa was still trying to grasp the meaning of his words. “So what you are saying is that Genseric died some other way, and then someone tried to feign a murder?”
“He didn’t die another way—he was killed another way!” he exclaimed.
He told her how he had examined the remains of vomit found on Genseric’s front, and without being able to establish the nature of the poison, he was still absolutely certain that some kind of bane had finished him off.
Theresa breathed a sigh of relief. She considered telling Alcuin what she had found on her excursion with Zeno, but without knowing why, she decided to wait a while.
Meanwhile, the monk, who was gathering together codices and tidying the scriptorium, continued to ponder his theories. “Wherefore, whoever gained entry to the scriptorium was in all likelihood the same person who murdered Genseric,” he concluded.
“You mean Wilfred?”
“Poor Wilfred is a cripple. What’s more, he’s not the only person who had keys. Genseric also had some.”
“So what does that mean?”
“This is what I intend to find out.”
He explained that, before disappearing, Gorgias had been working on a document of vital importance to the interests of Charlemagne and the Papacy. A fourth century testament in which the Emperor Constantine yielded the Roman Church to the Papal States, acknowledging the Pope’s entitlement to govern the Christian world.
“Gorgias did not finish the document. In fact he was working on a replica of the original. I have the original with me, but it is in a deteriorated state. The fact is we need to complete it, and to do so, we need your father.”
“What do you mean?” Theresa interrupted.
“He is the only person who can finish it. Hence, I would like to propose a deal: You stay here in the scriptorium, working on this draft—and in the meantime, I will search for Gorgias.”
“And what will I have to do with it?”
“Go over the draft. We might be able to use it, if necessary. The truth is nobody else should know about this matter. And under these circumstances, finding a scribe I can trust—and with a good enough command of Greek to transcribe correctly in it—would be difficult, to say the least.”
Alcuin then explained in more detail what the work would consist of, and reiterated the importance of keeping it secret.
“Not even Wilfred can know?”
“Not Wilfred, nor anyone else. You will work alone in this scriptorium, and if anyone asks, you say you’re transcribing a Psalter. You will continue to sleep in the fortress, come here in the morning, and not stop until nightfall. While you make headway, I will look for your father. He cannot have gone far.”
Theresa agreed. Finally she decided she must tell him about Zeno. Hesitantly, she told him of her discovery of the amputated arm and the crypt in the wall.
“Amputated, you say? Good God, Theresa! Why did you not tell me immediately?” he cried, despairing.
Theresa tried to apologize, but it seemed as if the Devil himself had suddenly taken hold of Alcuin as he swore and cursed, scattering the parchments across the floor, before slumping into the chair like a defeated, old rag doll.
Stunned by his outburst, Theresa didn’t know what to say.
After recovering his normal composure, the monk stood up with an absent look in his eyes. “We have a problem, then. A big problem,” he said, his voice unnervingly tranquil.
“What problem?” a fearful Theresa asked.
“The problem, Theresa, is that even if we find your father, he will not be able to finish the job!” he screamed again like a man possessed.
Theresa’s quill slipped from her hand.
“And you know why?” he added, still roaring. “Because he is an invalid now. A useless one-armed scribe incapable of writing a docket.”
At that moment Theresa saw everything clearly. The monk had never intended to help her father. His only intention was to help himself, and now that her father was of no further use to him, he would no longer look for him and would only focus on the document.
Instantly, she hated him with every fiber of her being and suddenly had the urge to plunge her own stylus into his stomach. But then, just as suddenly, she remembered the parchment hidden in her father’s bag. Perhaps she could still defeat this devil.
She mustered the courage to offer a deal. “Find my father and you’ll have your parchment ready for you.”
Alcuin gave her a sidelong glance and turned back to continue brooding.
“Did you not hear me?” She boldly grabbed him by his habit. “I can finish it, I tell you.”
The monk smiled sardonically, but then Theresa took a quill and quickly began to write.
IN-NOMINE-SANCTAE-ET-INDIVIDUAL-TRINITATIS-PATRIS-SCILICET-ET-FILII-ET-SPIRITUS-SANCTI
- - -
IMPERATOR-CAESAR-FLAVIUS-CONSTANTINUS
Alcuin turned pale. “But, how the hell?”
The script was as crisp as her father’s, and the copied text was an exact replica.
“I know it by memory,” she lied. “Find my father, and I will finish it.”
Astounded, Alcuin accepted. He asked her to write a list of what she would need to write it and then ordered her to return to her chamber.