The friar held out his hand and Theresa pinched the back of his hand with her index and middle fingers, with her thumb going into his palm. Alcuin told her to squeeze and she did so until her nails dug in. Only when the monk cried out did the young woman ease the pressure.
Retrieving his hand, he showed her his palm and then the marks she had left vertically lengthwise across of the back of his hand: one red mark near his wrist, another close to his fingers. Then he compared his hand to the picture he had drawn, depicting the puncture holes aligned horizontally across the width of the hand.
“An animal would have struck exactly as you did, on the back or on the palm, but in the direction of the arm. And yet, Korne’s wounds,” he said, placing the picture beside his hand, “appear across the palm, perpendicular to the marks you’ve made on me.”
“And what does that mean?”
“That the murderer is a skilled man who is able to kill in an unhurried manner, allowing some time to pass—a useful skill to employ if you don’t want to be associated with the murder. It’s even possible that his victims weren’t even aware of what was happening. And it must be someone with a knowledge of venoms.”
“Zeno?”
“That drunk? What would he gain from these murders? No, Theresa dear. Ad panitendum properat, cito qui iudicat. To find a criminal, one must establish the motive. What connection might there be between Genseric and the parchment-maker?”
“They were both men. They lived in Würzburg.”
“And they both had feet and a head. Try to sharpen up, for the love of God!”
Theresa made it known she was in no mood for guessing games.
“All right,” he conceded. “They both worked for Wilfred. I know that everyone in Würzburg works for Wilfred, but Genseric was his coadjutor, his right-hand man, abreast of all that concerned his superior. Korne, the parchment-maker, was a close friend of Wilfred’s. This connection might seem irrelevant when it comes to finding a motive for their murders, but let us continue to speculate. We can agree that the twins were abducted in order to blackmail the count, and that their kidnapper was undoubtedly the parchment-maker.”
“How do we know that? From the curly hairs we found?” Theresa suggested.
“And this doll’s eye that I found in Korne’s cell.” He took a little pebble from a small box and showed it to Theresa proudly. “It belongs to the toy that the twins were playing with on the day of the kidnapping.”
Theresa examined it, impressed. The blue paint stood out crudely on the white of the pebble.
“We can deduce, therefore,” Alcuin continued, snatching it back, “that the parchment-maker must have wanted something that he judged to be impossible to obtain by less risky means. For surely, he would have done that before resorting to abducting the children. He must have been after something of such value that he was willing to risk his own life, and even do away with his poor lover.”
“Constantine’s document?”
“Exactly: the document again. And if both Genseric and Korne died in the same manner—poisoned, that is—it would be logical to infer that they were both killed by the same hand.”
Theresa knocked an inkwell to the floor, splattering Alcuin, but she was not sorry about it. “You know what I think?” she blurted out. “That in reality, you are the culprit. You knew the importance of the parchment. You seem to know how Genseric and Korne were murdered. I only told you about the hidden lines between the verses of the Vulgate, and soon after, I think you killed the sentry in order to get it.” She pointed at the emerald codex. “And I saw you speaking to Hoos Larsson.”
“With Hoos? When? In the tunnel? I can assure you that wasn’t me.”
“And later in the cloister.”
“I think you’re raving.” He went to put his hand on Theresa’s shoulder, but she fended it off violently. “Stop taking me for a fool,” she warned.
“I will repeat that I never met Hoos in the tunnel, so you can forget about that. It’s true that I saw him in the cloister—as I did Wilfred, a couple of servants, and two prelates. But to conjecture that from my presence there that I am involved? For God’s sake, woman! When Genseric died, we were still on the ship. What’s more, why would I have told you how they were murdered?”
“Then why won’t you release my father now?” she cried. “Or are you hiding something?”
Alcuin looked at her sadly, smoothed his gray hair, and clenched his teeth. Then he asked her to sit down, using a tone she had never heard him use. The young woman refused, but she sensed he was about to confess something big.
“Sit down,” he insisted as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a cloth. He fell silent for a moment. “I think I can safely assert that Wilfred murdered Korne, as he did Genseric.”
“I don’t believe you. Wilfred’s a cripple.”
“He is, and his misfortune is his best ally. Nobody would suspect him… nor any of his devices.”
“What do you mean?”
“Four days ago, Wilfred showed me how one of his contraptions works. He did so when I showed an interest in how the dogs are attached to the chair. He triggered a spring that released their reins as if by magic. I had already noticed that the chamber pot was also equipped with an ingenious mechanism, so I went to see the blacksmith who admitted that he had built them. At first he refused to say anything more, but a few coins were enough to get him to tell me that he had installed an astonishing device in the rear handrail on the chair. Specifically, two small curved nails that were inserted in the grip, which when operated, shoot into the palm like two little darts. The blacksmith swore he never knew their purpose, which is understandable given how unusual the task was.”
“And Wilfred uses this mechanism…”
“To administer the poison. The nails must have been soaked in some evil solution. Viper’s poison, perhaps. I imagine that was how he killed Genseric—and also the parchment-maker.”
“But why would Wilfred commit these crimes? He has access to the document. And the murdered boys? Why would he accuse my father of killing them?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet, though I hope to have them soon. And now that you know the truth, and you know that I know your father is no murderer, I would ask you to please get back to work.”
Theresa looked at the document, with just three paragraphs left to complete. Then she fixed her eyes on Alcuin’s.