“I’ll finish it when you release my father.”
The monk looked away, then suddenly turned back to her, with an expression full of menace. “Your father, your father! There are more important things than your father!” he shouted. “Do you not understand that those who seek the parchment might still get their hands on it? To catch them I need them to think that I already have a culprit. Your poor father is innocent, yes, but so was Jesus Christ, and he give his life to save us from ourselves, did he not? Now answer me this: Do you think Gorgias is better than Christ? Is that what you think? Have you by any chance asked him whether he accepts his sacrifice? If he could speak, I am certain he would be grateful and more than willing. Moreover, let’s stop being frivolous. We both know he is inevitably, and imminently, going to die. How long has he got left? Two? Three days? What does it matter if he dies in a bed or in a dungeon?”
Theresa sprang to her feet and slapped him.
Alcuin was immobile as his cheek flushed red. He reacted as if he had just been woken up. Standing, he went to the window, his hand going to his face.
“I’m sorry, I should not have said those things,” he said. “But even so, take a step back. It’s difficult to hear, I know, but your father will die soon either way. Zeno has confirmed it, and nothing we can do will alter that fact. The future of this document depends on us. I have already explained its significance, and for those reasons I implore you to accept my stance.”
Theresa held back her tears. “I will tell you what,” she said, finally breaking down, “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if they steal the parchment from you and we all end up in hell. I will not stand by and allow my father to perish in that hole.”
“You don’t understand, Theresa. I’m about to—”
“You’re about to kill him, and sooner or later you will do the same to me. Do you think I’m stupid? Neither my father nor I have ever mattered to you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Really? Then tell me—where did you get the Vulgate? Or did it fly here?”
Alcuin looked at her with a distressed expression. “Flavio Diacono found it left in the middle of the cloister.” He closed the Vulgate and handed it back to Theresa. “If you don’t believe me, you can go and ask him yourself.”
“So why will you not release my father?”
“For God’s sake! I’ve explained that already! I need to find out who is after the document.”
“A document as false as Judas,” she replied, standing her ground.
“False? What do you mean?” His tone changed again.
“I know full well what you’re scheming. You, Wilfred, and the Papal States—a deluge of fraud and trickery. I know everything, Brother Alcuin. The document you go to such lengths to extol, on which you have placed hopes, ambitions, and desires… my father uncovered its duplicity. That’s why you want him to die—so that your secret will go with him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.
“Are you sure?” She took the tablets from her bag and flung them on the table in front of him. “They’re copies of the text written between the lines in his Vulgate. Don’t bother trying to find it in the Vulgate because I scraped them out with a knife.”
“What do they say?” he asked, his expression hardening.
“You know as well as I do.”
“What do they say?” he repeated as if consumed by fire.
Theresa pushed the tablets closer to him. Alcuin contemplated them and then looked back at her.
Theresa continued. “My father knew about Byzantine diplomacy. He knew about epistles, speeches, exordiums, and panegyrics. Perhaps that’s why you hired him, but also you say because he was a good Christian. And as such, he discovered that Constantine never wrote the document. That none of the donations are legitimate and that the lands in fact belong to Byzantium.”
“Silence!” the monk bellowed.
“If the document is authentic, tell me, Alcuin, why is it that the document refers to Byzantium as a province, when it was just a city in the fourth century? Why does it mention Judea when that didn’t exist at that time? Not to mention the use of terms like synclitus instead of senatus, banda rather than vexillum, censura in place of diploma, constitutum for decretum, largitas for possessio, consul instead of patricus…”
“Quiet, woman! What do those mere details prove?”
“And that’s not all,” she continued. “In the introductio and the conclusio the handwriting of the imperial era is poorly imitated, and the formulae are from another time. How would you explain the fact that in a fourth-century document, the passage on Constantine’s conversation is based on the Acta o Gesta Sylvestri, or explain the references to the decrees of the Iconoclastic Synod of Constantinople against the veneration of images, which you know was held several centuries later?”
“The fact that the document contains errors does not prove that the donation is false,” he retorted, striking the table. “The difference between real and genuine is as slight as it is between false and spurious. How could you, a descendant of the sinner Eve, have the authority to judge the morality of an act guided by the Holy Spirit?”
“Do you truly believe that is what they will say in Byzantium?”
“You are playing with fire,” he warned her. “I would never harm you, but there are many who would. Remember Korne.”
The chiming of bells sounding an alarm interrupted them.
“Release my father, and I will finish the document. Make something up. Whatever you want—another miracle, whatever springs to mind. After all, you’re a real expert at inventing lies.” Then she gathered her tablets and told him to send his answer to Izam’s boat. And she left without giving Alcuin a chance to argue.
On the way to the wharf, a crowd of townsfolk swarmed around her, leaping and dancing and shouting “Supplies!” Surprised, she followed a family until she realized that the commotion was due to four newly arrived boats that were at that moment mooring at the docks. One of them, painted red and lined with shields, was notably bigger than the rest, making the other boats look like mere shallops by comparison. She looked for Izam and finally found him on the last boat. She tried to board, but was stopped. However, as soon as Izam spotted her, he came down to meet her. As he approached, Theresa noticed he was limping.
“What happened?” she asked, alarmed. Without thinking about it, she threw herself into his arms. He stroked her hair and soothed her.
They moved away from the crowd to a solitary rock. Izam explained that he had gone out to meet the missus dominicus since a scout had informed him of his arrival.
“Unfortunately, it seems they also warned the owner of this arrow,” he joked, pointing at his leg.