“The attack on Gorgias,” Alcuin continued, “the death of the poor wet nurse, the abduction of the little girls, the murder of the young sentry… tell me, Flavio, how far would you have gone?”
“You’re raving mad,” he said with an awkward smile. “The outcome of the trial by ordeal clearly proves your guilt. The defeat of your champion discredits you.”
“Defeat? It was you who chose Hoos Larsson.”
“To defend your honor,” Flavio argued.
“To save yourself is more likely. If Hoos died, you would rid yourself of your henchman, the only person who could give you away. Hoos always acted under your orders. And what do you say about Genseric, your other ally? You paid both very well with gold solidi minted in Byzantium.” Alcuin took out a pouch and showed it to him. “A coin whose circulation, as everyone knows, is prohibited in Frankish lands. Where did you get them?”
“I gave that money to Hoos so he would fight,” the nuncio blurted out. “You approved the payment yourself.”
“Flavio, Flavio! For the love of God. I found these coins before Izam challenged me. To be precise, it was the same day Theresa discovered you conspiring in the tunnel with Hoos Larsson.”
Flavio fell silent. Then suddenly he positioned himself behind Wilfred’s carriage and threatened to push it into the void.
“You can go ahead as far as I’m concerned,” Alcuin said without turning a hair. “It’s no less than he deserves.”
The count’s eyes, already a picture of terror, opened even wider as he heard Alcuin’s words.
The monk continued. “Because it was Wilfred who eliminated Genseric,” he declared. “When he discovered that his coadjutor had betrayed him, that Genseric had been responsible for Gorgias’s disappearance in order to take possession of the parchment, he had no qualms about murdering him. And later he did the same with Korne,” Alcuin added. Then he looked Wilfred in the eye and discreetly pointed to the handrail on the chair.
Wilfred understood. Aware that Flavio Diacono was holding the rail, he triggered the spring and there was a metallic click. The Roman nuncio felt a prick in his palm, but paid no attention to it.
“Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking? I am an emissary of the pope,” Flavio stressed again.
“And you are a follower of Irene of Byzantium, the traitorous empress who blinded her own son and hates the Papacy. The woman who corrupted you and whom you now serve. You intended to deliver the document to prevent Charlemagne’s coronation. And now let go of Wilfred, and tell us where you have hidden the document that you stole from the scriptorium.”
Flavio reeled. The venom was already taking effect. He put his hand in his robe and pulled out a folded parchment.
“Is this what you’re looking for? A false document? Tell me, Alcuin, who is most…?” He shook his head as if something was echoing around it. “Who is most at fault? He who, like me, fights to ensure that the truth prevails, or he who, like you, uses covetous lies to achieve his ends.”
“The only truth is God’s truth. It is He who wants the Papacy to live on.”
“The Byzantine or the Roman?” Flavio blinked nervously, as though trying to see clearly.
Alcuin made as if to approach him, but Flavio warned him against it. “One step closer and I’ll tear the parchment to pieces.”
The monk stopped immediately, knowing that all he had to do to get his hands on the document was wait until the venom took full effect. However, Wilfred did not wait. When he saw that the papal nuncio was staggering, he released his hounds. The dogs, loyal executors of his commands, threw themselves at the Roman’s throat.
One dog latched onto Flavio’s arm, while another tore at his robe. In the struggle, he dropped the parchment and one of the animals ravaged it until it was destroyed. Flavio, even under attack, attempted to retrieve it, but another hound leaped at his face, making him lose his footing. The man teetered on the edge of the precipice. For a second, he looked at Alcuin in disbelief, then both dog and man tilted backward into the void.
When Alcuin looked over the edge, he saw Flavio Diacono’s body together with Hoos Larsson’s at the bottom of the precipice.
After picking up the remains of the parchment, Alcuin realized with a heavy heart that it could never be reconstructed. He crossed himself slowly and turned to Drogo. Theresa thought she could even see the sparkle from a tear in Alcuin’s eye.
31
Gorgias’s funeral was held in the main church in the presence of Drogo, the rest of the papal delegation, and a choir of boys. To Theresa, the antiphons they intoned sounded like the antechamber to heaven itself. Her stepmother, Rutgarda, accompanied by her sister, Lotharia, and her husband and their children, could not refrain from sobbing inconsolably.
Standing farther back, Izam offered Theresa a seat, but she preferred to stand. Although Theresa felt that this Saturday in March was the saddest of her life, the young woman listened to the homily feeling strong and proud of her father.
Rutgarda, on the other hand, cried until she ran out of tears. When the service was over, they carried the coffin in procession to the cemetery. At the express desire of Alcuin, Gorgias’s remains were buried alongside the region’s most distinguished deceased, those who through their sanctity or courage had defended Würzburg and its Christian values.
On the following Sunday morning, Theresa went to see Alcuin at his request. She didn’t feel like seeing him, but Izam insisted that she go. When she arrived at the scriptorium for their meeting, she found Izam also waiting for her. She greeted both of them warmly and sat in the chair they had ready for her. Alcuin offered her some hot buns, but Theresa declined. Then there was a moment’s silence, broken when Alcuin cleared his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want one?” he asked again, but she shook her head no. He moved the buns out of the way and spread the remains of the chewed parchment over the table. “So much work, and for nothing,” he grumbled.
Theresa could only think about her dead father.
“How are you feeling?” Izam asked her.