The storm woke Theresa just before dawn. She gathered her belongings and ran to take shelter under a nearby oak tree. When it stopped raining, she felt like the cold would return. But gradually the clouds dispersed and the sun timidly cast its rays on the mountain peaks. She took it as a good omen.
Before setting off again she prayed to God for the good health of her father and her stepmother, and also for the soul of Hoos’s unfortunate horse. She also thanked him for allowing her to live another day. Then she wrapped herself in her cloak, bit into a piece of cheese, and started walking, still wet from the rain.
Three miles later, she began to wonder whether she had taken the right route. The tracks had narrowed to footpaths, appearing and disappearing in the endless white surroundings. Yet she went on undaunted, on a course that appeared to lead to nowhere.
At midday she came across a fast-flowing stream that blocked her path. She walked along the bank for a while, looking for somewhere to wade across, until she reached a section where the water had formed a large pool. There she stopped to admire the scenery, the fir trees and mountain peaks reflected in the clear surface of the water as though it were a mirror, doubling their beauty. She was captivated by how the trees bunched together like a vast army, with snow dotting their olive-green foliage. The water gurgled peacefully and the intense aroma of resin mixed with the cold to clear her lungs.
Hunger growled softly in her stomach.
Though she knew she would find nothing, she rummaged through her bag once again before deciding to do something she had sometimes seen the village boys do: She looked for a shady bend in the stream and lifted up some rocks until she found a seething mass of worms. Then she made a hook by taking a clasp from her hair and bending it over a branch before threading a couple of worms. She tied one end to a string of wool that she pulled from her dress and cast it as far into the water as she could. If she was lucky, she would be having roast trout for lunch.
No sooner had she cast her line, she saw something unsettling. Half-hidden in the undergrowth, a few paces away, she noticed some sort of grounded craft. Hoos wouldn’t have bothered to mention something like that to her, but no doubt it was one of those ferries used to transport goods back and forth over the river.
She pushed aside the thicket and jumped onto the boat, which creaked under her weight. Near the bow she found a pole, resting on a rope that formed a bridge from one bank to the other. She thought it was probably used to prevent the current from dragging the ferry off during loading. After checking that the hull was intact, she decided to use it to cross to the other side of the bank.
Walking around to the grounded end, she pressed her back against the stern and pushed with all her weight, her feet sinking into the mud. The ferry didn’t budge. She attempted it several more times, until her legs and arms were trembling. Exhausted, she finally fell to the ground, crying bitterly.
Since fleeing Würzburg, she had lost count of the times she had cried. Wiping away her tears, she thought about giving up and wondered if she should return and beg Wilfred, God, or whoever necessary for mercy. At least then she could be with her family, and perhaps with their help she could prove that she had not caused the fire. However, she remembered the dead girl and shuddered. Her idea was surely deluded. She decided that if she were to make any sort of life for herself, it would have to be on the other side of this river.
Dismayed, she looked around until she found a medium-sized pebble, which she threw with all her strength toward the opposite bank. The stone flew a quarter of the way across the pool before sinking, so she estimated that it was around a hundred paces wide. In that cold water she would never make it across by swimming. She thought there might be a bridge farther on. But just as she was about to continue on her way, it occurred to her that if she hung from the rope, perhaps she could claw her way to the other side. On either side of the bank the rope was knotted to a tree, and the trees seemed secure enough to support a man’s weight. She could also see that, though the rope dipped halfway across, at no point would she be entirely submerged.
Persuaded by the idea, she waded into the water. The cold made her flinch, but she kept going. When she started to lose her footing, she swung up onto the rope and maneuvered herself until she was hanging belly-up. She advanced toward the other side by stretching and contracting like a caterpillar.
She completed the first stretch without difficulty, but a third of the way across, the rope dipped, dropping her dangerously close to the water. When the water finally touched her back, she dropped off and started swimming, holding on to the rope as a guide. When the rope started to rise again, she pulled herself back up. That was when her bag came open and the steel fell out. She tried to grab the little box, but the current dragged it down until it disappeared under the water. Swearing, she pressed on, until at last, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached the other shore.
As soon as she arrived, shivering, she pulled off her wet clothes, in order to wring them out. As she was doing so, she noticed a strange glimmer that seemed to come from an indeterminate point nearby. She thought it might be the steel she had just lost, and though it was highly unlikely, she quickly dressed anyway and headed toward the spot. However, as she approached, she could see that it was a mass of crayfish, swarming over the disfigured body of a dead soldier. She assumed it was a Saxon, though it could also have been a Frank.
Theresa noticed the great gash running from the soldier’s left ear to the base of his neck. His face was worm-eaten and blood had accumulated under the skin, turning it purple. His ankles seemed dislocated and from under his clothes, his stomach protruded, swollen like an old wineskin. She noticed that the glint she had seen came from the scramasax that he wore on his belt. She briefly thought about taking it, but then gave up on the idea, for everyone knew that the souls of the dead kept vigil over their bodies for three days.
She stepped back to watch the spectacle, repulsed and astounded. And she imagined what the crayfish would taste like once they had been roasted over a fire. Then she remembered that she had lost her steel and wondered whether one could be found on the body. Using a stick, she flicked aside several crayfish, but all she found underneath were entrails and more creatures.
As she became absorbed rummaging through his clothes, someone suddenly grabbed her from behind. Theresa screamed and kicked as if the Devil himself had seized her, but a hand was pressed over her mouth. In response she sunk her nails into the arm with such force that she thought they would come clean off. Then she received a blow to her face and was shaken like a rag doll.
“Damned bitch! Scream again and I’ll tear out your tongue!”