“I shouldn’t have mentioned them. Aside from fennel for constipation and chervil for hemorrhages, I don’t know much more about them.”
“So who does?” asked Theresa. “The monastery physician? Come with us and we’ll speak to him. Perhaps you can get him to help us.”
He scratched his bald patch and looked at Theresa with pity. “I don’t think he will be much help. That physician died last month.”
Upon hearing that, Helga dropped the pot she was holding, which fell with a clatter to the floor. The news surprised Althar, too, and it hit Theresa even harder. Though no one had said it, all three of them were secretly hoping that the abbey physician would come to Hoos Larsson’s rescue.
“Although, perhaps you could visit the apothecary,” Maurer said. “The one they call Brother Herbalist. He’s stubborn as a mule, but he’ll often take pity on those who accompany their entreaties with some kind of food. Tell him I sent you. I do business with him and he regards me well.”
“But could you not come with us?” Theresa persisted.
“It’s not a good time for me to be associated with plants. At the beginning of the month a church legation sent by Charlemagne arrived in Fulda. They’re led by a friar from Britannia the king has entrusted to reform the church, and from what I hear, he has come with whip in hand.” He took a slug of wine. “All it would take is for someone to tell him that from time to time I earn a few coins warding off evil spirits and he’ll accuse me of heresy and hang me from a very tall pine tree. That Briton has the whole monastery in a frenzy, so be careful.”
Maurer finished applying the poultice and covered Hoos with a blanket. Before leaving he told them how to find the apothecary and showed Helga how to repeat the treatment without pressing too hard. Then, with a grave expression, he shook Althar’s hand and left.
For a while they sat in a silence that felt as solid and heavy as stone. Then, Helga the Black powdered her face and tidied the room where she would begin work later on that evening, and Althar decided that it was a good time to visit the smithy and have the cart’s axle casing repaired. Theresa stayed with Hoos to keep him cool with a damp cloth. She passed the cloth across his face with the delicacy of a whisper, over his eyebrows and his sleeping eyelids, praying that her trembling would not disturb his sleep. She realized that though she endlessly wiped away the sweat from Hoos’s body, her own eyes were becoming moist, as though in some way the two of them were sharing the same suffering. She swore to herself then that, while he depended on her, Hoos Larsson would not die. She would drag him to the monastery herself if necessary to have the apothecary cure him with his herbs.
When Theresa saw Helga a little while later, it was as though a completely different person stood before her. Her loose hair, decorated with colorful ribbons, seemed less gray. She had painted her lips blood red and accentuated her plump cheeks with an extravagant rouge. Her pronounced cleavage revealed ample breasts, which, though sagging, were pushed up by an underskirt. She wore a long overskirt and her outfit was cinched with an eye-catching belt. With every step beaded necklaces danced over her chest, clicking invitingly. The woman sat down and filled her cup to the brim.
“We’ll have to wait and see,” she said, looking at Hoos. A roll of flab had flopped out over her belt, which she absentmindedly pushed back into her skirt.
“I don’t think this poultice is helping. We should take him to the apothecary,” said Theresa.
“He must rest now. Tomorrow we’ll see what dawn brings, and then decide what to do. Althar told me you intend to stay in Fulda.”
“That’s right.”
“And he mentioned you have no family. Have you thought about how you will earn a living?”
Theresa flushed. The fact was she hadn’t considered it yet.
“I see,” Helga continued. “Tell me something: Are you a maiden?”
“Yes,” she responded, taken aback.
“You can certainly see it in your face.” She shook her head. “If you’d been a whore it would make things a lot easier, but there’s still plenty of time for that. What’s wrong? You don’t like men?”
“They don’t interest me.” She looked at Hoos and realized she was lying.
“And women?”
“Of course not!” She stood up, offended.
Helga the Black laughed brazenly. “Don’t be scared, princess, God isn’t here to hear us.” She had another sip of wine, looked her over again and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smudging her lipstick. “Then you’ll have to think of something. Food costs denarii, clothes cost denarii, and the bed that this young man is sleeping in, when it’s not used for fucking, also costs denarii.”
Theresa’s head was spinning. For a moment she didn’t know what to say.
“I will find work tomorrow. I’ll go to the market and ask at the stalls and in the fields. I am sure to find something.”
“What trades do you know? Perhaps I can help.”
She explained that in Würzburg she had worked in a tanning workshop. She also knew how to cook, she said, having just learned a thing or two from Leonora. However, she didn’t mention her ability to write. Helga thought the tanning workshop was intriguing and pushed for more details, so Theresa told her that she had prepared parchment, sewed quinternions, and bound codices.
“There are no leather workshops here. Everyone makes do by themselves. They might make parchments at the monastery, but I couldn’t say for sure. Did you earn much doing that?”
“I was given a loaf of bread each day. Apprentices aren’t paid.”
“Ah! So you’re still learning. And what did a day laborer earn?”
“One or two denarii a day, but usually they also received food.” She didn’t explain that she was as skilled with the leather as they were.
Helga the Black nodded. Payment with food or goods was normal. However, when Theresa informed her that the laborers were given a peck of wheat, which was the equivalent of a denarius, the woman burst into laughter.
“You have obviously never been to the market. Let’s see.” She moved the jugs to one side of the table and began making little balls of bread with the leftover crumbs. “A pound of silver is twenty solidi.” She finished making the little balls and positioned two rows of ten to one side. “And a solidus is equal to twelve denarii.” She did a few more calculations, but miscounted and then sent all the balls flying onto the floor with an accidental swipe of her arm. “Basically, solidi are gold and denarii are silver, right?”