Helga was crying inconsolably now. “I’m with child,” she sobbed. “By a pig that almost killed me.”
She said that though she took precautions, this was not the first time she had been made pregnant. At first she had followed the advice of the midwives. To guard against pregnancy she would remove her clothes, smear herself with honey, roll around on a pile of wheat, and then carefully gather up all the grain that had stuck to her body and grind it manually in the opposite direction of normal—from left to right. The bread made from this flour she then fed to the man before copulating, whose germinal fluids would then be sterilized, but she was more fertile than a family of rabbits, she said, and despite these precautions, as soon as she let her guard down, she would fall pregnant.
After her husband passed away, she had allowed her first two children to die as soon as they were born, because that was what unwedded mothers normally did. The other pregnancies ended before birth thanks to an old woman who stuck a duck feather between her legs. However, last year she met Widukind, a married woodsman who didn’t seem to mind how she made her living. He would say that he loved her, and they were like young lovers when they went to bed. Once he told her he would forsake his wife to marry her.
“Which is why, when I missed my second period, I thought it would make him get on with it. Well, you can see what happened. When I told him this morning, he flew into a rage as if he had been robbed of his soul. He laid into me, calling me a devious whore. The lying bastard. I hope his prick rots, and if one day he does want to have children, let them be born with antlers!”
Theresa stayed by her side until Helga eventually stopped crying. Later she learned that Widukind hat hit her on other occasions, too, but never as brutally as that day. She also heard about the countless women who without the means to support their children would kill their newborns rather than give them up as slaves.
“But this one I want to keep,” Helga confessed, stroking her belly. “Since I lost my husband, I’ve had nothing but problems.”
Between the two of them they tidied the tavern. Theresa told her about Alcuin of York who was not the apothecary, and how Hoos was recovering from his injuries but would need to remain at the monastery for a while. She added that Alcuin had mentioned how odd he thought the sickness that afflicted the town.
“He’s right. It’s a strange illness, for it only seems to affect the wealthy,” said Helga.
At midday they ate a pottage of boiled pulses and rye flour. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about childbirth, children, and pregnancy. At the end of the day, Helga admitted that she had started selling herself in order to survive. One night, not long after she had become widowed, a stranger came into her home and raped her until she was broken. When the neighbors found out they turned their backs on her, refusing to speak or break bread with her. Nobody offered her work, so she had to earn a living by humiliating herself.
They went to bed early, Helga complaining of a headache.
It was not yet dawn when Theresa left the hostelry equipped with tablets filled with fresh wax and headed out into the frost-covered streets. At the first corner, she felt the wind growing stronger and so wrapped herself in the novice’s robe that Alcuin had given her. Then she ran through the streets, fearing that she would take a wrong turn and arrive late on her first day at work. When she reached the monastery, the cellarer opened up as soon as he saw her and again accompanied her to the optimates’ building where Alcuin waited at the entrance.
“No chops today?” he said to Theresa with a smile, leading her to the same room as the day before. Theresa found it better lit thanks to some large candles arranged around the table. She noticed that they had added a newly oiled desk on which sat a codex, an inkwell, a knife, and several sharpened pens.
“Your workplace,” announced Alcuin, signaling the desk with the palm of his hand. “For the time being you will remain here copying texts. You must not leave the room without my authorization, and of course, when you do, you will always be accompanied. Later on, when I have informed Bishop Lothar that I have employed you as an assistant, we will move to the chapter.”
He went off for a moment and returned with two cups of milk. “At midday we will pay a brief visit to Hoos. If you need anything in my absence, tell one of my acolytes. Good. Now I must attend to other matters, so before you start with the notes, I would like you to copy a few pages of this codex.”
Theresa leafed through the volume with curiosity. It was a thick codex, of recent making, its leather cover wrought in gold, with beautifully illuminated miniatures. According to Alcuin it was a valuable specimen of the Hypotyposeis by Clement of Alexandria, a transcription of an Italian codex translated from Greek by Theodore of Pisa, which like so many other codices went from abbey to abbey, for various copyists to duplicate. She noticed that the writing was different, smaller and easier to read. Alcuin explained that it was a new type of calligraphy that he had been working on for some time.
As she examined the text, Theresa realized that she had not agreed to any kind of remuneration with Alcuin for her new employment. She knew that he was looking after Hoos, and she did not wish to appear ungrateful, but when the money she was given for the bear head was gone, she would need funds to pay for board and lodging. She didn’t know how to broach the subject, but Alcuin seemed to read her thoughts.
“As for your pay,” he informed her, “I promise to provide two pounds of bread every day, along with whatever vegetables you need. You may also keep the robe you are wearing, and I will give you a new pair of shoes so that you do not catch a chill.”
It seemed sufficient to Theresa, who guessed she would only be kept busy until dinner time, which meant she would still have several hours to help Helga at the tavern.
He had explained to her that her schedule would fit around religious services, which took place every three hours. The monastery came to life at dawn, after the Prime service. That was when they had breakfast and afterward the monks would go about their tasks. At around midmorning during the Terce service, which coincided with Chapter Mass, was when Theresa should start her work. Three hours later, at midday, the Sext service would be held, straight after lunch. None was held midafternoon until sunset, after which came dinner, and then Vespers. By midevening they would return to the church for Compline, which lasted until midnight. He told her that what time her day ended would depend on how many pages she managed to complete.
Alcuin donned a woolen overcoat. “If you should need to visit Hoos in my absence, ask for my acolyte and show him this.” He handed her a tarnished bronze ring. “He will escort you. I will return in a couple of hours to check your progress. Do you like soup?”
“Yes, of course.”