His parents found him to be a nervous boy who was happier examining seeds or studying snails than throwing stones with the other children. A strange boy, they thought, not least when he accurately guessed how much fish a certain boat would catch—or which house would collapse after the next storm.
He found it pointless to explain that he merely observed the condition of the nets used by the fishermen or the rot that had taken hold of pillars and beams. Unfortunately, the rest of the village thought the gangly little boy was touched by the Devil, so, to right his soul, his parents decided to send him to the cathedral schools in York.
His teacher was Aelbert of York, a knock-kneed monk, the head magister at the time and disciple of the previous head, Count Egbert, who was a relative. Perhaps that was why Aelbert took him in like a son and devoted himself body and soul to channeling his strange talent. There Alcuin learned that England was a heptarchy made up of the Saxon kingdoms of Kent, Wessex, Essex, and Sussex in the south of the island, and the northern realms of the Angles of Mercia, East Anglia, and Northumbria, where he resided.
He enjoyed broadening his mind in the typical subjects of the trivium, which included grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic; and of the cuadrivium, comprising arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music. Along with these, in accord with the Anglo-Saxon tradition, he studied astrology, mechanics, and medicine.
“Saeculare quoque et forasticae philosophorum disciplinae” Aelbert insisted time and again, trying to convince Alcuin that the secular arts were nothing but the work of the Devil, handed to the Christians so they would forget the Word of God.
“But Saint Gregory the Great himself—in his Commentary on the Book of Kings—legitimizes these studies,” Alcuin retorted when he was just sixteen years old.
“That does not give you the right to spend the entire day reading that compendium of lies that is the Historiae Naturalis.”
“Would you be less displeased if I studied the Etymologiae u Originum sive etymologicarum libri viginti? Because if you compare the two, you will note that the Hispanic saint modeled the structure of some of his books on Pliny’s encyclopedia. And not just on Pliny, but also on the ecclesiastical writers Cassiodorus and Boethius. And on Caelius Aurelianus’s translations of Asclepiades of Bithynia and Soranus of Ephesus—and Lactantius and Solinus—and even Prata by Suetonius.”
“You should read from the Christian point of view, not the pagan one.”
“The pagans are sons of God, too.”
“But at the service of the Devil, boy! And do not contradict me or I will cast all thirty-three volumes out the window one by one.”
In reality Aelbert did not worry too much about what kind of texts Alcuin read, for the boy never neglected his duties as a Christian. On the contrary, he had proven himself an accomplished and diligent student, able to gain the upper hand in theological debates with the most experienced monks, so his dabbling in the pagan texts, though undesirable, had not diverted him in any way from his journey toward wisdom.
Over the years, Alcuin proved to be a true artisan of letters. He would examine texts, volumes, and codices and—like a master builder—extract fragments and passages in order to construct extraordinary and highly eloquent mosaics of knowledge. He did so with poems such as his “De sanctus Euboriensis ecclesiae.” In more than one thousand six-hundred and fifty verses, he not only described the history of York, its bishops, and the kings of Northumbria, but he also gave overviews of authors whose works Brother Eanwald had added to the library. Those authors included the likes of Ambrose, Athanasius, Augustine, Cassiodorus, John Chrysostom, Cyprian, Gregory the Great, Jerome, Isidore, Lactantius, Sedulius, Arator, Juvencus, Venancio, Prudentius, and Virgil. Alcuin would write endlessly.
In time, his didactic works written as a student were used as educational texts, due to their clarity and rhetoric. He did so with Aristotle’s Categories, adapted in Saint Augustine’s Categoriae decem, or the Disputatio de Vera Philosophia, the canon that would later become a bedside book of Charlemagne himself. And he did not forget to attend to his liturgical texts, theological works, exegetic and dogmatic writings, poetry and hagiographies.
The day that Aelbert succeeded Egbert as archbishop of York, the position of head magister of the cathedral school became vacant. Several candidates put themselves forward for the role, but by then Alcuin was first choice for the post. He was thirty-five years old and had recently been ordained as a deacon.
Later, the Saxon king ?lfwald himself sent him to Rome, to seek the pallium for the new count and obtain the rank of metropolitan for York. In Parma, on his return journey, he met Charlemagne, and from that point forward he never returned to running the cathedral school. Even so, he did not stop taking enjoyment from his divinations or from using his unique cunning.
The case of The Swine suddenly sprang back into his mind. It was Friday and he would be put to death before nightfall on Monday.
He had learned that in Fulda the public executions took place on the main square at dusk so they could be witnessed by the greatest number of people. He imagined that the prisoner must have been found guilty of some heinous crime such as stealing from the estate of a noble or setting fire to property. Under the law, theft or destruction were the only offenses punishable by death—though of course there were exceptions, usually depending on the social status of the accused or sometimes the victims.
He understood that serious crimes had to be answered with severe punishments, but he didn’t share the eagerness of some judges to deal out sentences merely to set an example for others. In fact, during his tenure at the school in York, he had participated in numerous trials, and while unfortunately some had resulted in the accused being sent to the gallows, he had never attended the executions. However, on this occasion he had promised the bishop he would accompany him. For now he concluded that it would be best to put the matter out of his mind and devote a few hours to reading Virgil.
Saturday morning was bitterly cold. After attending the Prime service, Alcuin met the bishop in the small refectory next to the accommodation. The place was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread.
“Good day to you,” Lothar greeted him. “Please, sit beside me. Today we have an exquisite gourd pie.”
“Good day, Father.” He thanked him for his offer and served himself a small slice. “I would like to speak to you about the assistant that you assigned to me for the writing tasks, the novice who is the librarian’s nephew.”
“Yes. What about him? I hope he is not disobeying you.”
“No, Your Eminence, on the contrary. The boy is a hard worker and also very orderly. Somewhat fussy, perhaps—but diligent enough, certainly.”
“So?”
“Only, he is not suitable. And believe me that I am not saying this on the grounds of his youth. I must admit that when you suggested him as an assistant, Father, I thought him a wise choice. However, the facts indicate otherwise.”