The Scribe

“At first she refused, but I reminded her that I have regular work, and I promised that in addition to recouping the loan, she would receive an extra fifth part on top of it. Still, she wanted to know what the devil the money was for.”

Hoos looked at her anxiously, but she put him at ease. She had told Helga that she needed a horse to accompany the friar on his country outings. Hearing that, Helga not only believed her but also recommended a merchant who would give her a good price. In total she had returned fifty denarii, half of her down payment. It would be enough to buy an old nag and enough food for the journey.

“And she didn’t ask why you couldn’t accompany the monk by walking alongside his horse?”

“I told her my ankles hurt. Listen, Hoos, before you go, I would like to ask you for something.”

“Of course, if it’s within my power.”

“In a few days’ time, when you arrive in Würzburg…”

“Yes?”

“The thing is, when you found me at the cabin—I lied to you. I wasn’t just there by chance.”

“Well, don’t worry. If you didn’t want to tell me then, you don’t have to tell me now.”

“I was scared, but now I want to tell you. In Würzburg there was a fire.”

“A fire? Where?”

“It wasn’t my fault, I swear it wasn’t. It was that wretched Korne. He pushed me. The embers flew everywhere, everything caught fire, and…” Tears welled up.

Hoos took her in his arms. “Promise me you will find my father and tell him I’m well. Promise me.”

“Of course. I promise.”

“Tell them I love them, him and Rutgarda. Promise me.”

Hoos stroked her face, and she felt calmer. Suddenly Theresa remembered the parchment that she had found hidden in her father’s bag. For a moment she thought about entrusting it to Hoos to deliver to him, but she decided against it. Perhaps it was a private document and that was why he had hidden it.

“Take me with you,” she asked.

He smiled tenderly at her. “I’ll find your father and tell him not to worry, but you can’t come with me. Remember the bandits.”

“But—”

He stopped her with a kiss.

When the last candle had been blown out, Hoos asked her to come to him. She accepted, not fully knowing why. The young man embraced her tenderly to protect her from the cold, but though they were soon warm, they didn’t want to separate.

Hoos was the attentive man she had always yearned for. His arms held her tightly while he covered her in kisses. He explored her body, traveling undiscovered paths, caressing her slowly and enveloping her in his breath. She let herself become intoxicated, noticing the shameful appetite that burned inside her. She had never felt this way before and couldn’t interpret that bundle of sensations—the struggle between modesty and eagerness, between fear and desire.

“Not yet,” she begged him.

Hoos kept kissing her anyway, exploring her with his lips—caressing her pubis, her belly, her erect nipples. She delighted in his firm arms as he savored the smoothness of her breasts. She trembled when he parted her legs. As she felt him enter her, her body arched with pain. Even so, desire made her press herself against him as if she wanted to possess him forever. Then she surrendered to his motion and the fire that consumed her.

He kept kissing her as he moved on top of her. He slowly caressed her, relishing being between her legs—and then as he moved faster, she felt such delirious longing, as if the Devil possessed her. Finally, she felt the urgency of his desire release, and she wanted him to stay there, embracing her forever.

“I love you,” he said softly, holding her tightly.

She closed her eyes, yearning for him to tell her a thousand more times.

In the morning, when Hoos said good-bye, all she could hear was that he loved her.





15

Because she did not go to the scriptorium on Sundays, Theresa used the morning to tidy the loft and wash the pots and pans that had accumulated in the kitchen. Still, she decided that after lunch she would go to the abbey and feign an interest in Hoos’s whereabouts, to avoid arousing suspicion. While she cleaned the hostelry she remembered each kiss from the night before. She was imbued with the smell of Hoos, as if she had been rubbed with a cloth soaked in his essence. Hoos Larsson…

Before leaving, he had promised that on his return they would travel together to Aquis-Granum, to make a home for themselves on his land.

She imagined her life on Hoos’s estate, attending to the house during the day and pressing herself against his body each night. For a moment she forgot Helga and Alcuin’s problems, enraptured by the thought of Hoos. She thought of nothing else all morning.

By the time Helga arose, Theresa had already cleaned the same room four times. Helga complained of a burning in her stomach, which she tempered with a gulp of wine—which, in turn, made her retch several times. Her body still reeked of sweaty men, but she didn’t seem to care. She was surprised to find Theresa in the kitchen, for she didn’t remember that it was Sunday. She staggered over to a washbasin where she wetted her eyes just enough to clear the sleep from them.

“You’re not going to see the monks today?” she said, pouring herself some more wine.

“Sundays are for praying.”

“It must be because they have nothing better to do,” Helga said with envy. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to make for lunch today.”

She rummaged around the pots and pans until they were as disorderly as they had been before Theresa had tidied them. Then she took out a pan and put all the vegetables she could find in it. She added a piece of fatty salt pork and covered it all with clean water from a large earthenware jar. Then she put it on the heat and added a cow’s tongue.

“Nice and fresh—a customer brought it for me yesterday,” she boasted.

“If you keep fattening me up like this, I’ll end up having to steal your clothes,” Theresa warned her with a smile.

“With how little you eat, girl, it’s a surprise that anyone can see your tits.”

The woman stirred the pot while Theresa went back to tidying the kitchen.

“Anyhow, remember that in my condition I have to look after myself,” the woman added, stroking her stomach.

Theresa smiled. Yet she wondered whether Helga would continue to prostitute herself when her belly was like a full moon.

“How does a woman get pregnant?” she suddenly asked.

“What kind of a stupid question is that?”

“No, you know… what I meant was… well… if doing it the first time.”

Helga looked at her in surprise and then burst out laughing. “It depends how well you got fucked, you little rascal,” and she gave her a loud kiss on the cheek.

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