“I can guarantee you that he did not kill the girl,” Alcuin continued.
“Stop talking nonsense!” He turned back and walked straight back toward Alcuin until they were face to face. “How many times do I have to tell you that they found him with the victim, clutching the sickle that was used to cut her throat? Soaked in her blood!”
“That does not prove he killed her,” he responded calmly.
“Would you be capable of explaining that to her mother?” Lothar retorted.
“If I knew who she was, I don’t see why I couldn’t.”
“Then you just missed your chance! She was the woman I was speaking with when you interrupted. The mill owner Kohl’s wife.”
Alcuin fell silent. Though it was too early to jump to conclusions, that information upset most of his ideas. However, it didn’t alter the fact that he believed an innocent man was about to be executed.
“Will you listen to me, for the love of God? You are the only person who can stop this insanity. That man would be incapable of holding a sickle. Have you seen his hands? His fingers are deformed. Deformed from birth. I have seen them with my own eyes.”
“You have seen him? How? Have you visited him? Who authorized it?”
“I tried to ask your permission, but your secretary told me that you were busy. And now answer me this: If The Swine is incapable of holding even an apple with either hand, how could he have held, much less wielded, a sickle?”
“Look, Alcuin, you may be a minister of education. You may know your letters, theology, and a thousand other things. But I must remind you that you are merely a deacon. Here in Fulda, whether you like it or not, the person who has the final decision is me, so I suggest you forget your foolish theories and concentrate on that codex that so interests you.”
“All I am interested in is preventing an outrage. I can assure you that The Swine did not—”
“And I assure you that he killed her! And if your only argument is that his fingers do not work, you can start praying—for there is nothing else you can do before he’s marched to the gallows.”
“But Your Excellency—”
“This conversation is over,” he said, leaving and slamming the door to his chambers in Alcuin’s face.
Alcuin returned to his cell with his head bowed. He was certain that The Swine had not murdered that young woman, but his certainty rested only on the fact that the man could not even hold an apple.
He cursed his stupidity. If instead of attempting to convince Lothar he had tried to have the execution postponed, perhaps he would have had time to find more convincing proof. Maybe he should have argued it was more appropriate to wait for Charlemagne’s arrival, or perhaps he should have suggested they wait until The Swine’s injuries heal, to add to the enjoyment of the spectacle. But now there was nothing he could do. Only a couple of hours remained to try to prevent the inevitable.
Then the idea came to him. He wrapped up and hurried out of his cell to get Theresa from the stables. Together they made for the abbey.
In the apothecary he asked Theresa to wash a bowl while he examined the various flasks that filled the shelves. Uncorking several, he sniffed their contents before deciding on one labeled lactuca virosa. Opening it, he removed a whitish block, which he placed on an earthenware plate.
It had been a long time since he had used the compound extracted from a variety of wild lettuce, the sap of which had a strong hypnotic effect. He took a walnut-sized portion, crushed it into a powder, then opened the little lid on his ring and tipped the powder into the tiny receptacle. Then he tidied the flasks, leaving everything how it was, before hurrying off to the chapter.
However, when they reached the episcopal palace they found the doors closed. Theresa parted ways, for she had promised Helga she would accompany her to The Swine’s execution, and Alcuin, too, set off for the gallows.
When Theresa arrived at the tavern, Helga was ready to leave, her face painted and hair pinned up. The gash on her face had disappeared under a paste of flour, water, and colored with earth, which made Theresa think it might not be too deep. Helga seemed excited, and she had prepared some sweet pastries so they wouldn’t have to buy them from the hawkers, and though they were not the most attractive things, they smelled of honey and spices. Before heading to the square, they both donned fur cloaks to protect themselves from the cold. Then they locked up properly and set off carrying their food and some wine. While they walked, Theresa told Helga about what she had seen at the slaughterhouse, but to her surprise, Helga rejoiced to hear they had cut out The Swine’s tongue.
“Shame they didn’t rip his balls off, too,” she declared.
“Alcuin says he’s innocent. That killing him will solve nothing.”
“What does that priest know? I hope he doesn’t spoil the party,” she said, and they headed for the square arm in arm.
Not long before sundown, the cathedral bells started to chime their mournful strains. The soldiers had arranged a circular arena about thirty paces across in the center of the square, cordoning off its perimeter with a circle of stakes. Inside the arena was a hole similar in size to a grave, and in front of it were three wooden tables along with three small chairs. A dozen or so men armed with sticks were watching the crowd that was starting to gather at the fence, where traders had set up their stalls to make last-minute sales. Gradually the multitude grew, and before long, the palisade was hidden under a mass of people clamoring hysterically for the spectacle to begin.
When the bells fell silent, a long cortège paraded into the square. A rider dressed in mourning led the way, accompanied by a cohort of civilians. Most of them wore colorful outfits that contrasted with the rags worn by the serfs who followed them with cured meats hanging from their arms. Next there were several slaves announcing their arrival with the beating of drums. Then came the wagon with the prisoner, and behind him, the executioner who was busy picking up the rotten food that was thrown at the captive and then rubbing it in his face. A swarm of excited children brought up the rear of the procession.