Finally, amid insults and threats, The Swine was lifted out of the pit and reloaded onto the cart. He and his captors left the square, and headed back to the slaughterhouse.
Helga the Black seemed distraught. Not only had she not seen an execution, but in a moment of distraction, a street urchin had stolen her bag of pastries. Theresa proposed buying a hot bun made with rye from a nearby stall, an offer that Helga immediately accepted. While Theresa searched through her empty pockets, the prostitute had already approached the pastry stand and was bartering for the buns. She selected a round bread roll, agreeing with the baker that she would pay her dues when he came by the tavern. She smiled with pleasure as they both wolfed down the pastries in no time at all. They found it to be so delicious that Helga did not hesitate to buy another, bigger one, laden with honey.
When they had finished, Theresa noticed the paste of flour and earth around Helga’s mouth that she had used to hide her scar. Another blob hung from her nose like a strange white wart. When she told her, Helga burst into animated laughter. Theresa was surprised it didn’t make her wound bleed again. She decided to ask what had happened.
“I wasn’t out of bed yet when I heard a banging on the door,” she said. “I didn’t even have time to ask who it was. As soon as I opened it, I felt a kick to my stomach and punches rained down on me. The animal! He slit my face and told me that if I dared keep the child, next time it wouldn’t be my belly that he’d cut open.”
“But why does he behave so? What does he care what you do?”
“He must fear that I’ll report him.”
She explained that those accused of adultery were given seven years of penance, a punishment that consisted of daily fasting for the duration of the sentence, although a sum of money could be paid in lieu of it.
“He really likes his food,” she complained. “And I think he’s scared that his wife will disown him. Then he’ll lose the carpenter’s workshop, which belongs to his father-in-law. But you know what? I’m going to do it. I’ll report him even if it comes to nothing. With this scar, nobody will pay for my services anymore. Who’s going to want to lie with a disfigured whore?”
“It’s not that bad,” Theresa reassured her. “It’s barely visible. When I saw you this morning, it really seemed much better.”
“It’s only deep here,” she said, pointing near the ear, “but they’ll reject me anyway. Plus I’m getting on a bit.”
Theresa stopped to look at her. It was true. She was wrinkled, with visible gray hair and sagging flesh. She thought that some men might not care that her face had been scratched.
“Anyhow,” Theresa said, “you can’t be thinking of continuing with that work now that you’re pregnant.”
“Oh no?” she said, her laugh sounding bitter. “And how will I eat every day? I don’t have a priest infatuated with me who’ll pay me to scrawl a few words.”
“You could find another trade,” she responded without taking her comment to heart. “You cook better than that third-rate baker.”
Helga the Black felt flattered, but she shook her head. She knew that nobody would hire a prostitute, not to mention a pregnant one.
“Let’s go to the chapter,” Theresa suggested.
“Are you mad? They’ll send us packing with a boot to the backside.”
Theresa’s only response was to take her by the hand and ask that she trust her. On the way to the episcopal palace, she told her about the conversation she had had with Alcuin about a job in the kitchen.
At the entrance to the cathedral they asked for Alcuin, who soon appeared. The monk was surprised to see Helga the Black, but once he composed himself, he inquired about the wound on Helga’s face, to which she replied with all the gory details. When she had finished speaking, the monk turned away, asking them to follow.
In the kitchen, he introduced them to Favila, a woman so fat she seemed like she was wearing not one but thirty dresses. Alcuin explained that she was in charge of the cooking, and that she was as kind-hearted as she was plump. The woman smiled with mock embarrassment, but when she learned Alcuin’s intentions, her expression turned hard.
“Everyone in Fulda knows Helga,” she argued. “Once a whore, always a whore, so get out of my kitchen.”
Helga turned to leave, but Theresa stopped her.
“Nobody has asked you to lie with her,” the young woman blurted out.
Alcuin took out a couple of coins and left them on the table. Then he looked Favila in the eyes. “Have you forgotten the word forgiveness? Did Christ not help the lepers, did he not pardon his executioners, or take in Mary Magdalene?”
“I am not a saint like Jesus,” she grumbled, though she pocketed the coins.
“While the bishop remains indisposed, this woman is now in your charge. Oh! And she’s pregnant,” he said, “so do not overwork her. If anyone gives you any grief for it, tell them it was my decision.”
“I may be kind hearted, but I’m also fussy as hell about my kitchen. And I know a thing or two about working pregnant. I’ve had eight children and the last one I almost let drop out of me right here,” she said, patting the table where Alcuin had placed the coins. “Come then, get that paint off your face and start peeling onions. And the girl? Is she staying too?”
“She works with me,” Alcuin told her.
“But I can help if needed,” offered Theresa.
Then Alcuin left the women to their cooking. He only had a couple of days before Lothar recovered, and he wanted to use every last moment to continue his investigation.
Favila proved to be one of those people who overcame her problems by grumbling and stuffing her face. She would complain about everything from her staff’s lack of diligence to the cleanliness of the stoves. After each scolding, she would take a bite of a bun or of a loaf of bread dipped in pickling brine, and eventually joy would be restored to the kitchen. She loved children and began to talk about Helga’s future baby with such enthusiasm that Theresa thought Favila was the pregnant one.
“Although, I will never understand how something the size of a suckling pig can come out of a tube as wide as a cherry,” Favila said to Helga, and upon seeing the color drain from her face, offered her a pastry to bring the color back.