Though there were other entrances, they were less well defended. On either side of the gates, a stone wall was erected to protect the city. Inside the walls, numerous homes were built directly up against it so that the city’s fortifications served simultaneously as one of the walls of their home. This design made it difficult for the garrison to guard the wall with ease. However, the defenses only encircled part of the town, the oldest quarter. The original wall was built when the town was just the monastery and its orchards. But with the city’s continual expansion, a proliferation of buildings had spilled into previously empty fields. The new expansion of the wall would protect the extensive suburbs from any possible attack.
Each night the secondary gates were barred and only the main entrance was left open. However, that evening the main gates were also closed, turning the city into an impregnable bastion. Theresa thought that perhaps the bishop had ordered them shut to prevent the criminal from escaping. But one of the guards told her that late in the day several peasants had spotted armed strangers, and though they were probably just bandits, they had decided to take precautions.
Lost in thought, Theresa suddenly became aware of a clamor of frightened folks banging on the other side of the gate, demanding entry to the town. She watched as the guards discussed it with their superior. Then one of the guards left the turret and went down to open the gate. Theresa watched as another guard threw buckets of water on the people who were trying to squeeze through before the gates were opened. Another two guards positioned themselves on each side of the gate armed with spears. The guard on top of the gate shouted down to the unruly mob, warning them that he would not open the gates if they didn’t settle down. This seemed to have a temporary calming effect. But as soon as the bolts were released, the mob pushed through the entry, making the sentries retreat in alarm. Theresa stood aside as a flood of people shoved their way past. Men, women, and children loaded with belongings and animals stormed into the enclosure as if the Devil were pursuing them. When the last person was inside, the guards closed the gates and went back up to the turret.
One of the townsfolk approached Theresa, eager for conversation. “Many have stayed outside thinking they won’t attack, but they won’t catch me unawares again,” he said, showing her an old scar on his belly.
Theresa didn’t know what to think. Those who had just gained entry seemed like they were fleeing the Apocalypse, and yet they were only a small fraction of everyone who lived outside the protection of the city walls. When she asked the man why everybody didn’t want entry, he told her that not everyone believed an attack was imminent.
Fear made Theresa decide to return to the abbey. But first she went by Helga’s old tavern, in case she had decided to return to her former home. She found it still empty, so she made for the episcopal palace to check the kitchens before retiring for the night. But, yet again, there was no sign of her friend. She only found Favila, who reproached her for bringing a prostitute to the chapter. “I knew that she would do the dirty on us at the first opportunity,” she declared, without giving her a chance to reply.
Theresa left without saying a word. In the stables, she pondered the events: a young woman murdered, dozens of townspeople poisoned, a monk she didn’t know whether to trust, and her only friend suddenly gone as if by magic. In her prayers she remembered her family. She thought of Hoos and Helga the Black. Then she made herself comfortable among the hay bales and waited for dawn.
But at midnight she was awakened by a sudden racket. From every direction she heard shouting and hurried footsteps, some running. Several clerics came into the stables bearing torches to saddle a couple of the animals.
Frightened, Theresa rose and ran to Favila’s chambers, where she found the woman pacing up and down, her flesh dancing about under a simple robe. She was about to ask what was happening when the banging of drums interrupted. The two women ran upstairs to the roof terrace with views of the entire city and found themselves looking down on a surprising scene: All along the main street, which was illuminated by dozens of torches, amid cheers and applause, rode a procession of riders led by a man clad in steel, escorted by a troupe of drummers. Despite the late hour, dozens of onlookers greeted the horseman as if he were God Himself and His cohorts. Favila crossed herself and ran downstairs crying out with joy, while Theresa followed behind, still feeling clueless.
Back in the kitchen while lighting the stoves, Favila said, “Don’t you know? The great monarch has arrived. Our King Charlemagne.”
18
Theresa had never imagined that the king’s presence could cause such a stir. That night she had to vacate the stables, since the clergy used it to accommodate the royal horses and servants. She moved to the room that Favila had in the palace pantries. However, not long after she tried to retire for the second time that night, the king’s cooks took over the kitchens, filling them with geese, pheasants, and ducks that honked and quacked like demons for the rest of the night.
The next morning, the chapter was a hive of activity. Clerics ran to and fro, laden with plants with which to adorn the cathedral for the holy services. The busy kitchen staff prepared dishes of roasted meats, vegetables, and delicate pastries. The maidservants cleaned every nook and cranny. And Lothar’s acolytes rushed to move the bishop’s belongings to an adjoining chamber—for his room would be occupied by Charlemagne.
When Favila ordered Theresa to join the other servants in the refectory, Theresa felt there was little point in trying to explain that she only received orders from Alcuin. She tried anyway, but her argument fell on deaf ears. With a shove Favila ushered her into the refectory to help the others.
When Theresa walked into the dining hall she found it decked out with religious tapestries in sumptuous reds and blues. The central table had been replaced by three long boards laid on U-shaped trestles, opposite the entrance. Theresa arranged a row of green apples on the colorful linen tablecloths, already adorned with centerpieces of cyclamens, garlands, and violets—the winter flowers that were cultivated in the gardens. Several rows of stools lined each side of the tables, except for the central area, cleared to accommodate the throne and other armchairs that the king and his favorites would use.
The cooks had prepared a feast for a legion of hungry men, with no shortage of capon and duck still with their plumage, scrambled pheasant eggs, grilled ox, lamb shoulders, pork ribs and fillets, kidney stews, offal, accompaniments of cabbage, turnip, and radish dressed in garlic and pepper, boiled artichokes, an array of sausages and cold meats, bean salads, roast rabbit, pickled quails, strudels, and a myriad of desserts made with honey and rye flour.
On the way back to the kitchen, Theresa heard the head cook asking Favila if she had any garum. Seemingly, the monarch loved the condiment, but the expedition had left their stocks behind in Aquis-Granum. Favila explained hesitantly that she had started the process some time ago, but then gave up when she tasted it. Bringing it out, the head cook, Theresa, and Favila all took a sample and all three immediately spit it out.