“I know how to fix it,” Theresa said, remembering what Leonora had taught her about how it could be doctored up with spices. “With your permission, of course.”
Before the man could object, Theresa ran to the pantry and returned laden with aromatic herbs from the garden along with some salt. After following the steps just as Leonora had shown her, she poured the liquid into a large spoon, which she then handed to the cook.
“How is it now?”
The man tried it and looked at her in amazement.
“Well, blow me down! Charlemagne will be pleased! Let’s see, you two,” he snapped, addressing a couple of servants. “Leave those dressings and come and help this girl prepare more garum. I must say, if your stews are as good as your condiments, I’m sure you will have no trouble finding a wealthy husband.”
Theresa blushed and thought of Hoos Larsson. She hoped that he would be her husband. Even though she wasn’t sure if he had money, her heart fluttered when she thought about how handsome he was.
When the cook told Favila that Charlemagne wanted to congratulate the person who had made the condiment, Favila started trembling, insisting it was Theresa who should get the credit. She smoothed Theresa’s hair, pinched her cheeks until they lit up like a newborn’s, and gave her a clean apron to wear. Then she ushered her off, calling her a cheeky rascal. However, Theresa took her by the hand and forced her to go to the refectory with her.
As the women approached, they were surprised by the sheer number of waiters, maids, and servants milling about near the entrance. The cook showing them the way pushed past some glaring onlookers, clearing a path through the crowd to the door of the dining hall. He told them to wait until the lector had recited the psalms.
While the cleric read, Theresa observed Charlemagne standing in the center of the hall. The monarch’s colossal stature made the young woman next to him seem like a dwarf. Charlemagne was dressed in a short cloak as substantial as a napkin on his great body, a woolen overcoat, baggy trousers, and leather boots. His face, shaven in the Frankish way, sported a large unruly moustache that contrasted with the rest of his hair, neatly gathered into a long ponytail. Behind him, Alcuin and Lothar waited patiently at the front of his retinue, which included a cohort of elegantly attired prelates.
When the lector finished, they all sat and started to breakfast, which was when the cook asked Theresa to follow him. They crossed the room and he introduced her to the king, whom Theresa acknowledged with a ridiculous curtsy. Charlemagne regarded her as though he did not understand what was happening.
“The garum girl,” the cooked informed him.
Charlemagne’s eyes widened, surprised by her youth. Then he congratulated her and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. Before she could even think of something to say, Theresa felt the cook grasp her arm and pull her toward the exit.
She was about to return to the kitchens when Favila suggested she wait and help her clear the tables. The two women stood together at one end of the room, observing the dignitaries devouring their feast as if it were their last meal. While the guests breakfasted, dozens of clerics, vassals, landowners, and artisans paraded through the refectory to pay tribute to the monarch.
Theresa noticed the entrance of the refined, little man who had bought Althar’s bear. Behind him followed a rosy-cheeked servant holding a tray as if it were a dish of food, but on it was the head of the beast that she had hunted herself during her time at the bear caves. The little man crossed the hall and bowed before the king. Then, after a brief explanation, he stepped aside so the servant could place the animal’s head among the plates of food. Charlemagne stood to admire its beauty. He said something about the bear’s eyes, to which the little man responded with more bows. The king thanked him for his gift, which he had someone position at one end of the table, and then he dismissed the man who retreated backward, bowing repeatedly.
Since the head had ended up near Theresa, she decided to examine it to see what had caught Charlemagne’s attention. She could see that one of the eyes had come loose in its socket, making it appear a little less fierce. She thought that it wouldn’t be difficult to repair, so she took hold of a knife and—without waiting for permission—started to cut the stitching that ran to the damaged eye. She had almost opened it fully when someone grabbed her from behind.
“May I ask what the devil you are doing?” It was the little, rich man, shouting so that everyone could hear him.
Theresa explained that she was trying to fix the eye, but the man gave her a slap that made her fall flat on her face. One of the cooks ran toward Theresa to drag her out before the little man could do her any more harm. But right then, the king stood and asked them to pick her up. “Come here,” he ordered.
Theresa obeyed, trembling.
“I was only…” she fell silent, ashamed.
“She was trying to ruin my bear head,” the little man interrupted.
“You mean, my head,” Charlemagne corrected him. “Is that true? You wanted to ruin it?” he asked Theresa.
When the young woman tried to answer, all she could manage was a thin, little voice. “I was just trying to put the eye back in place.”
“And that’s why you were slitting the face open?” said the king in surprise.
“I was not slitting it, Your Highness. I was just cutting the stitching.”
“And a liar, too!” interjected the little man. At that moment, Alcuin whispered something to the king, who nodded.
“Cutting the stitching…” Charlemagne examined the head closely. “How could you have cut it, if the stitching isn’t even visible?”
“I know where it is because it was me who sewed it,” she declared.
Hearing her response, everyone except Alcuin burst into laughter.
“I see that I will have to agree with you,” the king said to the little man who had branded her a liar.
“I promise you I am not lying. First I hunted the bear, then I sewed it,” Theresa insisted. The laughter stopped, replaced by a stunned silence. Not even those closest to the king would dare to make such a joke. Charlemagne himself changed his condescending expression.
“And I can prove it,” she added.
The monarch arched an eyebrow. Until then the young woman had seemed likeable, but her effrontery was starting to verge on foolishness. He could not decide whether to order her flogged, or to simply dismiss her, but something in her eyes stopped him.
“In that case, show me,” said the king, ordering silence. Only the chewing of food could be heard in the hall.
Theresa looked at Charlemagne with resolve. Then, in front of the amazed faces of everyone present, she told in full detail the story of the hunt in which she helped Althar bring down the animal. When she had finished the story, not even a belch could be heard in the room.