“So you killed the bear by shooting it with a crossbow? I must admit that your fable is truly fabulous, but all it proves is that you are a bare-faced liar,” declared Charlemagne sententiously.
Theresa understood that she had to convince him soon or they would remove her from there with force. She quickly took the animal’s head in her arms. “If what I am saying is false, then how is it possible that I know what it contains?”
“Inside?” Charlemagne asked, intrigued.
“Inside the head. It is filled with beaver skin.”
Without waiting for permission, she broke the stitching and pulled out a ball of fur, which she let fall onto the table. She unrolled it so that everyone could see that it was a damaged beaver pelt. Charlemagne looked at her gravely.
“So it was you who killed it.”
Theresa bit her lip. She looked around her until her eyes fell on the pile of weapons where the men-at-arms had left them before eating. Without saying a word, she crossed the hall and took hold of a crossbow that was lying on a chest. A soldier drew his sword, but Charlemagne gestured for him to hold off. Theresa knew she had just one chance. She recalled how, after the bear hunt, she had practiced with Althar and developed some skill in handling the weapon. However, she had never managed to load one by herself. She placed the end on the floor and held it down purposefully with her foot. She grasped the string and tensed it with all her strength. When the string was a mere whisker from being secured into place, it slipped through her fingers.
There was some commotion from the onlookers, but Theresa didn’t give them time to react. She clasped it again and pulled hard, feeling the fibers digging into her fingers. She thought of the fire in the workshop; of her father Gorgias; of Althar; of Helga the Black and of Hoos Larsson. There had been too many mistakes in her life. She clenched her teeth and pulled harder. The string snapped loose, resting safely in its slot.
Theresa smiled with satisfaction. Finally, she loaded a dart. Then she looked at the king, awaiting his approval. Upon receiving it, she raised the weapon, aimed carefully at an empty plot of ground, and released the arrow. The dart cut through the air, whizzing across the room and landing with a thump into the ground between the legs of the rich man himself.
A murmur of astonishment ran through the refectory. Charlemagne stood and called the young woman over. “Impressive. I can see that Alcuin was right to advise me to believe you.” He looked at the woman sitting to his right. “After breakfast, come to my chambers. It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my daughter.”
At that moment Lothar stood and asked for silence. He donned his miter and raised his cup in a solemn gesture. “I think it is time for a toast,” he proposed. Everyone at the table also lifted their drinks. “It is always an honor to welcome our beloved monarch, Charlemagne, who as you all know I am bound to by blood and friendship. However, we are also honored by the presence of the Roman legation that accompanies him, led by his eminence Flavio Diacono, the pope’s holy prelate. I am therefore pleased to announce that, as a gesture of respect and loyalty toward human fortitude,” he bowed toward Charlemagne, “unconditional submission to divine justice,” he did the same to the Roman Curia, “this afternoon we will finally hold the execution of The Swine.”
At the conclusion of his speech, those present toasted without their cups coming into contact with each other. Theresa thought this strange.
Favila explained to her that not touching cups was a sign of trust. “In the olden days, when a king wanted to control another nation, he would marry his son to the princess of his coveted kingdom and invite the father of the bride to a feast in which he would offer him a poisoned cup of wine. To prevent this barbaric practice, they would touch cups, mixing their wine together so that if one should die, so would the other. That’s why it’s the custom here, as a sign of trust, to never touch cups.”
Upon hearing this, Theresa looked over at Alcuin and felt ashamed, knowing deep down that she had betrayed him. At that moment, the monk took his leave from Lothar and went over to Theresa. When he reached her he greeted her quite naturally. “I did not know about your expertise with condiments. Is there anything else I should know that you have not yet told me about?”
Theresa froze, seeing that Alcuin had read her thoughts. The monk suggested they talk in private.
“I don’t suppose it’s a good day to go to the scriptorium,” Theresa said while they walked down the corridor. “I mean, because of the execution.”
Alcuin merely nodded. They continued past the scriptorium and made for the cathedral. Inside, he walked past the crossing, heading for the sacristy. There, he took a key from a small alcove and opened the gate that led to a damp smelling room presided over by a great crucifix. Alcuin took a seat on the only bench and invited the young woman to do the same. Then he waited for Theresa to calm down.
“When did you last confess?” asked the monk softly. “A month ago? More than two months? Too long, if something should happen to you.”
Theresa started to panic. She glanced at the gate but knew that Alcuin would stop her if she tried to escape.
“Naturally, I trust that you have kept your word,” the monk continued. “I’m referring to the secrets I have shared with you. Do you know what happens to those who break their promises?”
Theresa shook her head and started to cry. The monk offered her a handkerchief, but she refused it.
“Perhaps you would like to confess.”
Theresa then accepted the rag and rubbed her eyes, leaving them red. When she had mustered enough courage, she began confessing her sins. The young woman left out the incident with the fire in Würzburg, but she told him about her sinful union with Hoos. The monk reproached her, but when Theresa admitted that she had been to see the bishop, Alcuin became infuriated.
“Please forgive me. There were so many sick, so many dead.” She burst into tears again. “And then there was Helga the Black. I know she was a prostitute, but she loved me. When she fell ill and disappeared… I didn’t want to deceive you, but I couldn’t just stand by.”
“And that’s why you went to Lothar with what I had discovered?”
The young woman wept, but Alcuin did not seem affected. “Theresa, listen to me. It is essential that you answer truthfully. Did you tell Lothar who the suspects were?”
“Yes. The prior Ludwig, and Kohl, the miller.”
Alcuin clenched his teeth. “And the cause of the poisoning? Did you speak to him of the ergot?”
Theresa shook her head no and explained that she had told him of a poison, but that she had not remembered the name of the fungus at that moment.
“Are you sure of this?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
“All right. Now close your eyes and I will absolve you.”
By the time Theresa opened them, all she saw was Alcuin leaving through the gate before turning to lock her in the sacristy.