“You look beautiful,” Helga the Black informed her, telling her to run along to the dinner.
When she reached the dining hall, she saw that the guests were already settled in their seats. She was received by Alcuin, who apologized for her lateness. Theresa curtsied to the monarch, then ran with dainty steps to the place that had been reserved for her, beside an elegantly dressed young woman. The girl greeted her with a smile that revealed tiny white teeth. She looked about twenty years old, though later Theresa discovered that she was around fifteen. A servant whispered to Theresa that it was Gisela, the eldest daughter of Charlemagne, and this was not the first time she had visited Fulda because, aside from the battlefield, she accompanied her father wherever he went. Theresa counted another twenty or so people, most of them the king’s men, as well as five or six tonsured fellows she assumed belonged to the diocese. Charlemagne presided over the long rectangular table, which was covered in impeccable linen tablecloths and decorated with winter flowers. Several trays full of game competed abundantly for space with plates of cheese, cold meats, and fruit, while dozens of jugs of wine sat packed in among the food signaling a celebration fit for kings.
At the monarch’s signal, they all raised their cups and started eating like ravenous animals. As the dinner progressed, Theresa noticed that some of the diners, their appetite for food sated, turned their attention to her curves. Embarrassed, she loosened her belt so that the dress did not cling to her so tightly and then she positioned a centerpiece of flowers between her and the ogling eyes. Gisela realized what was happening and added another couple of bunches to hide Theresa even more.
“Don’t worry,” the girl said with a smile. “All men are the same—except if they drink. Then they’re worse.”
When the desserts arrived, Alcuin approached Theresa and told her to stand, an event which some men approved of vociferously. A cleric too drunk to applaud got up from his chair and attempted to say a few words, but all he managed to do was belch before losing his footing and collapsing onto the table. After they had removed him, Charlemagne stood and asked Theresa to read.
Before beginning she prepared herself by taking a swig of wine. The long draft gave her courage. She dodged the scraps of food scattered around the floor and went over to the lectern that Alcuin had prepared for her. She opened the codex and took a deep breath. As soon as the first word left her mouth, the room fell silent. She read slowly, calmly—sometimes whispering, sometimes impassioned. When she had finished, nobody said a thing. Charlemagne was still standing, transfixed, looking at her oddly. For a moment Theresa thought he was about to reprove her, but to her surprise, the king filled his cup and offered it to her in admiration. She accepted it, but when he told her that he wanted to see her in his private chambers, the cup slipped through her fingers, causing wine to splash all over her new dress.
After the dinner, Theresa told Helga what had happened.
“Consider yourself fucked,” she responded.
Theresa regretted having worn the dress. She was scared, but she didn’t believe the king could force her to do anything like that. She decided to speak to Alcuin before going to meet the monarch. However, try as she might, she could not find him anywhere.
As two guards led her to Charlemagne’s chamber, Theresa prayed he would be asleep. To her relief, Alcuin opened the door. The monk invited her in and stood beside her as they waited for Charlemagne to finish washing.
“Ah! You’re here! Come in and take a seat,” said the king.
As he dried his torso, Theresa admired him. Though he was of a mature age, he was the biggest man she had ever seen. Bigger still than the largest of the Saxons.
“Excellent. So has Alcuin informed you of my intentions?”
“No, Your Majesty,” she stammered.
“He has told me that you are very clever. That it was you who discovered the contaminated wheat.”
Theresa looked at Alcuin, red-faced, but he merely nodded.
“The truth is that it happened by chance,” she said.
“And that you also found the hidden text in the polyptych?”
The young woman looked to Alcuin again. For a moment she thought that Charlemagne was trying to implicate her, but Alcuin reassured her.
“Well, I went over the polyptych several times, but the credit should go to Brother Alcuin. It was he who insisted on it.”
“Modest as well as bold. Let’s not forget your role in obtaining the final piece of evidence.”
She blushed. It was true she had taken a risk when she tore out the page from the polyptych, but she hadn’t expected the king to acknowledge it. She was still suspicious of the reasons for this praise.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she managed to say.
Charlemagne grunted, finished drying himself, and then covered himself with a woolen cloak.
“I would like your behavior to serve as an example for my subjects. I have discussed it with Alcuin, and he has agreed—so I have decided to reward you in some way. Perhaps with those lands that belonged to the bishopric.”
Theresa was speechless. Now she was sure he must be joking.
“After all,” continued the king, “the land was only half-plowed, and if it is not cleared, then it will be a waste.”
“But I… I don’t know anything about crops or land.”
“That’s what Alcuin told me, so I told my engineer to take a look. He will give you the help you need. Furthermore,” he added, “just the verses you recited would have earned you this reward.”
Theresa left the room in a daze. She could not believe that overnight she had gone from being a poor, frightened outsider to an estate owner. And not only that: Charlemagne had assured her that she would have the grain needed to sow the fields immediately. When she told Helga, her friend said she was not convinced.
“You know what? Nor am I!” Theresa replied, and they both burst out laughing like madwomen. They curled up in front of the fire and talked, trying to guess the size and location of the land and fantasizing about the wealth that it would bring. Helga warned that, in reality, land itself was worthless. If it was to provide income, she would need laborers, oxen, seeds, equipment, and water, and even then, rarely did they yield more than the sustenance needed by the families who worked them. But Theresa preferred to close her eyes and imagine herself alongside Hoos as a powerful landowner.
Then the two friends went to bed side by side, huddled up against each other to keep the cold out. Helga soon fell asleep, but Theresa spent the night thinking, imagining what would happen if the king was good for his word.
The next morning Theresa went to the scriptorium, where she found Brother Alcuin absorbed in his texts. The monk greeted her without raising his head, but then he looked up to congratulate her on her good fortune.
“I don’t think he was serious,” she ventured.