“Then you had better start believing it. The king is not a man who speaks lightly.”
“But I know nothing of farming. What will I do with the lands?” She waited for him to give her the answer.
“I don’t know. Work them, I suppose. Reading and writing is not a trade that supports a family. You should be happy.”
“I am. But I don’t know…”
“If you don’t know, then learn.” He turned back to his mass of documents, signaling that their conversation had ended.
Midmorning a servant appeared in the scriptorium asking for Theresa. He informed them that one of Charlemagne’s men awaited her in the main square ready to accompany her to her new land. Theresa asked Alcuin to go with her, but he refused, saying he had too much work. With the monk’s permission, the young woman wrapped up warmly and went with the servant to the place where a young man was waiting for her on horseback.
The king’s engineer was brown-skinned and wavy-haired. His green eyes contrasted attractively with his weather-beaten complexion. Despite his different appearance, he reminded her somehow of Hoos Larsson. He said his name was Izam of Padua.
“Can you ride?” he asked. A riderless mount was grazing beside him.
Theresa held on to the reins and with a leap she was in the saddle. The young man smiled. He turned his horse, spurred it on and started to trot slowly through Fulda’s narrow streets.
They rode north, following the river through a lush forest of beech trees with the sun’s tepid rays evaporating the damp earth smell that merged with the sweet aroma of the morning. After traveling in silence for some time, Theresa inquired about the meaning of the word engineer.
“I confess it’s a little-used term,” he responded with a laugh. “It’s used to describe people, like me, who built engines for war.”
The young man continued to speak as if he were discussing the matter with a colleague, enthusiastically explaining the importance of catapults and the difference between onagers and mangonels, without realizing that Theresa was yawning continually. By the time he noticed, he had already told her almost everything he knew.
“Sorry. I’m boring you.”
“It’s not that,” Theresa said, “it’s just that I don’t share your passion for weapons. Plus, I don’t understand what your profession has to do with my land.”
Izam thought about replying, but decided not to waste his breath on a girl who didn’t value his knowledge. A couple of miles on they reached a clear demarcation of hawthorn wattle that stretched into a far-off forest. A small part of the land seemed to have been plowed, but most of it was still uncultivated. The young man jumped down from his horse, opened what appeared to be a rudimentary gate, and walked into the enclosure.
“It appears the bishop knew what he was doing. Wait here a moment.”
As Theresa dismounted, Izam started walking with exaggerated steps. Suddenly he turned around with an expression of astonishment. He climbed back on his horse and told Theresa to wait as he galloped off.
But soon he returned in a state of excitement. “Lass, you can’t imagine what has fallen into your hands. The fief has about ten bonniers of arable land, of which half has already been plowed. Beyond, on the other side of the hill, there are around six arpents of vines and three or four of pasture. But that’s not all: The river we left behind us branches off into a stream that runs into this area.”
Theresa looked at him blankly.
“Let me explain. Do you know what a fief is?”
“Of course. It’s the land that a family owns,” she responded, offended that he had assumed she might not know.
“But its size does not depend on the amount of land available, but on whether the family is able to cultivate it.”
“I know.” She was still none the wiser, and she felt that she would never learn to cultivate the land.
They wandered around the estate on horseback, talking about plots, fiefs, arpents, and perches—and admiring the work that the bishop had already done. They found pens for animals, a newly built shepherd’s hut, and timber foundations for what could be a magnificent home. Theresa was surprised that Izam knew about farming, but the young man explained that his trade was not restricted to building engines of war. In truth, he told her, battles between armies usually ended in endless sieges that required exhaustive knowledge of the surrounding land, for they had to prevent the movement of supplies, divert watercourses, assess the position of defenses, choose the right places to make camp, and, on occasion, dig saps or mines into walls. The same factors also had to be considered when an army wanted to build a new settlement.
“And that’s not all. Sometimes sieges continue for years, so it’s important to know which fields are appropriate, both for growing grain for the soldiers and fodder for the animals.” He bent down to pick up a pebble. “For instance, see that hillock?” He tossed the stone, which flew into the tops of some fir trees. “It’s to the north. It will protect the sown fields from the icy winds. And look at this soil,” he said as he squashed a clod under his foot. “Light and damp, like brown bread soaked in water.”
Theresa bent down and picked up another pebble.
“And that there?” she said, pointing toward a little mound. She took a step back and tried to launch the stone at it. Izam moved his head out of the way instinctively. The stone fell far short of its mark. After his initial surprise, he burst into laughter like little boy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” Theresa complained.
“Oh, so you did it on purpose!” he replied, laughing heartily again.
They sat down to eat lunch on some piles of wood that marked the ground plan of the house. Izam had brought a bag of freshly baked bread and cheese, which they savored as they listened to the gurgle of a nearby stream. A couple of hours had gone by, but Izam admitted that they were actually very close to the town still. “Half an hour on horseback,” he told her.
“So why did we take so long?”
“I wanted to follow the course of the river, to see if it’s navigable. If you can get your hands on a barge, then you’ll be able to use it to transport grain. By the way, there is something that worries me.” He went over to his mount and took a crossbow from a saddlebag. “Recognize it?”
“Nope,” she responded without paying it much attention.
“It’s the one picked up and used the other day at dinner.”
“Ah! I don’t know. I wouldn’t know one from another.”
“That’s precisely what intrigues me. I don’t believe there is another one like this in all Franconia.”
He explained that the crossbow was a rare weapon. In fact, he had never seen any other.