By midafternoon, in unison the boys announced the arrival of a man on horseback. It was Izam of Padua, Charlemagne’s engineer.
Olaf neared the horse so he could tend to it, but the man remained mounted. He approached Theresa and told her to jump on. She was surprised, but she obeyed.
“Alcuin told me about this foolery,” he said, “but I can see it’s worse than I thought. What possessed you to buy a cripple? What a way to ruin your estate.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem to be doing such a bad job,” Theresa said, pointing at the slave. At that moment, Olaf was returning with a rabbit in his hand.
Then Izam spurred on the animal until they were some distance from the hut.
“These are lands to sweat blood into. They’re not for a charity case. It rains, hails, and snows here—you’ll have to plow fields, fell trees, drive oxen, build a house, saw timber, clear undergrowth, and do a thousand other things. Who is going to do all that? A one-legged man and three skeletons?”
Theresa dismounted from the horse and started walking back to the hut. Izam turned his mount and followed her.
“What a stubborn girl. Going back there won’t solve anything. You’ll just have to sell them again.”
The young woman spun round. “Who do you think you are? These lands are mine, and I will do as I please with them.”
“Oh really?” Izam said, skeptically glancing at the slaves.
She realized in that moment that the slaves were her responsibility now: As Alcuin had informed her, she had to look after them, and if they did not work hard enough, the land might become their grave.
When she asked Izam what options she had, he assured her that the few he could think of all involved selling the slaves. “I’m not saying they’re useless, but they’re not for this estate. Let’s go back to the market. Perhaps we can return them without losing much money.”
Theresa acknowledged that he was probably right. Yet when they returned to the hut and she saw the two little boys playing, she was incapable of accepting his proposal.
“Let’s wait a week,” she suggested. “If in that time they haven’t been able to do what is necessary, I will take them to the market myself.”
Izam groaned through his teeth. It would mean losing a week, but at least that madwoman would see for herself the mistake she had made. He climbed down from the horse and went into the hut to warm up. Inside, he was surprised by the neat and tidy appearance of the space, as if it had been lived in for a long time.
“Who repaired the walls?” he asked in disbelief.
“The useless cripple,” Theresa answered. She then shoved him aside to straighten a board that was out of place. Olaf rushed to help.
“Here, use this,” said Izam grudgingly.
Olaf took the knife Izam was holding out and used it to secure the board in place.
“Thank you.” He returned it and Izam sheathed the weapon.
“It’s cold out there. Tell your wife to come in. Do you have tools?” the engineer asked.
Olaf showed him the ones that the abbey had lent them: a hand axe, a pick, and an adze. He told him that in the evening he would make a good wooden mallet, and perhaps a rake. Not much more, for he had to repair the plow they had acquired.
“It’s wooden,” he informed Izam. “The plowshare needs replacing.”
Izam said that without an iron plowshare and a good moldboard, they would not succeed in making the furrows. Then he looked at Olaf’s crutch.
“Can I have a look?”
He examined the stick closely. It was a crudely carved cherrywood branch with a leather-lined wooden support at the top. He tested its flexibility and returned it to him.
“Right. I must go,” he announced.
He stood and left the hut and Theresa followed. When they were outside, she thanked him for his understanding.
“I still think it’s madness… but there you go. If I have time, I’ll see if I can make him a wooden leg.”
The young man mounted his horse and took his leave. Before he was out of sight, Theresa noticed him turn to look at her.
22
All week, Theresa alternated her work at the bishopric with managing her new lands. She found that Olaf had dug a small channel from the stream leading to the hut to avoid having to continually transport heavy pails of water. He had built a gate for the fence and four stools for his family to sit on. But it was not just the fields he had taken care of. Between the efforts of both he and his wife the hut had been transformed into a proper home. Helga the Black had given them a chest and small table, as well as fabrics that Lucille had used to prevent the wind from coming in through the cracks. Olaf had dug a fireplace in the center of the hut, and on each side they had arranged sacks of straw on which to sleep at night. As for the plow, though he could repair it, he was unable to handle it. Lucille had tried, too, but by the third day her hands were covered in blisters. Olaf grumbled to Theresa.
“It’s this damned leg,” he said, hitting it. “Before I could have plowed these fields in two days, but God knows it’s not a woman’s work.”
Theresa took a deep breath and grimaced. She looked at the two little lads scampering between the ox’s legs, laughing and enjoying themselves, black as coal from the filth but already with a little more meat on their bones. The situation saddened her, but if Olaf could not till the soil, she would be forced to resell them.
She looked at him furtively as he cleaned the ox collar. She was about to say something when he seemed to read her thoughts. “I’m modifying the collar so that the pull is lower. That way the ox will lower its neck and press the plow into the earth.”
Theresa shook her head at the futility of his efforts. Olaf didn’t understand the situation she was in.
They were about to get up when they heard the sound of hooves. As they came out of the hut, they saw Izam of Padua riding toward them, and behind him, a donkey laden with wood. The engineer dismounted and went into the hut without saying a word. He measured Olaf’s stump with a cord and then went out with the same determination with which he had arrived. Soon he returned carrying an armful of sticks.
“A one-legged man is like a woman without breasts,” he announced.
Theresa was annoyed by the comparison, but she watched closely as Izam quickly tore off Olaf’s empty trouser leg, revealing a poorly stitched stump.