The Scribe (47 page)

“Twelve solidi?” Theresa’s hands went to her mouth. “But you could buy three oxen for that!”

Alcuin explained that it was the usual price for a young, well-trained slave, but if they hunted around they might find one for cheaper. When Theresa told him how much money she had, Alcuin showed her a bulging pouch.

“I could lend you some.”

As they walked toward the walls, Alcuin spoke to her of the responsibility that came with owning slaves. “It’s not just a matter of giving orders and them obeying you,” he explained. “Believe it or not, slaves are God’s creatures, too, and as such we must ensure their well-being. And this includes feeding them, clothing them, and educating them as good Christians.”

Theresa looked at him in surprise. In Constantinople she had grown up surrounded by slaves who she had always considered as creatures of God, but she had never imagined that owning one could result in so many problems. When Alcuin explained that
owners were also responsible for the crimes committed by their slaves, she became even more alarmed.

“That’s why it’s best not to buy them young—when they are agile and strong, but also rebellious and irresponsible. Unless you are prepared to take a whip to them, you are better off finding one that is married with children—so he won’t attempt to escape or cause problems. Yes, the best thing to do is find a family that will work hard and generate a profit for you.”

He added that even if she found a hard worker, she would have to keep a close eye on him because, by nature, slaves were short on brains.

“I don’t know if I need a slave,” Theresa finally admitted. “I don’t even know if I should have one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t understand why one person should rule over the life of another. Have these poor wretches not been baptized?”

“I don’t suppose most of them have, no. But even if they were, and even though original sin disappears upon baptism, it is right that God decides the life of men, making some slaves and others lords. By nature, slaves have a tendency toward evil, which is repressed by the power of their possessor. If a slave did not know fear, what would prevent him from acting treacherously?”

Theresa considered replying, but decided to put an end to the conversation in which she had no real arguments or ideas.

They soon reached the gates and the rancid smell of sweat announced their arrival at the slave market. Stalls lined the river in a succession of shabby tents of various sizes, where slaves milled around like livestock. The younger ones were chained to thick stakes driven into the ground, while the older ones submissively went about their cleaning and maintenance tasks around the camp. As the monk passed them, several traders rushed to offer him their wares.

“Take a look at this one,” said a trader riddled with pockmarks. “Strong as a bull. He will carry your loads and protect you on your travels. Or would you prefer a boy?” he whispered, noting Alcuin’s indifference. “Sweet as honey and willing as a puppy.”

Alcuin gave him a look that the trader immediately understood, retreating with his tail between his legs. They continued to wander between the stalls, where all kinds of goods were on sale aside from the slaves.

“Ready-sharpened weapons!” cried one trader, showing off an arsenal of daggers and swords. “Send your enemies to hell in one slash.”

“Ointments for boils, poultices for riding sores!” announced another whose appearance suggested he needed them himself.

They passed the first stands and arrived at the enclosure where animals were being sold. Horses, cattle, and goats wandered about with more freedom that the slaves they had just seen. Alcuin stopped to inspect an ox as big as a mountain. The animal was grazing behind a wall with a batch of cheese resting on top of it.

A dealer approached to help him make his mind up. “You have a good eye, monk! Quite an animal you’re looking at.”

Alcuin gave him a sidelong glance. Though he did not like to do business with dubious traders, he had to admit that the beast seemed strong as iron. He asked for the price and the man thought about it. “Since it’s for the clergy… fifty solidi.”

Alcuin’s look was of such indignation that the man immediately brought the figure down to forty-five.

“That’s still a lot of money.”

The animal stood before them impressively.

“If you want a horned goat, I can sell you one for thirty-five,” the dealer blurted out without much interest.

Alcuin told the man he would think about it. Then he and Theresa returned to the area where the slaves were sold. At the entrance, Alcuin asked Theresa to let him continue alone in order
to make haste. The young woman agreed to meet him back at the same place when the sun reached its highest point.

While Alcuin bartered with the merchants, Theresa decided to take another look at the livestock. On her way there, a trader offered her a few coins for her body and she quickened her pace. When she reached the pen with the ox that had interested Alcuin, a little man hobbled up to her.

“I wouldn’t pay more than ten solidi for it,” he said, giving her a sideways glance.

Theresa turned in surprise to see an unkempt middle-aged man, leaning against the timber fence and staring brazenly at her. His blond hair matched his ice-blue eyes. However, his most striking feature was the fact that he was supported by just one leg. Seeing Theresa’s surprise, he jumped in. “I lost it working, but I’m still useful,” he explained.

“And what do you know about oxen?” she asked him haughtily. It was obvious the man was a slave, and if one day she was to own one, she thought she should know how to handle them.

“I was born in Friesland, where there is more cattle than there is pasture. Even a blind man can spot a sick ox.”

While the herder was distracted, the man took the opportunity to strike the animal with his stick. The beast didn’t flinch.

“See? And the same thing will happen when it’s yoked. It won’t move.”

Theresa looked at the man in surprise. Then her eyes followed the slave’s stick as he pointed at the animal’s hoofs, which were encrusted in dried blood.

“If you want a good animal, see my master, Fior. He won’t cheat you.”

At that moment the owner of the ox returned and the slave slunk off. Theresa noticed that he used a crutch in place of his absent leg. She ran after him and asked where she could find Fior. The slave told her to follow him.

As they walked, he told her that Fior only sold small oxen.

“They’re not as powerful, but strong enough to pull a light plow. However, they’re resilient, they don’t need much food, and they cost less. For these lands they are just what you need.”

They walked among the carts, dodging the streams of detritus that zigzagged from the camp down toward the stream, until a woman and two little boys came out to meet them. One of the little boys came from the slave stands. The woman embraced the one-legged man, and the children tugged at his clothes. Theresa noticed how thin the woman and the boys were. Their eyes were like great sunken dishes on tiny skulls.

“Did you get anything?” the woman asked.

From the pocket of his trousers, the slave took a bundle of cheese and gave it to her. She smelled it and cried with joy. Then she picked up the children and carried them behind a tent to feed them. The slave hobbled over to Fior to explain to his master what the young woman needed, which is when Alcuin appeared with a cross expression on his face. He was accompanied by the owner of the giant ox.

“This trader says a crippled slave stole some cheese from him. And he says the slave was with you. Is that right?” he asked Theresa.

The young woman understood what had happened. Behind the tent, the slave’s two boys were still devouring the cheese. Their punishment would undoubtedly be horrific.

“Not exactly,” she lied. “It was me who told him to take it. He had no money with him so I came to find his master so that he would pay for it.”

“That’s theft!” cried the merchant.

“It was theft trying to sell us a sick ox,” Theresa retorted fearlessly. “Here,” she said, taking the pouch from Alcuin’s robe and giving him a couple of coins, much to the monk’s surprise. “And get out of my sight before I go to the judge.”

There trader took the money and left muttering curses. Alcuin gave Theresa a stern look.

“He tried to trick us,” she explained, pointing after the livestock merchant.

Alcuin’s expression did not change.

“This slave took the cheese for his children. Look at them! They’re on death’s door!”

“He’s a thief. And you were foolish to attempt to protect him.”

“Very well. Then go back to that saintly ox trader and spend your money on a useless beast. All I know is that the slave warned me against that swindler and his children have perhaps not eaten for a week.”

Alcuin shook his head. Then he accompanied her to go and speak with the livestock merchant and owner of the slave.

Fior turned out to be a stout man who would only do business with a glass of wine in his hand. As soon as he had greeted them, he offered them a drink and showed them several animals brimming with health and vitality. He offered them a medium-sized dappled ox, which he assured them would work like a maniac from day one.

They agreed on a price of twenty denarii, a good deal considering the animal was over three years old.

“Not unlike me,” said Fior with a smile, revealing several wooden teeth. “Slender and hardworking from the moment I get out of bed.”

Then he showed them some leather tack and several farming implements. Some were in need of repair, but they were needed and the merchant offered them for a good price, so Theresa and Alcuin decided to buy them. After securing the gear to the ox, they asked Fior about cheap slaves, but when he heard how much
money they had, he shook his head and assured them that for that price they couldn’t even buy a domesticated pig.

“For that money I could sell you Olaf. He’s a hard worker, but since he lost his leg he’s only brought me problems. He’s yours if you want him.”

Seeing her apparent interest, Alcuin took Theresa aside.

“It would just be another mouth to feed. And for the love of God! He’s missing a leg. Why would he give him away if he was any use?” he blurted out.

But the young woman became obstinate. If she were going to own slaves, she would be the one to decide how many legs they had.

“His wife and children can also work,” she argued.

“He won’t sell them. Or he’ll ask for more money. More than we can pay. Plus, you need a slave, not an entire family.”

“It was you who told me that married ones are preferable, with ties that will stop them from fleeing.”

“For goodness’ sake! How is he going to run away if he’s crippled?”

Theresa turned away and approached Fior, who was patiently waiting with the cup of wine still in his hand.

“All right, we’ll take them,” she said, pointing at the woman and her children who were listening in from behind a cart.

“Oh! No. The woman and children aren’t included. If you want them you’ll have to pay another fifty denarii.”

“Fifty denarii for a family of skeletons?” she replied in indignation.

“No, no. Fifty each! In total, a hundred and fifty denarii.”

Theresa looked him directly in the eyes. If he thought he was a good barterer, he didn’t know who he was dealing with yet. She took out her scramasax and in one slash cut the strap that held the gear to the ox, making everything fall to the ground with a loud crash. The man looked at her in surprise.

“Forty denarii for the whole family. Take it, or you can keep your cripple, your midget ox, and your knackered old implements.”

The man clenched his teeth, looked at the gear and burst into laughter, flashing his gums.

“Damned money-grubber! To hell with all you women.”

He laughed again and took the pouch that the young woman was holding out to him. Then he toasted the transaction before Theresa and Alcuin set off on their return trip, with Olaf hobbling behind them and his wife pulling the ox with the two children sitting on its hindquarters, prodding it along.

On their way to the cathedral, Olaf proved to be a poor walker but able talker. His life had been a difficult one, though no more than any other slave-born man. His parents had been slaves and it was a natural state of life for him. He did not yearn for freedom, for he had never known it, and most of his masters had treated him well because he had always worked hard.

In fact, the only thing Olaf pined for was his missing leg. It had happened two years earlier while he was felling a great fir tree. It came down sooner than he expected and crushed his knee, shattering the bones. Fortunately, a butcher managed to amputate his broken limb before the rot could take him to the grave. Since then his family’s situation had deteriorated to become a living hell.

At first, his master Fior had attended to him in the hope that he would be able to work just as he had before the accident. However, he soon realized that having just one leg had made Olaf a burden that was difficult to justify.

While Olaf was recovering, his knowledge of the fields and skill with his hands made up for his invalidity, but as soon as Fior appointed a new foreman, Olaf was relegated to women’s tasks. So he went from overseeing the rest of the slaves to dragging himself around the storerooms searching for scraps with which to feed his children and his wife, Lucille.

“But I can still work,” Olaf insisted as he stepped up the pace with his crutch. “I can ride, and I know the countryside like the palm of my hand.”

“Don’t buy any horses then,” Alcuin whispered to Theresa, “or he’ll take off on the first one we acquire.”

Back in Fulda, Alcuin suggested that Olaf and his family stay in the abbey until the hut in the forest was ready. They stabled the ox and went to the monastery kitchen, where some monks provided them with onion soup and apples, the children celebrating as if they had been given cake. After dinner they were allowed to sleep near the fire, which they were all grateful for. Worn out, the mother and children soon fell asleep, but Olaf barely closed his eyes, for he had never slept on a woolen pallet.