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now.”
    “I would be an ingrate if I forgot it. But that was six years ago, and I believe my work has more than compensated you for your help.”
    Wilfred gave him a stern look, but then his face softened. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help you. By now Korne will already have been to the judge to report what has happened. It would be reckless for me to accept the body of a person who might be found guilty of murder. And there is more. I would advise you to start worrying about yourself. You can be certain that Korne will go after you.”
    “But why? During the fire I was with you in the scriptorium.”
    “Hmm… I see that you still have no understanding of the complexities of Carolingian Law, something you will have to remedy if you value your head.”
    Wilfred cracked his whip and the dogs moved obediently, dragging the wheeled contraption to one of the lavishly decorated chambers. Gorgias followed, obeying the count’s gesture to follow.
    “This is where the optimates are given lodging,” Wilfred explained. “Princes, nobles, bishops, kings. And in this little room we keep the capitula that our king has been publishing since his coronation. Archived with these are the codices of Salic and Ripuarian Law, decretals and acts of the May Assembly—in short, the rules that govern the Franks, the Saxons, the Burgundians, and the Lombards. Now let me see…”
    Wilfred brought his wheelchair up to a bookcase built low to the ground and, one by one, examined the volumes organized and protected in wooden covers. The cleric stopped in front of a threadbare tome. He removed it with difficulty, then leafed through it, wetting his finger with the tip of his tongue.
    “Aha. Here it is:
Capitular de Vilbis. Poitiers, anno domine 768
.
Karolus rex francorum
. Allow me to read it to you: ‘If a free man inflicts material or personal damage on another man of equal status, and if due to any circumstances he is unable to compensate for his offense, the punishment that justly befits the offender will fall upon his family.’”
    Wilfred closed the book and returned it to the shelf.
    “My life is in danger?” asked Gorgias.
    “Perhaps. I have known the parchment-maker for a long time. He is an egotistical man. Dangerous, perhaps, and shrewd as they come. You are no good to him dead. I imagine he will go after your assets. But what his family wants is another matter. They are from Saxony. Their customs are different from those of the Franks.”
    “If what he seeks is wealth…” said Gorgias with a bitter smile.
    “That is precisely your biggest problem. The trial could finish you. You could end up being sold on the slave market.”
    “I don’t care about that now. After I have buried my daughter, I will find a way to remedy this situation.”
    “For God’s sake, Gorgias, think it over. Or at least consider Rutgarda. Your wife is innocent. You should concentrate on preparing your defense. And do not even think about running away. Korne’s men will hunt you like a rabbit.”
    Gorgias lowered his head. If Wilfred did not authorize the interment, his only option was to take the body to Aquis-Granum. But this would be impossible if—as the count warned—Korne’s relatives were prepared to hunt him down. “Theresa will be buried tonight in the cloister,” Gorgias said, “and it will be you who oversees the trial. After all, Your Grace needs my freedom much more than me.”
    The count flicked the reins and the dogs growled menacingly. “Look, Gorgias, since you started copying the parchment for me, I have given you food that many would kill for. Now you are pushing me too far. In fact, perhaps I should reconsider the scope of our agreement. Your skills are to a certain extent essential to me, but if an accident, illness, or even this trial prevented you from completing the task we have agreed to, do you think my plans would go on hold? That your absence would prevent me from completing my undertaking?”
    Gorgias knew that he