Pope Joan (23 page)

L
ADY Richild, Countess of Villaris,” the herald announced as Richild swept regally into the bishop’s reception hall.

“Eminence.” She made a graceful reverence.

“Lady, you are welcome,” Fulgentius said. “What news from your lord? God grant he has not met with misfortune on his journey?”

“No, no.” She was pleased to find him so transparent. Of course he must wonder at the purpose of her visit! He must have thought— Gerold had been gone five days now, time enough to have met with some disaster on the dangerous roads.

“We have had no word of any difficulties, Eminence, nor do we expect any. Gerold took twenty men with him, well armed and well provisioned; he will not take any chances on the road, as he is on the Emperor’s business.”

“We heard as much. He is gone as
missus
—to Westphalia, is it?”

“Yes. To settle a dispute about
wergeld.
There are some minor matters of property to be settled as well. He will be away a fortnight or more.”
Time enough
, she thought,
just time enough.

They spoke briefly of local affairs—the shortage of grain at the mill, the repair of the cathedral roof, the success of the spring calving. Richild was careful to observe the necessary courtesies, but nothing more.
I am the scion of better stock than his.
Just as well to remind him of that before coming to the matter of her visit. Obviously he suspected nothing. So much the better; surprise would be her ally in this day’s work.

Finally, she judged the time was right. “I have come to ask your help with a domestic matter.”

He looked gratified. “Dear lady, I am only too happy to help. What is the nature of your difficulty?”

“It is the girl Joan. She is no longer a child; she”—Richild chose her words delicately—“has now reached womanhood. It is no longer seemly for her to remain under our roof.”

“I see,” Fulgentius said, though it was apparent he did not. “Well, I should think we could find some other lodg—”

“I have arranged an advantageous match,” Richild interrupted. “With the son of Bodo, the farrier. He is a fine young man, well favored, and will be farrier himself when his father dies—there are no other sons.”

“This comes as a surprise. Has the girl expressed any inclination for marriage?”

“Surely that is not for her to decide. It is a far better marriage than she has any right to expect. Her family is poor as coloni, and her odd ways have given her something of a … reputation.”

“Perhaps,” the bishop replied amiably. “But she seems devoted to her studies. And she could not, of course, continue at the schola if she married the farrier’s boy.”

“That is why I have come. As it was you who contracted to bring her to the schola, you would have to agree to her release.”

“I see,” he said again, though he still did not, quite. “And how does the count feel about the match?”

“He does not know of it. The opportunity only just offered itself.”

“Well, then.” Fulgentius looked relieved. “We will wait till his return. There’s no need to rush the matter, surely.”

Richild persisted. “The opportunity may not be open long. The boy is reluctant—seems he’s taken a fancy to one of the town girls— but of course I have seen to it that this match will be far more beneficial for him. His father and I are agreed upon the dowry. The boy now says he will carry out his father’s wishes—but he is young and of a changeable disposition. Best if the wedding take place immediately.”

“Nevertheless …”

“I remind you, Eminence, that I am mistress of Villaris, and the girl has been placed in my care. I am fully capable of making this decision in my husband’s absence. Indeed, I am better suited to make it. To speak frankly, Gerold’s partiality for the girl clouds his judgment where she is concerned.”

“I see,” Fulgentius said, and this time he did, only too well.

Richild said quickly, “My concern is strictly monetary, you understand. Gerold has spent a small fortune obtaining books for the girl— a wasteful expense, since she has no possible future as a scholar. Someone must provide for her future; now I have done so. You must see that the match is a good one.”

“Yes,” Fulgentius admitted.

“Good. Then you agree to release her?”

“My apologies, dear lady, but my decision must attend upon the count’s return. I assure you I will discuss the matter fully with him. And with the girl. For though the match is … advantageous, as you say, I am loath to commit her to it against her will. If the match proves agreeable to all, we will proceed with dispatch.”

She started to speak, but he cut her off. “I know you believe the match will be compromised if it is not concluded immediately. But, forgive me, lady, I cannot agree. A fortnight, or even a month, will make little difference.”

Again she tried to object, and again he silenced her. “I am quite decided. There is no point in further discussion.”

Her cheeks burned with the insult.
High-handed fool! Who does he think he is to dictate to me? My family was living in royal palaces while his was still tilling fields!

She eyed him levelly. “Very well, Eminence, if that is your decision, I must accept it.” She began to pull on her riding gloves as if preparing to leave.

“By the way”—she kept her tone deliberately casual—“I have just had a letter from my cousin, Sigimund, Bishop of Troyes.”

The bishop’s face registered a gratifying respect. “A great man, a very great man.”

“You know that he is to lead the synod which convenes in Aachen this summer?”

“So I had heard.”

Now that she had ceased pressing him, his manner was once again relentlessly cheerful.

“Perhaps you have also heard what is to be the chief topic of discussion at this gathering?”

“I should be interested to learn,” he responded politely. He obviously guessed nothing of where she was leading.

“Certain … irregularities”—she baited the trap carefully—“in the conduct of the episcopacy.”

“Irregularities?”

He did not take her meaning. She would have to be plainer.

“My cousin plans to address the question of adherence to episcopal vows, especially”—she looked him directly in the eyes—“the vow of chastity.”

The color drained from his face. “Indeed?”

“Apparently he means to make great issue of it at the synod. He’s gathered a good deal of evidence about the Frankish bishoprics, which he finds most disturbing. But he is not so familiar with episcopacies in this part of the Empire and must therefore rely on local reports. In his letter he specifically requests me to share any information I may have about
your
episcopacy, Eminence.” She used the title with open scorn and was gratified to see him flinch.

“I intended to reply before now,” she went on smoothly. “But the details of the girl’s betrothal kept me far too busy. Indeed, the plans for the wedding feast would make it impossible for me to respond at all. Of course, now that the wedding is to be delayed …” She let the end of the thought hang delicately.

He sat like a stone, silent, noncommittal. She was mildly surprised. He was going to be better at this than she had anticipated.

Only one thing gave him away. Deep inside his sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes, there was a tiny, unmistakable spark of fear.

Richild smiled.

J
OAN
sat on a rock, troubled and sad. Luke lay down in front of her and put his head in her lap, staring up at her with his opalescent eyes.

“You miss him too, don’t you, boy?” she said, gently ruffling the young wolf’s white fur.

She was alone now, except for Luke. Gerold had been gone for over a week. Joan missed him with an ache that surprised her with its physicality. She could put her hand over the exact spot in her chest where the pain was most acute; it felt as if her heart had been removed from her body, beaten, and replaced.

She knew why he had gone. After what passed between them at the riverbank, he
had
to go. They needed time apart, time to let heads clear and passions cool. She understood, yet her heart rebelled.

Why?
she asked for the thousandth time.
Why must it be this way?
Richild did not love Gerold, nor he her.

She reasoned with herself, rehearsing the arguments why this must be so, why it might even be for the best, but in the end she always came back to one unalterable fact: she loved Gerold.

She shook her head, angry with herself. If Gerold was strong enough to do this for her sake, could she be less so? What could not
be changed must somehow be endured. She fixed her mind on a new resolve: when Gerold returned, things would be different. She would be content just to be near him, to talk and laugh as they always had … before. They would be like teacher and student, priest and nun, brother and sister. She would erase from her mind the memory of his arms around her, of his lips on hers …

Wido, the steward, came up suddenly beside her. “My lady wants to speak with you.”

Joan followed him through the gated palisade into the forecourt, Luke trotting by her side. When they reached the main courtyard, Wido pointed to Luke. “Not the wolf.”

Richild disliked dogs and forbade them to come inside the house walls, as they did on other manses.

Joan told Luke to lie down and wait in the courtyard.

The guard led her through the covered portico into the great hall, teeming with servants preparing the afternoon meal. They pushed their way through to the solar, where Richild was waiting.

“You sent for me, lady?”

“Sit down.” Joan started for a nearby chair, but Richild motioned imperiously toward a wooden stool set before a small writing table. Joan sat down.

“You will take a letter.”

Like all the noblewomen in this part of the Empire, Richild could neither read nor write. Wala, the Villaris chaplain, was usually her scribe. Wido could also write a little and sometimes served Richild in this capacity.

Why, then, has she sent for me?
Joan wondered.

Richild tapped her foot impatiently. With a practiced eye, Joan surveyed the quills on the desk and selected the sharpest. She took a leaf of fresh parchment, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and nodded at Richild.

“From Richild, Countess, doyenne of the estate of Villaris,” Richild dictated.

Joan wrote quickly. The scratching of the quill grated in the stony silence of the room.

“To the canon of the village of Ingelheim, Greetings.”

Joan looked up. “My father?”

“Continue,” Richild commanded in a tone that indicated she
would tolerate no questions. “Your daughter, Joan, having attained almost fifteen years, and thus being of a marriageable age, will no longer be permitted to continue her studies at the schola.”

Joan stopped writing altogether.

“As the girl’s guardian, ever vigilant for her welfare,” Richild continued, keeping up the pretense of dictation, “I have arranged an advantageous match with Iso, son of the farrier of this town, a prosperous man. The wedding will take place in two days. The terms of the arrangement are as follows—”

Joan jumped up, knocking over her stool. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I choose to.” A small, malicious smile lifted the corners of Richild’s mouth. “And because I can.”

She knows
, Joan thought.
She knows about Gerold and me.
The blood rose into her neck and face so suddenly it felt as if her skin were on fire.

“Yes. Gerold told me everything about that pitiful little interlude by the riverbank.” Richild laughed mirthlessly. She was enjoying this. “Did you really believe your clumsy kisses would please him? We laughed about them together that very night.”

Joan was too shocked to respond.

“You are surprised. You shouldn’t be. Did you think you were the only one? My dear, you are only the latest bead in Gerold’s long necklace of conquests. You shouldn’t have taken him so seriously.”

How does she know what passed between us? Did Gerold tell her?
Joan felt suddenly cold, as if caught in a chance wind.

“You do not know him,” she said staunchly.

“I am his wife, you insolent child.”

“You do not love him.”

“No,” she admitted. “But neither do I mean to be … discomforted by the worthless daughter of coloni!”

Joan tried to steady her thoughts. “You cannot do this without Bishop Fulgentius’s approval. He brought me to the schola; you cannot remove me without his permission.”

Richild held out a sheet of parchment, marked with Fulgentius’s seal.

Joan read it quickly, then once again slowly, to be sure she had not made a mistake. There was no room for doubt; Fulgentius had terminated
her studies at the schola. The document bore Odo’s signature as well. Joan could imagine the pleasure it must have given him to pen it.

Richild’s heart rejoiced as she watched Joan read. The arrogant little nobody was discovering just how insignificant she was. She said, “There is no point in further arguing. Sit down and finish taking the letter to your father.”

Joan replied defiantly, “Gerold will not let you do this.”

“Foolish child, it was his idea.”

Joan thought quickly. “If this marriage were Gerold’s idea, why did you wait until he left to arrange it?”

“Gerold is tenderhearted … to a fault. He lacks the heart to tell you. I have seen it happen before, with the others. He asked me to take care of the problem for him. And so I have.”

“I don’t believe you.” Joan backed away, fighting back tears. “I don’t believe you.”

Richild sighed. “The matter is settled. Will you finish taking the letter, or shall I call Wala?”

Joan whirled and ran from the room. Before she reached the great hall, she heard the tinkle of Richild’s bell, calling for her chaplain.

L
UKE
was waiting where she had left him. Joan flung herself to her knees beside him. His body pressed against hers affectionately, his large head resting on her shoulder. His warm, comforting presence helped calm Joan’s seething emotions.

I mustn’t panic. That’s just what she wants me to do.