Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [104]
The test of Joan’s diagnosis would have to wait, however, as it was now full dark. Tomorrow, Joan told herself as she prepared for sleep, tomorrow we’ll begin.
THE next day they cleaned the little hut from top to bottom. The old rushes covering the ground were tossed out and the earth floor swept perfectly smooth and even. The sleeping pallets were burned, and new ones of fine fresh straw made up. Even the thatch roof, which had begun to sag and rot with age, was replaced.
The difficult part was persuading Madalgis to take a bath. Like everyone else, she washed her face, hands, and feet regularly, but the idea of total immersion was to her strange and even dangerous.
“I’ll catch the flux and die!” she wailed.
“You’ll die if you don’t,” Joan answered firmly. “A leper’s existence is a living death.”
The cool winds of Herbistmanoth had rendered the little creek that ran behind the settlement too cold for bathing. They had to haul the water up and heat it over the hearth fire, then pour it into a laundry tub. While the two monks stood with their backs to her, Madalgis lowered herself into the tub with a great deal of trepidation, then washed her body with soap and water.
After her bath, Madalgis donned a clean new tunic Joan had obtained from Brother Conrad, the cellarer, in anticipation of the need. Made of fine heavy linen, it was warm enough to see Madalgis through the winter yet was far smoother and less irritating than wool.
Bathed and cleaned, her house rid of vermin and gleaming from roof to floor, Madalgis immediately began to improve. Her lesions dried and began to show signs of healing.
Brother Benjamin was ecstatic. “You were right!” he said to Joan. “It isn’t leprosy! We must return and show the others!”
“A few days more,” Joan said cautiously. There must be no doubt whatsoever as to the cure when they returned.
“SHOW me another one,” Arn pleaded.
Joan smiled at him. For the past few days she had been teaching the boy Bede’s classical method of digital computation, and he had proved an apt and eager student.
“First you must show me that you remember what you’ve already learned. What do these represent?” She held up the last three fingers of her left hand.
“Units of one,” the boy said unhesitatingly. “And these”—he indicated the left thumb and index finger—“are decimals.”
“Good. And on the right hand?”
“These represent hundreds, and these, thousands.” He lifted the appropriate fingers to illustrate.
“Very well, what numbers do you want to use?”
“Twelve, for that’s my age. And”—he thought for a moment— “three hundred sixty-five, for that’s the number of days in a year!” he said, proud to show off something else he had learned.
“Twelve times three hundred sixty-five. Let’s see …” Joan’s fingers moved swiftly, computing the total. “That’s four thousand three hundred and eighty.”
Arn clapped his hands with delight.
“You try it,” Joan said, going through it again, more slowly, allowing time for him to mimic each motion. Then she had him do it on his own. “Excellent!” she said after he had executed it.
Arn grinned, delighted by the game and the praise. Then his round little face grew serious. “How high can you go?” he asked. “Can you do it with a hundred and a thousand? With … a thousand and another thousand?”
Joan nodded. “Just touch your chest like this … see? That gives you tens of thousands. And if you touch your thigh, like this, hundreds of thousands. So”—her fingers moved again—“one thousand one hundred times two thousand three hundred is … two million five hundred and thirty thousand!”
Arn’s eyes flew wide with wonderment. The numbers were so enormous he could scarcely conceive them.
“Show me another!” he begged. Joan laughed. She enjoyed teaching the boy, for he drank in knowledge thirstily. He reminded her of herself as a child. What a shame, she thought, that this bright spark of intelligence was destined to be extinguished in the darkness of ignorance.
“If I can arrange