Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [105]
“Reading and writing?” Arn repeated in wonder. Those extraordinary skills were reserved for priests and very great lords, not for such as he. He asked anxiously, “Would I have to become a monk?”
Joan was amused. Arn was of the age when boys begin to develop a strong interest in the opposite sex; the idea of a life of chastity was understandably abhorrent to him.
“No,” she said. “You would study at the Outer School, the one for lay students. But it would mean leaving home and living at the abbey. And you’d have to study hard, for the teaching master is very strict.”
Arn didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Oh yes! Yes, please!”
“Very well. We’re returning to Fulda tomorrow. I’ll speak to the teaching master then.”
“AT LAST!” Brother Benjamin breathed with relief. Straight ahead, where the pebbled road met the horizon, the gray walls of Fulda rose starkly, backgrounded by the twin towers of the abbatial church.
The little group of travelers had endured a wearisome journey from Madalgis’s cottage, and the chill damp had aggravated Benjamin’s rheumatism, making every step a torment.
“We’ll be there soon,” Joan said. “You’ll have your feet up before the brazier in the warming room within the hour.”
In the distance, the beating of the boards was announcing their arrival—for no one approached the gates of Fulda unheralded. At the sound, Madalgis clutched her babe nervously. It had been all Joan and Brother Benjamin could do to convince her that she had to return to the abbey; she had agreed at last only on condition that her children accompany her.
The brethren were gathered in the forecourt to greet them, lined up ceremoniously in order of rank, with Abbot Raban himself, silver haired and majestically erect, in the front.
Madalgis shrank back fearfully, hiding behind Joan.
“Come forth,” Raban said.
“It’s all right, Madalgis,” Joan reassured her. “Do as Father Abbot says.”
Madalgis advanced and stood trembling in the midst of the alien company. An audible sigh of astonishment passed through the ranks of brethren at the sight of her. The open, ulcerous nodes and lesions had all disappeared; except for a few dry and healing marks, the sun-browned skin of her face and arms showed forth clear and firm, blooming with renewed health. There could be no further doubt: even the most inexperienced could tell that the woman who stood before them was no leper.
“O wondrous sign of grace!” Bishop Otgar exclaimed in awe. “Like Lazarus, she has been restored from death to life!”
The brethren crowded around, sweeping the little group of travelers triumphantly toward the church.
JOAN’S cure of Madalgis was regarded as nothing less than a miracle. All Fulda rang with John Anglicus’s praise. When elderly Brother Aldwin, one of the community’s two priests, died in his sleep one night, there was little doubt among the brethren as to who should succeed him.
Abbot Raban, however, was of a different mind. John Anglicus had entirely too bold and presumptuous a nature for his liking. Raban preferred Brother Thomas, who, though admittedly less brilliant, was far more predictable—a quality Raban valued.
But there was Bishop Otgar to consider. The bishop knew of Gottschalk’s near-death from whipping, an event that reflected badly on Raban’s abbacy. If Raban passed over John Anglicus in favor of a less qualified brother, it might raise further questions about his stewardship of the abbey. And if the king should receive bad report of him, he might remove him as abbot—an unthinkable outcome. Best to be prudent in his choice of priest, Raban decided—at least for the moment.
At chapter he announced, “As your spiritual father, the right to appoint a priest from among you belongs to me. After much prayer and reflection, I have decided upon a brother well suited for the office by virtue of his great learning: Brother John Anglicus.”
There was a murmur of approval from the brethren. Joan flushed with excitement.