Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [136]
Joan bristled at this assertion of authority; as Sergius’s personal physician, she was not, strictly speaking, under Arighis’s supervision. But the matter was scarcely worth battling over, and an urgent call for help must be answered, however inopportune the moment of its arrival.
“Very well,” Joan agreed, “I’ll get my bag of medicaments.”
ARRIVING at the address, Joan found herself before a large residence, styled in the manner of an old Roman domus. A servant led her through a series of connecting courtyards and a garden to an interior chamber riotously decorated with brightly colored mosaics, stucco seashells, and fool-the-eye paintings designed to create the illusion of distant vistas and rooms. This fantastical room was suffused with a sweet smell, redolent of ripe apples. At the far side of the room stood a large feather bed, lit round with candles like an altar. In the middle of the bed, a woman was lying languorously.
She was the most beautiful woman Joan had ever seen, more beautiful than Richild, more beautiful even than her mother, Gudrun, whom Joan had believed until this moment to be the loveliest woman in creation.
“I am Marioza.” The woman’s voice was liquid honey.
“L-lady,” Joan stammered, tongue-tied before such perfection. “I am John Anglicus, come in answer to your summons.”
Marioza smiled, pleased with the effect she was having. “Come closer, John Anglicus,” the honey-voice urged. “Or do you mean to examine me from there?”
The sweet-apple scent was stronger by the bed. Joan thought, I know that scent. But she could not, for the moment, place it.
Marioza held out a cup of wine. “Won’t you drink my health?”
Politely, Joan drank, draining the cup according to custom. Up close, Marioza was even more beautiful, her skin a flawless ivory, her eyes huge, black-fringed orbs of deepest violet, darkened into ebony by the wide black pupils at the center.
Too wide, Joan suddenly realized. So great a dilation of the pupils was decidedly abnormal. The clinical observation broke the spell of Marioza’s beauty. “Tell me, lady”—Joan set the cup down—“what ails you?”
“So handsome,” she sighed, “and so businesslike?”
“I wish to help you, lady. What distress has called me to your side so urgently?”
“Since you insist”—Marioza pouted prettily—“it’s my heart.”
An unusual complaint for a woman of her age, Joan thought; Marioza could not be older than twenty-two. Well, such cases were known to occur, children born under an unlucky star with a worm in their hearts, every breath of their short existence a torment and a struggle. But those who suffered from such afflictions did not look like Marioza, whose whole being, apart from those mysteriously dilated pupils, radiated good health.
Joan took up Marioza’s wrist and felt her pulse, finding it strong and regular. She examined Marioza’s hands. The color was good, the tips of the fingers showing pink under the nails. The skin sprang back to the touch without mark or discoloration. Joan examined Marioza’s legs and feet with equal care, again finding no sign of necrosis; everywhere Marioza’s circulation appeared healthy and strong.
Marioza lay back against the pillows, watching through half-lidded eyes. “Looking for my heart?” she teased. “You’ll not find it there, John Anglicus!” She pulled opened her silken bed robe, revealing a pair of flawless ivory breasts.
Benedicite! Joan thought. This must be the Marioza of legend, the most celebrated hetaera, or courtesan, in all of Rome! It was said that she numbered some of the most important men in the city among her clients. She is trying to seduce me, Joan realized. The absurdity of the idea caused her to smile.
Misinterpreting Joan’s smile, Marioza was encouraged. This priest was not going to be so difficult to seduce as Benedict had indicated when he had purchased her services for that purpose. Priest or no, John Anglicus was nevertheless a man, and the man had not been born who could resist her.
With studied disinterest, Joan concentrated on her examination. She probed Marioza’s sides, checking for bruised ribs;