Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [138]
No, Marioza was not to be blamed; she was only a tool. But in whose hands? Who stands to gain by discrediting me? Ennodius and the other members of the physicians’ society were certainly capable of such chicanery. But surely they would aim their efforts at discrediting her medical skill.
If not them, then who? The answer came at once: Benedict. Ever since the business of the Orphanotrophium, he had resented her, jealous of her influence with his brother. The realization heartened her; at least she knew who the enemy was. Nor did she mean to let Benedict get away with this. True, he was Sergius’s brother, but she was his friend; she would make him see the truth.
ARRIVING at the Lateran, Joan was dismayed when the guards marched her straight past the triclinium, where Sergius was dining with the optimates and other high officials of the papal court, down the hall to Benedict’s quarters.
“Well, well. What have we here?” Benedict said mockingly as Joan and the guards entered. “John Anglicus, surrounded by guards like a common thief?” To the leader of the guard he said, “Speak, Tarasius, and tell me the nature of this priest’s crime.”
“My lord, we apprehended him in the rooms of the whore Marioza.”
“Marioza!” Benedict affected a look of grave disapproval.
“We found him in the strumpet’s bed, wrapped in her embrace,” Tarasius added.
“It was a trick,” Joan said. “I was called there on the false pretext that Marioza needed physicking. She knew the guards were coming and clasped me to her bosom just before they entered.”
“You expect me to believe you were overpowered by a woman? For shame, false priest.”
“The shame is yours, Benedict, not mine,” Joan replied hotly. “You contrived the whole affair in order to discredit me. You arranged for Marioza to call me on the pretense of being ill, then sent the guards, knowing they would find us together.”
“I own it readily.”
The admission took Joan aback. “You confess your deceit?”
Benedict took a goblet of wine from a table and sipped from it, savoring the taste. “Knowing you to be unchaste, and not liking to see my brother’s trust in you abused, I sought proof of your perfidy, that is all.”
“I am not unchaste, nor have you any reason to think me so.”
“Not unchaste?” Benedict sneered. “Tell me again how you found him, Tarasius.”
“My lord, he lay with the wanton in her bed, and she was naked in his arms.”
“Tsk, tsk. Think how distressed my brother will be to hear such damning testimony—the more so because of the great trust he has placed in you!”
For the first time Joan realized the seriousness of her situation. “Do not do this,” she said. “Your brother needs me, for he is not yet out of danger. Without proper medical attention, he will suffer another attack—and the next one could kill him.”
“Ennodius will attend my brother from now on,” Benedict replied curtly. “Your sinner’s hands have done harm enough.”
“I do him harm?” Outrage obliterated the last of Joan’s control. “You dare say that—you, who have sacrificed your brother to your own jealousy and greed?”
Wetness slapped her in the face; Benedict had hurled the contents of his cup at her. The strong wine burned her eyes, bringing forth tears; it coursed down her throat, causing her to choke and sputter.
“Take him to the dungeon,” Benedict commanded.
“No!” With a sharp cry, Joan broke from the guards. She had to get to Sergius before Benedict could poison his mind against her. She ran swiftly down the hall toward the triclinium.
“Stop him!” Benedict shouted.
The guards’ footsteps sounded behind her. Joan turned a corner and raced desperately toward the blazing lights of the triclinium.
She was a few yards away when she was tackled and sent sprawling. She struggled to rise, but the guards pinioned her