Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [153]
After a long while he released her. “Listen, my heart,” he said huskily. “I’m leaving Lothar’s service. I told him so just now, in the chapel.”
“And he agreed to let you go?” Lothar did not seem the kind of man to set aside willingly any man’s obligation to him.
“At first he was difficult, but I got him to come round in the end. My freedom comes at a price; I’ve had to surrender Villaris with all its estates. I’m no longer a rich man, Joan. But I have the strength of my two arms, and friends who will stand by me. One of them is Siconulf, Prince of Benevento, whom I befriended when we served together on the Emperor’s campaign against the Obodrites. He needs good men around him now, for he’s being hard-pressed by his rival Radelchis. Will you come with me, Joan? Will you be my wife?”
Brisk footsteps outside the door jolted them apart. A moment later the door opened and a head peeked in. It was Florintinus, one of the palace notaries.
“Ah!” he said. “There you are, John Anglicus! I’ve been looking all over for you.” He looked sharply from Joan to Gerold and back again. “Am I … interrupting anything?”
“Not at all,” Joan said quickly. “What can I do for you, Florintinus?”
“I’ve a terrible headache,” he said. “I wondered if you could prepare one of your palliatives for me.”
“I’d be happy to,” Joan said courteously.
Florintinus lingered by the door, exchanging idle conversation with Gerold while Joan quickly prepared a mixture of violet leaves and willow-bark, decocting it in a cup of rosemary tea. She gave it to Florintinus, and he left at once.
“We can’t talk here,” she said to Gerold as soon as he was gone. “It’s too dangerous.”
“When can I see you again?” Gerold asked urgently.
Joan thought. “There’s a Temple of Vesta on the Via Appia, just outside of town. I’ll meet you there tomorrow after terce.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her again, softly at first, then with an intensity that filled her with aching desire. “Till tomorrow,” he whispered. Then he went through the door, leaving Joan’s head spinning with a dizzying mix of emotions.
ARIGHIS peered sharply through the predawn light, checking the Lateran courtyard. All was in readiness. A lighted brazier had been placed alongside the great bronze statue of the she-wolf. A pair of sturdy fire irons were set inside the flaming brazier, their tips beginning to glow red from the heat of the flames. Nearby stood a swordsman, sharpened blade at the ready.
The first rays of the sun crested the horizon. It was an unusual hour for a public execution; such events normally took place after mass. Despite the earliness of the hour, a crowd of spectators was already gathered—the eager ones always arrived well in advance to secure the best position for viewing. Many had brought their children, who scampered about in excited anticipation of the gory spectacle.
Arighis had deliberately set the hour of Benedict’s punishment for dawn, before Sergius awakened and changed his mind. Others might accuse him of proceeding with unseemly haste, but Arighis did not care. He knew exactly what he was doing, and why.
Arighis had held the high office of vicedominus for over twenty years; his entire life had been devoted to the service of the Patriarchium, to keeping the vast and complicated hive of pontifical offices that composed the seat of government in Rome running smoothly and efficiently. Over the years, Arighis had come to think of the papal household as a living entity, a being whose continuing welfare was his sole responsibility and concern.
That welfare was now threatened. In less than a year, Benedict had turned the Patriarchium into a center of corrupt power brokering and simony. Grasping and manipulative to the core, Benedict’s very existence was a malignant canker upon the papacy. The only way to save the patient was to amputate the diseased member. Benedict must die.
Sergius did not have