Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [176]
Arsenius took no offense at Waldipert’s hasty departure; it was imperative for the vicedominus to get back to the Patriarchium before his absence was noticed.
Arsenius congratulated himself on his foresight in having identified Waldipert as a young man with a future many years ago, when he was only a chamberlain in the papal household. It had been costly, buying the man’s loyalty all these years. But now that Waldipert was vicedominus, the investment would pay off handsomely.
Arsenius rang for his servant. “Go to the Church of St. Marcellus and bid my son come at once.”
HEARING the news, Anastasius sat down heavily in a chair opposite his father. Silently he cursed himself, humiliated that his father had learned how badly he had bungled things.
“Who would have guessed the boy would talk?” he said defensively. “To betray me, he had to condemn himself.”
“It was a mistake to let him live,” Arsenius said matter-of-factly. “You should have had his throat slit the moment the deed was done. Well, it’s over now. We must look to the future.”
“Future?” Anastasius echoed bleakly. “What future?”
“Despair is for the weak, my son, not for such as you and me.”
“But what am I to do? Surely the situation is past all righting!”
“You must leave Rome. Now. Tonight.”
“Oh, God!” Anastasius buried his face in his hands. His whole world was crumbling around him.
Arsenius said sternly, “Enough! Remember who and what you are.”
Anastasius sat up, struggling to master himself.
“You will go to Aachen,” Arsenius said, “to the Emperor’s court.”
Anastasius was bewildered. The sick fear gripping his heart was keeping him from thinking clearly. “But … Lothar knows I denounced him at the papal election.”
“Yes, and knows as well why you were compelled to do so. He’s a man who understands political necessity—how else do you think he managed to wrest the throne from his father and brothers? He’s also a man in need of money.” Arsenius took a leather pouch from his desk and handed it to Anastasius. “If the imperial feathers are still ruffled, this purse will help smooth them.”
Anastasius stared dully at the heavy bag of coins. Must I really leave Rome? The idea of living out the remainder of his days among a tribe of barbarian Franks filled him with loathing. Better, perhaps, to die now and have done with it.
“Think of it as an opportunity,” his father was saying. “A chance to win powerful friends at the imperial court. You’ll need them, once you are Pope.”
Once I am Pope. The words penetrated the heavy fog of Anastasius’s despair. Then he was not being sent away forever.
“I’ll look after your interests here, never fear,” Arsenius said. “The tide of opinion cannot run in Leo’s favor forever. Eventually it will crest, and then subside. When I judge the time to be ripe, I’ll send for you.”
The cold nausea that had gripped Anastasius began to recede. His father had not given up hope; therefore, neither must he.
“I’ve arranged for an escort,” Arsenius said briskly. “Twelve of my best men. Come, I’ll walk with you to the stables.”
THE twelve guards were mounted and ready, armed with sword and pike and mace. Anastasius would not want for protection on the dangerous roads. His mount stood nearby, tossing its head impatiently— a strong and spirited beast; Anastasius recognized it as his father’s favorite stallion.
“There’s two or three hours of daylight yet—enough to give you a good start,” Arsenius said. “They’ll not come for you today, for they’ve no way of knowing you suspect anything, and Leo will surely take the precaution of drawing up an official writ for your arrest. It’ll be morning before they start looking, and then they’ll try St. Marcellus first. By the time they think of coming here, you’ll be well away.”
Struck with a sudden concern, Anastasius said, “What about you, Father?”
“They’ve no reason to suspect me. If they try to question me as to your whereabouts, they’ll find they have a wolf by the tail.”
Father and son embraced.
Can this actually be happening? Anastasius wondered.