Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [181]
The next day he was no better, nor the next, nor the next. His head ached constantly, and he complained of burning pains in his hands and feet. Each day he became a little weaker; each day it took more effort for him to rise from bed. Joan grew alarmed. She tried every remedy she knew for wasting diseases. Nothing helped. Leo continued to sink toward death.
THE voices of the choir rose loudly in the Te Deum, the final canticle of the Mass. Anastasius kept his face expressionless, trying not to grimace at the noise. He had never grown accustomed to the Frankish chant, whose unfamiliar tones grated upon his ears like the croaking of blackbirds. Remembering the pure, sweet harmonies of the Roman chant, Anastasius felt a sharp stab of homesickness.
Not that his time here in Aachen had been wasted. Following his father’s instructions, Anastasius had set out to win the Emperor’s support. He began by courting Lothar’s friends and intimates, and making himself agreeable to Lothar’s wife, Ermengard. He assiduously charmed and flattered the Frankish nobility, impressing them all with his knowledge of Scripture and especially of Greek—a rare accomplishment. Ermengard and her friends interceded with the Emperor, and Anastasius was readmitted to the royal presence. Whatever doubt or resentment Lothar might once have harbored against him was forgotten; once again Ana stasius enjoyed the Emperor’s trust and support.
I have done everything Father asked, and more. But when will come my reward? There were times, such as now, when Anastasius feared he might be left to languish forever in this cold, barbarian backwater.
Returning to his rooms after mass, he discovered a letter had arrived in his absence. Recognizing the hand as his father’s, he took up a knife and eagerly cut the seal. He read the first few lines and cried out exultantly.
The time is now, his father had written. Come claim your destiny.
LEO lay on his side in bed, knees drawn up, suffering from sharp pains in his stomach. Joan prepared an emollient potion of egg whites beaten into sweetened milk, to which she added a little fennel as a carminative. She watched him drink it.
“That was good,” he said.
She waited to see if he would keep it down. He did, then slept more restfully than he had in weeks. When he awoke hours later, he felt better.
Joan decided to put him on a diet of the potion, restricting all other food and drink.
Waldipert protested: “He’s so weak; surely he needs something more substantial to keep his strength up.”
Joan replied firmly, “The treatment is helping him. He must take no food other than the potion.”
Seeing the determined look in her eyes, Waldipert backed down. “As you say, Nomenclator.”
For a week, Leo continued to improve. His pain went away, his color returned, he even seemed to regain some of his old energy. When Joan brought him his evening dose of the healing potion, Leo eyed the milky mixture ruefully.
“How about a meat pasty instead?”
“You’re getting your appetite back—a good sign. Best not to rush things, however. I’ll look in on you in the morning; if you’re still hungry, I’ll let you try a bit of simple pottage.”
“Tyrant,” Leo responded.
She smiled. It was good to have him gibe with her again.
EARLY the next morning, she arrived to find that Leo had suffered a relapse. He lay in bed moaning, too much in pain to reply when she spoke to him.
Quickly Joan prepared another dose of the emollient potion. As she did, her eyes fell upon an empty plate of crumbs on the table beside the bed.
“What’s this?” she asked Renatus, Leo’s personal chamberlain.
“Why, it’s the meat pasty you sent him,” the boy replied.
“I sent nothing,” Joan said.
Renatus looked confused. “But … my lord Vicedominus said you ordered it specially.”
Joan looked at Leo doubled over with pain. A horrible suspicion dawned.
“Run!” she told Renatus. “Call the superista and the guards. Don’t let Waldipert leave the palace.”
The boy hesitated only a moment, then