Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [190]
Forty-two canons were passed by this synod, dealing mostly with the reform of ecclesiastical discipline and education. At the end of the week, the assembly was adjourned. All agreed that it had gone very well, and that Pope John had presided with unusual distinction. The Romans were especially proud to be represented by a spiritual leader of such superior intellect and learning.
THE goodwill Joan accrued from the synod did not, however, last very long. The following month, the entire ecclesiastical community was jarred to its foundations when she announced her intention to institute a school for women. Even those of the papal party who had supported Joan’s candidacy were shocked: what manner of Pope had they elected?
Jordanes, the secundicerius, confronted Joan publicly on the matter during the weekly meeting of the optimates.
“Holiness,” he said, “you do great injury in seeking to educate women.”
“How so?” she asked.
“Surely you know, Holiness, that the size of a woman’s brain and her uterus are inversely proportionate; therefore, the more a girl learns, the less likely she will ever bear children.”
Better barren of body than of mind, Joan thought dryly, though she kept the thought to herself.
“Where have you read this?”
“It is common knowledge.”
“So common, apparently, that no one has taken the trouble to write it down so all may learn from it.”
“There is nothing to be learned from what is obvious to all. No one has written that wool comes from sheep, yet we all know it to be so.”
There were smiles on all sides. Jordanes preened, pleased with the cleverness of his argument.
Joan thought for a moment. “If what you say is true, how do you account for the extraordinary fertility of learned women such as Laeta, who corresponded with St. Jerome, and who, according to his report, was safely delivered of fifteen healthy children?”
“An aberration! A rare exception to the rule.”
“If I remember correctly, Jordanes, your own sister Juliana knows how to read and write.”
Jordanes was taken aback. “Only a little, Holiness. Just enough to allow her to keep the household accounts.”
“Yet according to your theory, even a little learning should have an adverse effect upon a woman’s fertility. How many children has Juliana borne?”
Jordanes flushed. “Twelve.”
“Another aberration?”
There was a long, embarrassed silence.
“Obviously, Holiness,” Jordanes said stiffly, “your mind is quite made up on this matter. Therefore, I’ll say no more.”
And he didn’t, at least not in that assembly.
“IT WAS not wise to insult Jordanes publicly,” Gerold said afterward. “You may have driven him into the arms of Arsenius and the imperialists.”
“But he’s wrong, Gerold,” Joan said. “Women are as capable of learning as men. Am I not proof of that?”
“Of course. But you must give people time. The world can’t be remade in a day.”
“The world won’t ever be remade, if no one tries to remake it. Change must begin somewhere.”
“True,” Gerold allowed. “But not now, not here—not with you.”
“Why not?”
Because I love you, he wanted to say, and I’m afraid for you.
Instead he said, “You can’t afford to make enemies. Have you forgotten who and what you are? I can protect you from many things, Joan—but not from yourself.”
“Oh, come—surely it’s not as serious as all that. Will the world come to an end because a few women learn to read and write?”
“Your old tutor—Aesculapius, wasn’t it?—what was it you told me he once said to you?”
“Some ideas are dangerous.”
“Exactly.”
There was a long silence.
“Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll speak to Jordanes and do what I can to smooth his ruffled feathers. And I promise to be more politic in the future. But the school for women is too important; I won’t give up on it.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Gerold replied, smiling.
IN SEPTEMBER, the school for women was formally dedicated. St. Catherine’s School, Joan named it in