Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [199]
“You are stronger than you know.”
“No,” she said. She rose from the throne to go to him and swayed as a strong wave of dizziness swept her.
Instantly Gerold was at her side. He took her arm, supporting her. “You’re ill!”
“No, no. Just … overtired.”
“You’ve been working too hard. You need rest. Come, I’ll help you to your quarters.”
She gripped him fiercely. “Promise me you won’t go until we’ve had a chance to talk again.”
“Of course I won’t leave.” His eyes were filled with concern. “Not until you’re feeling quite well again.”
JOAN lay on her bed in the quiet of her room. Am I truly ill? she wondered. If so, I must discover the cause and treat it quickly before Ennodius and the other physicians of the schola get wind of it.
She applied her mind to the problem, putting questions to herself as if she were her own patient.
When did the first symptoms begin?
Now she thought about it, she had not felt well for several weeks.
What are the symptoms?
Fatigue. Lack of appetite. A feeling of bloatedness. Queasiness, especially upon first arising …
Sudden terror struck her.
Desperately she thought back, trying to recall the time of her last monthly bleeding. Two months ago, perhaps three. She had been so busy, she had paid no attention.
All the symptoms fit, but there was one way to be certain. She leaned over and picked up the bedpan that rested on the floor beside her bed.
A short while later, she set it down again with shaking hands.
The evidence was unmistakable. She was with child.
ANASTASIUS pulled off his velvet buskins and leaned back comfortably on the divan. A good day, he thought, pleased with himself. Yes, it’s been a very good day. This morning he had shone at the imperial court, impressing Lothar and his entire retinue with his wisdom and learning.
The Emperor had asked his opinion of De corpore et sanguine Domini, the treatise that was causing such a stir among the country’s theologians. Written by Paschasius Radbertus, Abbot of Corbie, the treatise advanced the daring theory that the Eucharist contained the true Body and true Blood of Christ the Savior—not His symbolic but his actual, historic flesh: “that which was born of Mary, suffered on the cross, and rose from the tomb.”
“What do you think, Cardinal Anastasius?” Lothar inquired of him. “Is the sacred Host Christ’s Body in mystery, or in truth?”
Anastasius was ready with an answer. “In mystery, my liege. For it can be shown that Christ has two distinct bodies: the first born of Mary, the second represented symbolically in the Eucharist. ‘Hoc est corpus meum,’ Jesus said of the bread and wine at the Last Supper. ‘This is my body’ But he was still present bodily with his disciples when he said it. So clearly He must have meant the words in a figurative sense.”
So clever was this argument that when he’d finished speaking, all had applauded him. The Emperor had lauded him as “another Alcuin.” Plucking several hairs from his beard, he had presented them to Anastasius—a gesture of highest honor among these strange, barbarian people.
Anastasius smiled, reliving the pleasure of the moment. He poured wine from the pitcher on the table beside him into a silver cup, then picked up the parchment scroll containing the latest letter from his father. He broke the wax seal and unrolled the fine white vellum. His eyes scanned the scroll, reading with eager interest. He stopped at the report of the theft of the corpses of Ss. Marcellinus and Peter from their cemetery.
Not that the taking of saints’ bodies from their tombs was unusual; Christian sanctuaries all over the world constantly clamored for these holy relics in order to attract throngs of the faithful with the promise of miracles. For centuries the practical-minded Romans had made capital out of this foreign obsession with relics by conducting a regular trade in them. The countless pilgrims who swarmed to the Holy City were willing to dole out substantial sums for a finger of St. Damian, a collarbone of St. Anthony, or an eyelash