Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [205]
When all who wished to had come forward, the count was made: fifty-three men on Gerold’s side and seventy-four on Daniel’s.
Lothar cleared his throat. “God’s judgment is here made manifest. Stand forth, Superista, to receive your sentence.”
The guards started toward Gerold, but he shook them off. “The charge is false, no matter how many choose to perjure themselves by supporting it. I claim the right of ordeal.”
Joan drew her breath in sharply. Here, in the southern part of the Empire, the ordeal was by fire, not water. An accused man had to walk barefoot over a twenty-foot row of white-hot plowshares. If he made it over, he was judged innocent. But very few people survived the ordeal.
Across the room, Gerold’s eyes blazed an urgent message at Joan: Do not try to stop me.
He intended to sacrifice himself for her. If he made it over the coals, his innocence—and hers—would be proven. But he would probably die in the proving.
Just like Hrotrud, Joan thought. The memory of the village midwife’s grisly death brought a sudden flash of inspiration.
She said, “Before proceeding further, there are some questions I would like to put to the magister militum.”
“Questions?” Lothar frowned.
Anastasius protested. “This is highly irregular. If the superista wishes to undergo the ordeal, that is his right. Or does His Holiness doubt the workings of divine justice?”
Joan responded evenly, “Not at all. Neither do I scorn the workings of God-given reason. What harm can there be in asking a few questions?”
Unable to think of a reasonable reply, Anastasius shrugged and fell silent. But his face registered his vexation.
Joan’s brow furrowed as she concentrated on recalling Cicero’s six evidentiary questions.
Quis.
“Who,” she asked Daniel, “apart from you, was witness to this alleged conversation?”
“No one,” he replied. “But the testimony of these sacramentales is surety for my word.”
Joan went on to the next question.
Quomodo.
“How did you come to overhear so private a conversation?”
Daniel hesitated only a moment before replying. “I was passing by the triclinium on my way to the dormitory. Seeing the door standing open, I went to close it. That’s when I heard the superista talking.”
Ubi.
“Where was the superista standing at the time?”
“Before the throne.”
“About where he is now?”
“Yes.”
Quando.
“When did this happen?”
Daniel pulled nervously on the neck of his tunic. The questions were coming so fast he had no time to think. “Aah … on the Feast of St. Agatha.”
Quid.
“What exactly did you overhear?”
“I have already told the court that.”
“Were those the superista’s actual words, or an approximate rendering of the conversation?”
Daniel smirked. Did Pope John think he was stupid enough to fall into so obvious a trap? He said firmly, “I reported the superista’s words exactly as he spoke them.”
Joan sat forward on the papal throne. “Let me see if I have understood you correctly, Daniel. According to your testimony, on the Feast of St. Agatha you stood outside the door of the triclinium and heard every word of a conversation in which the superista told me that Rome should form an alliance with the Greeks.”
“Correct,” Daniel said.
Joan turned to Gerold. “Where were you on the Feast of St. Agatha, Superista?” she asked.
Gerold answered, “I was in Tivoli, finishing the work on the Marcian aqueduct.”
“Are there any who can bear witness to that?”
“Dozens of men labored beside me all day long. They can all testify to my whereabouts that day.”
“How do you explain this, Magister Militum?” Joan asked Daniel. “Surely a man cannot be in two places at once?”
Daniel was now looking decidedly pale. “Ah … ah…,” he stammered, desperately seeking a reply.
“Might you be mistaken about the date, Magister Militum?” Anastasius prompted. “After all these months, so small a detail might well be difficult to recall.”
Daniel seized