Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [21]
A man approached, wearing the white silk dalmatic of the members of the papal household. “I give you greeting and the blessing of our Most Holy Father, Pope Paschal,” he said.
“May he live long, that we may continue to prosper from his benevolent guidance,” replied Anastasius’s father.
The required formalities over, both men relaxed.
“Well, Arsenius, how is it with you?” said the man. “You are here to see Theodorus, I suppose?”
Anastasius’s father nodded. “Yes. To arrange the appointment of my nephew Cosmas as arcarius.” Lowering his voice, he added, “The payment was made weeks ago. I cannot think what has delayed the announcement so long.”
“Theodorus has been quite busy of late. There was that nasty dispute, you know, over the possession of the monastery at Farfa. The Holy Father was much displeased with the imperial court’s decision.” Bending close, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And even more displeased with Theo for championing the Emperor’s cause. Be prepared: there may be little that Theo can do for you just now.”
“The thought had occurred to me.” Anastasius’s father shrugged. “Nevertheless, Theo is still primicerius, and the payment has been made.”
“We shall see.”
The conversation halted abruptly as a second man, also clad in the white dalmatic, came toward them. Anastasius, standing close by his father’s side, sensed the slight stiffening of his back. “May the blessings of the Holy Father be conferred upon you, Sarpatus,” said his father.
“And on you, my dear Arsenius, and on you,” the man replied. His mouth had an odd twist. “Ah, Lucian,” he said, turning to the first man. “You were so intent on your conversation with Arsenius just now. Have you some interesting news? I should love to hear it.” He yawned elaborately. “Life is so tedious here since the Emperor left.”
“No, Sarpatus, of course not. If I had any news, I should tell you,” Lucian replied nervously. To Anastasius’s father he said, “Well, Arsenius, I must go now. I have duties to attend to.” He bowed, turned on his heel, and quickly walked away.
Sarpatus shook his head. “Lucian has been edgy of late. I wonder why.” He looked pointedly at Anastasius’s father. “Well, well, no matter. I see that you have company today.”
“Yes. May I present my son Anastasius? He is to take the exam to become a lector soon.” Anastasius’s father added with emphasis, “His uncle Theo is especially fond of him; that is why I brought him along with me to our meeting.”
Anastasius bowed. “May you prosper in His Name,” he said formally, as he had been taught.
The man smiled, amusement twisting the corners of his lips even more.
“My! The boy’s Latin is excellent; I congratulate you, Arsenius. He will prove to be an asset to you—unless, of course, he shares his uncle’s deplorable lack of judgment.” He continued, precluding any reply, “Yes, yes, a fine boy. How old is he?” The question was addressed to Anastasius’s father.
Anastasius replied, “I turned twelve just after Advent.”
“Indeed! You look younger.” He patted Anastasius’s head.
A dislike for the stranger rose inside Anastasius. Drawing himself up as tall as possible, he said, “And I think that my uncle’s judgment cannot be so very bad, or else how did he come to be primicerius?”
His father squeezed Anastasius’s arm in warning, but his eyes were mild and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The stranger stared at Anastasius, something—surprise? anger?—registering in his eyes. Anastasius met his gaze levelly. After a long moment the man broke the gaze and returned his attention to Anastasius’s father.
“Such family loyalty! How touching! Well, well, let us hope that the boy’s thinking proves to be as correct as his Latin.”
A loud noise drew their attention to the far side of the hall as the heavy doors were opened.
“Ah! Here comes the