Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [39]
Joan leapt to her feet. “John!” she shouted. She scanned the woods and the ground nearby, afraid of what she might find.
“Here.” A patch of pale skin showed faintly in the darkness.
“John!” She ran to him, and they embraced, holding on to each other tightly.
“Why are you here?” John asked. “Is Father with you?”
“No. I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? What happened?”
“We were attacked. A brigand, I think, after the emissary’s gold ring. I was riding behind when the arrow struck him.”
Joan said nothing, but hugged him closer.
He pulled out of her arms. “But I defended myself. I did!” His eyes glittered with a strange excitement. “When he came for me, I struck him with this!” He held up the canon’s bone-handled hunting knife. “Got him in the shoulder, I think. Anyway, it stopped him long enough for me to get away!”
Joan stared at the blade, discolored with blood. “Father’s knife.”
John’s expression turned sullen. “Yes. I took it. Why not? He made me go—I didn’t want to.”
“All right,” Joan said briskly. “Put it away. We must hurry if we are to make it to the cella before dawn.”
“The cella? But I don’t have to go to Dorstadt now. After what happened”—he thrust his head in the direction of the murdered emissary—“I can go home.”
“No, John. Think. Now that Father knows the bishop’s intentions, he will not permit you to stay at home. He’ll find some way to get you to the schola, even if he has to take you himself. Besides”— Joan pointed to the knife—“by the time we get back, he will have discovered that you took this.”
John looked startled. Obviously he had not thought of that.
“It will be all right. I’ll be there with you, I’ll help you.” She took his hand. “Come.”
Hand in hand, under the steadily brightening sky, the two children made their way to the cella, where the rest of the bishop’s men were waiting.
7
THEY arrived at the cella while the sun was still low in the sky, but the bishop’s men were already awake, impatiently awaiting their companion’s return. When Joan and John told them what had transpired, the men became suspicious. They took John’s bone-handled knife and examined it carefully. Joan breathed a prayer of thanks that she had thought to clean it thoroughly in the forest stream, washing off all trace of blood. The men rode back to find their companion’s body, taking Joan and John with them; the discovery of the yellow-feathered arrow confirmed the children’s story. But what should they do with the body? It was out of the question to carry it all the way to Dorstadt, a fortnight’s journey, not with the spring sun making the days so warm. In the end they buried their companion in the forest, marking the spot with a rough wooden cross. Joan said a prayer over the grave, which impressed the men, for, like their companion, they knew no Latin. Expecting to escort a girl child, the men did not, at first, want to take John.
“There’s no mount for him,” their leader said, “nor food neither.”
“We can ride tandem,” Joan offered. “And share a ration.”
The man shook his head. “The bishop sent for you. There’s no point bringing your brother.”
“My father made a compact with your companion,” Joan lied. “I was permitted to go only on condition that John accompany me. If he doesn’t, my father will call me home again—and you’ll be put to the trouble of escorting me back.”
The man frowned; having just endured the discomforts of a long journey, he did not relish the prospect of another.
Joan pressed her advantage. “If that happens, I’ll tell the bishop that I tried my best to explain the situation, and you wouldn’t listen. Will he be pleased to learn that the entire misunderstanding was your fault?”
The man was stunned. He had never heard a girl speak so boldly.
Now he understood why the bishop wanted to see her; she was a curiosity, that was for certain.
“Very well,” he agreed