Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [41]
“A song! A song!” Pewter cups banged on the wooden tables, rhythmic, insistent. “Come, Widukind, a song!” A tall, fair-skinned young man was prodded to his feet and rose, laughing.
“Ik gihorta dat seggen dat sih urhettun aenon muo tin, hiltibraht enti hadubrant …”
Joan was surprised. The young man sang in Theodisk, the common tongue—the canon would have called it the pagan tongue.
“This I have heard told, that warriors met singly, Hildebrand and Hadubrand between two armies …”
The men stood and joined in, holding their cups high. “… they let glide spears of ashwood, sharp showers; they stepped together and cleft the battle boards until their shields of limewood shattered hacked by the weapons …”
An odd song for a bishop’s table. Joan glanced sidelong at John, but he was listening raptly, eyes alight with excitement.
With an exultant shout, the men finished the song. There was a loud scraping of wood as they sat, pulling the long planked benches up to the tables.
Another man rose with a taunting smile. “I heard of something rising in a corner …” He paused expectantly.
“A riddle!” someone cried, and the crowd bellowed its approval. “One of Haido’s riddles! Yes! Yes! Let’s have it.”
The man called Haido waited till the noise abated. “I heard of something rising in a room,” he repeated, “swelling and lifting its cover. The bold-hearted bride grabbed at that boneless wonder with her hands …”
A knowing chuckle began to build among the guests.
“… she covered that swelling thing with a swirl of cloth.” Haido’s smiling eyes raked the room challengingly. “What is it?”
“Look between your legs,” someone shouted, “and you’ll find the answer right enough!” This was followed by more laughter and a barrage of obscene gestures. Joan watched in astonishment. This was a bishop’s residence?
“Wrong!” Haido retorted merrily. “You are all wrong!”
“The answer, then! The answer!” People shouted and banged their cups on the tables.
Haido paused a moment for dramatic effect.
“Dough!” he announced triumphantly, and sat down as a wave of shouting laughter shook the room.
When the noise subsided, the steward said, “Come with me,” and led the two children to the far end of the hall, where the high table rested on its dais. The bishop sat in the center, still chuckling, dressed in magnificent yellow silk stained with drops of grease and wine. A soft down pillow cushioned his place on the bench. He did not look at all as Joan had imagined him. He was a big man, thick necked; the muscularity of his chest and shoulders showed through his thin silken tunic. His large belly and florid face were those of a man who enjoyed his food and wine. As they approached, he leaned over and held a crimson sweetmeat to the lips of a buxom woman seated beside him. She bit it, then whispered something in his ear, and they both laughed.
The palace steward cleared his throat. “My lord, the men have returned from Ingelheim with the child.”
The bishop stared at the steward opaquely. “Child? Eh? What child?”
“The one you sent for, my lord. A candidate for the schola, I believe. Recommended to you by the Gr—”
“Yes, yes.” The bishop waved impatiently. “I remember now.” His arm rested lightly around the woman’s shoulders. He looked at Joan and John. “Well, Widukind, am I seeing double?”
“No, Lord. The canon sent his son as well. The two of them arrived at the cella together and would not be separated.”
“Well.” The bishop’s face shone with amusement. “What do you think of that? I ask for one and get two. Would the Emperor were so generous with his favors as this country prelate!”
The table roared with laughter. There were several shouts of “Hear, hear!” and “Amen!”
The bishop reached over and ripped a leg off a roast hen. He said to Joan, “Are you the scholar you have been made out to be?”
Joan hesitated, unsure