Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [42]
“Pah! Studying!” The bishop snorted. He took a bite of chicken. “The schola is filled with dunderheads who study but know nothing. What do you know, child?”
“I can read and write, Eminence.”
“In Theodisk or in Latin?”
“In Theodisk, in Latin, and in Greek.”
“Greek! Now that is something. Even Odo has no Greek, have you, Odo?” He grinned at a thin-faced man a few seats away.
Odo spread his mouth in a humorless smile. “It is a pagan tongue, Sire, a tongue of idolaters and heretics.”
“Quite correct, quite correct.” The bishop’s tone was taunting. “Odo is always correct, aren’t you, Odo?”
The cleric sniffed. “You know well, Eminence, that I do not approve of this latest whim of yours. It is dangerous, and ungodly, to allow a woman into the schola.”
From the back of the hall a voice called out, “She’s no woman yet, from the looks of her.” Another tide of laughter swept the hall, accompanied by lewd remarks.
A burning warmth crept from Joan’s throat up to her cheeks. How could these people behave so in the presence of the bishop?
“It is also pointless,” the man called Odo continued when the noise died down. “Women are, by nature, quite incapable of reasoning.” His eyes flicked over Joan dismissively, then returned to the bishop. “Their natural humors, which are cold and moist, are unpropitious for cerebral activity. They cannot comprehend the higher spiritual and moral concepts.”
Joan stared at the man.
“I have heard that opinion expressed,” the bishop said. He smiled at Odo with the look of a man who was enjoying himself immensely. “But how then do you explain the girl’s scholarly attainments—her knowledge of Greek, for example, which even you, Odo”—he lingered over the words—“have not mastered?”
“She has boasted of her abilities, but we have seen no proof of them.” Odo sniffed. “You are credulous, Sire. The Greek may have been less than honest in reporting her accomplishments?”
This was too much. First this hateful man insulted her, and now he dared to attack Aesculapius! Joan’s lips started to form an angry reply when she caught the sympathetic gaze of a red-haired knight seated beside the bishop.
No. He signaled her silently. She hesitated, struck by the message in his compelling indigo eyes. He turned to the bishop and whispered something. The bishop nodded and addressed the thin-faced cleric. “Very well, Odo, examine her.”
“My lord?”
“Examine her. See if she is fit for study at the schola.”
“Here, my lord? It hardly seems appro—”
“Here, Odo. Why not? We will all profit from the example.”
Odo frowned. He turned to Joan. His narrow face aimed at her like an ax.
“Quicunque vult. What does it mean?”
Joan was surprised. So easy a question? Perhaps it was a trick. Perhaps he was trying to put her off her guard. Cautiously she responded, “It is the doctrine asserting that the three Persons of the Trinity are cosubstantial. That Christ was fully divine just as He was fully human.”
“The authority for this doctrine?”
“The first council of Nicaea.”
“Confessio Fidei. What is it?”
“It is the false and pernicious doctrine”—Joan knew what to say, having been cautioned by Aesculapius on this point—“which asserts that Christ was first a human being and only secondarily divine. Divine, that is, only through his adoption by the Father.” She studied Odo’s face, but it was unreadable. “Filius non proprius, sed adoptivus,” she added for good measure.
“Explain the false nature of this heresy.”
“If Christ is God’s Son by grace and not by nature, then He must be subordinate to the Father. This is a false heresy and an abomination,” Joan recited dutifully from memory, “because the Holy Spirit proceeds not only from the Father but also from the Son; there is only one Son, and He is not an adopted son. ‘In utraque natura proprium eum et non adoptivum filium dei confitemur.’”
The people at the tables snapped their fingers in applause. “Litteratissima!” someone shouted across the room.
“Amusing little oddity, isn’t she?” a woman’s voice muttered close behind Joan, just a shade