Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [48]
Hurriedly she finished the last few lines and rose to leave. The boys were standing by the door. She knew they were waiting for her. She lifted her chin determinedly. Whatever they had in store for her, she would walk past quickly and have done with it.
Her cloak hung on a wooden peg near the door. Making an elaborate gesture of ignoring the boys, she retrieved it, fastened it carefully round her neck, and pulled up the hood.
Something heavy and wet pooled on the top of her head. Immediately she tugged at the hood, but it would not come off. The sticky wetness oozed downward. She reached up and touched it; her fingers came away coated with a thick, mucousy substance. Gum arabic. A common material in schoolrooms and scriptoria, it was used, with vinegar and charcoal, to make ink. She wiped her hand on her cloak, but the gum arabic clung stickily. Frantically, she pulled at the hood again and yelped as her hair was yanked painfully by the roots.
Her cry elicited a shout of laughter from the boys. She walked quickly toward the door. The group parted as she drew near, forming a line on either side.
“Lusus naturae!” they taunted her. “Freak of nature!”
Halfway down the line she saw John. He was laughing and shouting insults along with the others. She met his eyes; he flushed and looked away.
She kept walking. Too late she saw the flash of blue cloth near the floor. She tripped and fell clumsily, landing heavily on her side.
John, she thought. He tripped me.
She got to her feet, wincing as a sharp pain shot down her side. The disgusting slime oozed from under the hood onto her face. She wiped at it, trying to keep it out of her eyes, but it was no use. It slid glutinously over her eyebrows onto her lids, gumming her eyelashes, making it impossible to see clearly.
Laughing, the boys crowded in, shoving her back and forth, trying to make her fall again. She heard John’s voice among the others, calling out insults. Through the thick film that covered her eyes, the room spun dizzyingly in alternating patterns of light and color. She could no longer make out the door.
She felt a sudden sting of tears.
Oh no, she thought. That was what they wanted—to make her weep and plead for mercy, to show some weakness, so they could mock her as a coward of a girl.
They shall not have that. I will not give them that.
She held herself straight, willing herself not to cry. This display of self-control only inflamed them, and they began to hit harder. The biggest of the boys struck her forcefully on the neck. The blow staggered her, and she fought to keep her feet.
A man’s voice shouted in the distance. Had Odo come at last to put an end to this?
“What is happening here?”
This time she recognized the voice. Gerold. There was a tone in his voice she had never heard before. The boys backed away from her so suddenly she almost fell again.
Gerold’s arm was around her shoulder, steadying her. She leaned into him gratefully.
“Well, Bernhar.” Gerold addressed the biggest boy, the one who had hit her on the neck. “Wasn’t it just last week I watched you at weapons practice, trying so desperately to keep out of range of Eric’s sword that you could not manage a single strike? Yet I see that you have no difficulty fighting when your opponent is a defenseless girl.”
Bernhar stammered an explanation, but Gerold cut him off.
“You may tell that to His Lordship the bishop. He will send for you when he learns of this. Which he will, this very day.”
The silence around them was absolute. Gerold lifted Joan in his arms. She felt with some surprise the rippling power of his arms and back. He was so tall and lean, she had not realized he was so strong. She tilted her head away so the disgusting slime that covered her would not mar his tunic.
Halfway to his mount, Gerold turned. “One thing more. From what I have witnessed, she is braver than any of you. Yes, and smarter too, for all that she is a girl.”
Joan felt the start of tears in her eyes. No one had ever spoken for