Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [69]
The very air seemed to hum in Joan’s ears. Gerold, it sang. Gerold.
Neither of them guessed that from behind the little copse of trees on the crest of the hill, someone was watching.
ODO had been on his way to Héristal to pay a visit to his uncle, one of the holy brothers of that abbey, when his mule had chanced to stray from the path in pursuit of a particularly succulent-looking patch of clover. He cursed the mule, pulling on its bridle and whipping it with a willow rod, but it was stubborn and would not be dissuaded. He had no choice but to leave the road and follow the stupid beast. Then he looked up, toward the stream, and saw.
A learned woman is never chaste. St. Paul’s words, or were they Jerome’s? No matter. Odo had always believed it to be true, and now he had the proof with his own eyes!
Odo patted the mule’s flank. You shall have an extra portion of feed tonight, he thought. Then he reconsidered. Feed was expensive, and besides, the beast had only served as God’s instrument.
Odo hurried back to the road. His errand would have to wait. First he must get to Villaris.
A short time later, the towers of Villaris loomed ahead. In his excitement, he had walked more quickly than usual. He passed through the gated palisade and was greeted by a guardsman.
Odo waved aside the greeting. “Take me to Lady Richild,” he commanded. “I must speak with her at once.”
GEROLD removed Joan’s arms from his neck and stepped back. “Come,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion, “we must go back.”
Woolly-headed with love, Joan moved to embrace him again.
“No,” Gerold said firmly. “I must take you home now, while I have the will to do so.”
Joan stared at him dazedly. “You don’t … want me?” She lowered her head before he could answer.
Gerold cupped her chin gently, forcing her eyes to meet his. “I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman.”
“Then why …?”
“God’s teeth, Joan! I am a man, with a man’s desires. Do not tempt me beyond my limits!” Gerold sounded almost angry. Seeing the start of tears to her eyes, he gentled his tone. “What would you have me do, my love? Make you my mistress? Ah, Joan, I would take you right here on this sward if I thought it would make you happy. But it would spell your ruin, can’t you see that?”
Gerold’s indigo eyes held hers commandingly. He was so handsome that it took her breath away. All she wanted was for him to take her in his arms again.
He stroked her white-gold hair. She began to speak, but her voice broke. She breathed deeply, trying to steady her emotions, sick with shame and frustration.
“Come.” Gerold took Joan’s hand, folding it into his tenderly. She did not protest as he led her back to the road. Wordlessly, hand in hand, they walked the long, comfortless miles toward Villaris.
11
LADY Richild, Countess of Villaris,” the herald announced as Richild swept regally into the bishop’s reception hall.
“Eminence.” She made a graceful reverence.
“Lady, you are welcome,” Fulgentius said. “What news from your lord? God grant he has not met with misfortune on his journey?”
“No, no.” She was pleased to find him so transparent. Of course he must wonder at the purpose of her visit! He must have thought— Gerold had been gone five days now, time enough to have met with some disaster on the dangerous roads.
“We have had no word of any difficulties, Eminence, nor do we expect any. Gerold took twenty men with him, well armed and well provisioned; he will not take any chances on the road, as he is on the Emperor’s business.”
“We heard as much. He is gone as missus—to Westphalia, is it?”
“Yes. To settle a dispute about wergeld. There are some minor matters of property to be settled as well. He will be away a fortnight or more.” Time enough, she thought, just time enough.
They spoke briefly of local affairs—the shortage of grain at the mill, the repair of the cathedral roof, the success of the spring calving. Richild was careful to observe the necessary