Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [75]
She must get word to John. Tell him to meet her in the forest tonight, bringing his lance and bow and quiver.
It was a desperate plan. But she was desperate.
SHE found Dhuoda in the dortoir. Though she was only ten, she was a big girl, well developed for her age. Her resemblance to her sister Gisla was unmistakable. She greeted Joan excitedly. “I’ve just heard! Tomorrow is your wedding day!”
“Not if I can prevent it,” Joan responded bluntly.
Dhuoda was surprised. Gisla had been so eager to wed. “Is he old, then?” Her face lit with childish horror. “Is he toothless? Does he have scrofula?”
“No.” Joan had to smile. “He’s young and comely, I am told.”
“Then why—”
“There’s no time to explain, Dhuoda,” Joan said urgently. “I’ve come to ask a favor. Can you keep a secret?”
“Oh, yes!” Dhuoda leaned forward eagerly.
Joan pulled a piece of rolled parchment from her scrip. “This letter is for my brother, John. Take it to him at the schola. I would go myself, but I am expected in the solar to have a new tunic fit for the wedding. Will you do this for me?”
Dhuoda stared at the piece of parchment. Like her mother and sister, she could not read or write.
“What does it say?”
“I can’t tell you, Dhuoda. But it’s important, very important.”
“A secret message!” Her face was aglow with excitement.
“It’s only two miles to the schola. You can go and come in an hour if you hurry.”
Dhuoda grabbed the parchment. “I’ll be back before that!”
DHUODA hurried through the main courtyard, dodging to avoid the servants and craftsmen who always filled the place this time of day. Her senses were alive with an intimation of adventure. She felt the cool smoothness of the parchment in her hand and wished she knew what was written on it. Joan’s ability to read and write filled her with awe.
This mysterious errand was a welcome change from the boredom of her daily routine at Villaris. Besides, she was glad to help Joan. Joan was always nice to her; she took time to explain all kinds of interesting things—not like Mama, who was so often short-tempered and angry.
She was almost to the palisade when she heard a shout.
“Dhuoda!”
Mama’s voice. Dhuoda kept going as if she hadn’t heard, but as she passed through the gate, the porter grabbed her and forced her to wait.
She turned to face her mother.
“Dhuoda! Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.” Dhuoda thrust the parchment behind her. Richild caught the sudden movement, and her mouth set with suspicion.
“What is that?”
“N-nothing,” Dhuoda stammered.
“Give it to me.” Richild held out her hand imperiously.
Dhuoda hesitated. If she gave Mother the parchment, she would betray the secret Joan had entrusted her with. If she resisted …
Her mother glared at her, her dark eyes reflecting a building anger.
Looking into those eyes, Dhuoda knew she had no choice.
FOR this last night before Joan’s wedding, Richild had insisted that she sleep in the small warming room adjoining her own chamber—a privilege customarily reserved only for sick children or favored servants. It was a special honor accorded to the bride-to-be, Richild said, but Joan was sure that she simply wanted to keep her under close observation. No matter. Once Richild was asleep, Joan could slip out of this room just as easily as the dortoir.
Ermentrude, one of the serving girls, came into the little room, carrying a wooden cup filled with spiced red wine. “From the Lady Richild,” she said simply. “To honor you on this night.”
“I don’t want it.” Joan waved it away. She would not accept favors from the enemy.
“But the Lady Richild said to stay while you drink it and then take the cup away.” Ermentrude was anxious to do things right, being only twelve and new to household service.
“Have it yourself, then,” Joan said irritably. “Or empty it on the ground. Richild will never know.”
Ermentrude brightened. The idea had not occurred to her.