Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [77]
Why, Joan wondered dully, didn’t she just kill me too?
Sitting in the cart drawing her ever closer to the cathedral, sick in body and heart, with Gerold far away and no way of escape, Joan wished that she had.
THE wheels clattered noisily onto the uneven cobblestones of the cathedral forecourt, and the horses were reined to a stop. Immediately, two of Richild’s retainers appeared alongside. With elaborate obsequiousness, they helped Joan from the cart.
An enormous crowd was gathered outside the cathedral. It was the Feast of the First Martyrs, a solemn religious holiday, as well as Joan’s wedding mass, and the entire town had turned out for the occasion.
In front of the crowd Joan caught sight of a tall, ruddy, big-boned boy standing awkwardly beside his parents. The farrier’s son. She noted his sullen expression and the dejected set of his head. He doesn’t want me for a wife any more than I want him for a husband. Why should he?
His father prodded him; he came toward Joan and held out his hand. She took it, and they stood side by side as Wido, Richild’s steward, read the list of items composing Joan’s dowry.
Joan looked toward the forest. She could not possibly run and hide there now. The crowd encircled them, and Richild’s men stood close beside her, eyeing her warily.
In the crowd Joan saw Odo. Gathered around him were the boys of the schola, whispering together as usual. John was not among them. She searched the crowd and found him standing off to one side, ignored by his companions. They were both alone now, except for each other. Her eyes sought his, seeking and offering comfort. Surprisingly, he did not look away but returned her gaze, his face openly registering his pain.
They had been strangers for a long time, but in that moment they were two again, brother and sister, leagued in understanding. Joan kept her eyes fixed on him, reluctant to break the fragile bond.
The steward stopped reading. The crowd waited expectantly. The farrier’s son led Joan into the cathedral. Richild and her household swept in behind them, followed by the townspeople.
Fulgentius was waiting by the altar. As Joan and the boy came toward him, he motioned them to sit. First the holy feast would be celebrated, then the wedding mass.
Omnipotens sempiterne Deus qui me peccatoris. As usual, Fulgentius was mangling the Latin service, but Joan hardly noticed. He signaled an acolyte to prepare for the offertory and began the oblation prayer. Suscipe sanctum Trinitas … Beside her, the farrier’s son bent his head reverently. Joan tried to pray, too, bowing her head and mouthing the words, but there was no substance to the form; inside her there was only emptiness.
The mixing of the water with the wine began. Deus qui humanae substantiae …
The doors of the cathedral burst open with a loud crack. Fulgentius abandoned his struggles with the Latin mass and stared incredulously at the entrance. Joan craned her neck, trying to make out the source of this unprecedented intrusion. But the people behind her blocked her view.
Then she saw it. An enormous creature, manlike but taller by a head than any man, stood outlined in the blinding light of the doorway, its shadow spilling into the dim interior. Its face was curiously expressionless and shone with a metallic gleam, the eyes so deep in their dark sockets that Joan could not make them out.
Somewhere in the crowded assembly, a woman screamed.
Woden, Joan thought. She had long ago ceased to believe in her mother’s gods, but here was Woden, exactly as her mother had described him, striding boldly up the aisle right toward her.
Has he come to save me? she thought wildly.
As he drew closer, she saw that the metallic face was a mask, part of an elaborate battle helmet. The creature was a man and no god. From the back of his head, where the helmet ended, long golden hair curled down to his