Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [89]
A riderless black-maned bay danced nervously a few feet away. Gerold leapt on his back. The horse panicked and reared, but Gerold stayed with him, hands firm on the bridle. The bay turned smartly and headed for the shore. With a shout to his men to follow, Gerold rode straight into the water. An unused spear dangled from the saddle. Gerold withdrew the spear and hurled it with a force that almost propelled him over the neck of the bay. The spear sliced the air, its iron tip shimmering in the sun, and dropped into the water just short of the grinning dragon’s mouth.
There was a burst of jeering laughter from the ship. The Norsemen called out derisively in their rough tongue. Two of them hoisted a golden bundle for display, only it wasn’t a bundle, it was a woman hanging limply between them, a woman with auburn hair.
“Gisla!” Gerold shouted in an agony of recognition. What was she doing here? She should be safe at home with her husband.
Dazedly Gisla lifted her head. “Father!” she screamed. “Fa-therrrrrr!” Her cry resonated in the fiber of his being.
Gerold spurred the bay, but he whinnied and backed off, refusing to advance any farther into the deepening dark water. He jabbed him in the hindquarters with his sword to force him to obey, but it only panicked him; he bucked wildly, his hooves flailing. A less skilled rider would have been thrown, but Gerold held on determinedly, fighting to bend the bay to his will.
“My lord! My lord!” Gerold’s men were all around him, grabbing the bridle, pulling him back.
“It’s hopeless, my lord.” Grifo, Gerold’s lieutenant, spoke clearly in his ear. “There’s nothing more we can do.”
The red sails of the Viking ship had ceased fluttering; they curved smoothly as the ship glided rapidly away from shore. There was no way to pursue it, no boats anywhere, even had Gerold and his men known how to sail them; the craft of shipbuilding had long been forgotten in Frankland.
Numbly, Gerold allowed Grifo to lead the bay to shore. Gisla’s cry still echoed in his ears. Fatherrrrrr! She was lost, irretrievably lost. There had been reports of young girls taken during the Norsemen’s increasingly frequent raids along the coast of the Empire, but Gerold had never thought, never imagined …
Joan! The thought struck him with the force of an arrow shaft, robbing him of breath. They had taken her too! Gerold’s disordered thoughts spun round, seeking another possibility, but found none. The barbarians had abducted Joan and Gisla, stolen them away to unspeakable horrors, and there was nothing, nothing he could do to save them.
His eyes fell on one of the dead Norsemen. He leapt off the bay, grabbed the long-handled ax from the dead man’s clenched hand, and began striking at the corpse. The limp body jumped with every blow. The golden helmet came off, revealing the beardless face of a young boy, but Gerold kept striking, raising the ax again and again. Blood spurted everywhere, drenching his clothes.
Two of his men moved to stop him, but Grifo held them back.
“No,” he said quietly. “Let him be.”
A few moments later Gerold released the ax and dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands. Warm blood coated his fingers, sticking them together. Sobs rose explosively in his throat, and he no longer tried to resist. Brokenly and un ashamedly he wept.
13
Colmar | June 24, 833
The Field of Lies
ANASTASIUS pulled aside the heavy curtains covering the opening of the Pope’s tent and slipped inside.
Gregory, fourth of that name to occupy the Throne of St. Peter, was still at prayer, kneeling on the silken pillows placed before the exquisite carved ivory figure of Christ that occupied the place of honor in his tent. The figure had survived the perilous journey over ruined roads and bridges, through the high and treacherous passes of the Alps, without a scratch. It gleamed as brightly here, in a crude tent pitched on this alien Frankish land, as it had in the safety and comfort of Gregory’s private chapel in the Lateran Palace.
“Deus illuminatio mea, Deus optimus et maximus,” Gregory prayed,