Pope Joan_ A Novel - Donna Woolfolk Cross [91]
But it was important that the papal mediation occur as planned. Negotiating with Gregory would allay the Emperor’s suspicions and distract his attention at this crucial juncture.
It would be judicious to offer Gregory some encouragement. “It is a great thing you do today, Holiness,” Anastasius said. “God will smile upon it, and upon you.”
Gregory nodded. “I know it, Anastasius. More surely at this moment than ever before.”
“Gregory the peacemaker, they will call you, Gregory the Great!”
“No, Anastasius,” Gregory reproved. “If I succeed in this day’s work, it will be God’s doing, not mine. The future of the Empire, upon which Rome’s security depends, hangs in the balance today. If we win through, it will be with His help alone.”
Gregory’s selfless faith fascinated Anastasius, who regarded it as a freak of nature akin to having six fingers on one hand. Gregory was a genuinely humble man, Anastasius decided—but then, considering his talents, he had every reason to be humble.
“Accompany me to the Emperor’s tent,” Gregory said. “I would like you to be there when I speak with him.”
Everything is going smoothly, Anastasius thought. When this was over, he had only to return to Rome and wait. Once Lothar was crowned Emperor in his father’s place, he would know how to reward Anastasius for the work he had done here.
Gregory went to the door of the tent. “Come then. Let us do what must be done.”
They walked out onto the open field crowded with the tents and banners of the Emperor’s army. It was hard to believe that by tomorrow morning the colorful riot of activity would all be gone. Anastasius tried to imagine the look on Louis’s face when he stepped outside his tent and found the quiet fields stretching bare before him.
Passing the royal guard, they arrived at the imperial tent. Just outside, Gregory paused to murmur one last prayer. “Verba mea auribus percipe, Domine …”
Anastasius watched impatiently while Gregory’s full, almost feminine lips soundlessly formed the words of the fifth psalm: “… intende voci clamoris mei, rex meus et Deus meus …”
Pious fool. At that moment Anastasius’s contempt for the Pope was so strong that he had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice respectful.
“Shall we go in, Sire?”
Gregory raised his head. “Yes, Anastasius, I am ready.”
14
Fulda
IN THE shadowy predawn moonlight, the brothers of Fulda descended the night stairs and walked serenely in single file through the inner courtyard to the church, their gray robes merging seamlessly with the darkness. The quiet slap of their plain leathern sandals was the only sound to break the profound silence; even the larks would not awaken for several hours. The brothers entered the choir and, with the sureness of long habit, moved to their assigned positions for the celebration of vigils.
Brother John Anglicus knelt with the others, shifting knees with practiced, unconscious movements to find the most comfortable place on the packed earth floor.
Domine labia mea aperies … They began with a versicle, then moved on to the third psalm, following the form laid down by St. Benedict in his blessed rule.
John Anglicus liked this first office of the day. The unchanging pattern of the ceremony left the mind free to roam while the lips mouthed the familiar words. Several brothers were already starting to nod, but John Anglicus felt marvelously awake, all senses quickened and alert to this little world lit by flickering candle flames, bounded by the comforting solidity of the walls.
The feeling of belonging, of community, was especially strong this time of night. Daylight’s sharp edges, so quick to expose individual personalities, likes and dislikes, loyalties and grudges, were submerged in the muted shadows and the resonant unison of the brothers’ voices, hushed and melodic in the still night air.
Te Deum laudamus … John Anglicus chanted the Alleluia with the others, their bowed, cowled heads