The Psalter (45 page)

Before another candidate could be put forward, however, Louis nominated Cardinal Anastasius. Laymen and common priests cheered, but the assembled cardinals behind the Emperor murmured protests that he had been anathemized. “I said any man,” Louis scolded them even louder. The crowd clapped to show their approval.

Count Theophylact rose and the multitude hushed to deathly silence as he climbed a few stone steps toward the Emperor, then turned to face the throng. He raised his arms wide like a Roman orator of old. “In the name of our ancient families, I nominate Cardinal Adrian.” The assembly nodded in agreement, whispering that old Adrian was indeed an honorable and pious priest and would make a good Holy Father, even if he was a noble.

Adrian stepped away from his cardinal brethren and walked to the Emperor’s side. He bowed to Louis and then the assembled Romans. “I thank the count for the honor. Nevertheless, as I have done in the past, I decline. His Holiness should be one greater than I. I possess neither the wisdom nor the strength to lead the church.” He turned and padded back to his place.

Theophylact seemed to have divined that Adrian wouldn’t accept. “In that case,” the count said, “I’m left with no other choice but to nominate a learned priest of experience and wisdom from the most noble family of Tusculani, brother of a pious pope who governed well during the Pope’s illness. I name the Bishop of Albano, Benedict, as our man.”

The assembly protested with hisses and shouts of “fie” and “villain”, but they were quieted by the Emperor’s raised hands. “Citizens, citizens, please. I said any man can be nominated. Let your vote be your protest. So, good people of Rome, I’ve appointed my candidate and the noble families of Rome have named theirs. It’s for you to select the people’s choice. If you please, you may choose as many as you desire.”

Commoners in the swarm behind the nobles disputed together as names were put forward, only to be cast aside. John Hymonides was proclaimed and his name repeated by many in the crowd. Heated discussions grew into arguments as a cleric was championed by some and rebuffed by others. Then a name began to be shouted at one end and another, from the back and also the middle. Cries of agreement resounded as the people roared with a single voice, “Johannes, Johannes, Johannes!” Farmers chanted Johannes’ name as a battle cry, as did artisans and students and merchants. Even the Jews who had no vote raised their voices. Minor nobles who sent their children to the
schola anglorum
took up the cheering, along with guards of the foreign
scholae
. Even some from the noblest families shouted Johannes’ name.

Theophylact leapt from his chair, furious, and urged the Tusculani and Crescentii to proclaim for Benedict as he waved his arms upward, signaling they should raise their voices. Nevertheless, the sheer volume of assent for Johannes drowned out the nobles and no sound was heard from beneath their bright blowing pennants. Seeing the overwhelming support for this unknown Johannes, the Emperor did not bother to encourage his loyalists or even his troops to claim for Anastasius. The election was over.

The multitude’s shouts softened as voices grew hoarse. Louis finally raised his hands to silence the gathering. “Romans, you have spoken, and I acknowledge your choice. Send forth this man so I may question him to satisfy myself that he meets the requirements according to the constitution.”

People looked at one another and behind until a shout from the farthest edge of the horde said, “Make way. He’s here.” The sea of Romans separated from back to front, leaving an aisle in their middle that led to the steps of Saint John’s, just as the sea had once parted for the fleeing Israelites. At the far end stood the small priest with a protruding belly, accentuated by the red cincture of a cardinal.

Johanna’s first impulse was to run, but she was transfixed. “Father,” came a voice from the crowd. “Holy Father, they’re waiting.”

As though in a dream, Johanna fixed her eyes on Anastasius, who stood tall on the Basilica’s porch. She took a single pace forward, then another and another. “Holy Father,” people whispered reverently as she passed and they touched her wide sleeve. Arriving at the base of the steps, a scowling Theophylact stood in her way for a moment. Then he turned aside, allowing the Cardinal to climb.

“Can one so young be wise enough to be Pope?” Louis marveled.

Archdeacon Nicholas answered the Emperor as Anastasius looked on, flushed and visibly distressed. “Father Johannes is the cardinal priest of the Apostolic farms and has been with us many years, Highness.”

“So this is the priest who worked miracles with the farms, like Jesus feeding the multitudes; the one I met on the plain with Anastasius who saved Deacon John from an untimely death.”

Johanna bowed her head, blushing and mute.

Nicholas added, “And it was he who rescued our few scriptures from the Saracens. He teaches the poor along with the rich, instructing even girls in his classes.”

Empress Engleberga squeezed Louis’ arm.

“From which noble family do you hail?” Louis asked.

“I’m not noble, sire,” Johanna said humbly.

“Surely you must descend from an ancient Roman family.”

“No, sire. I’m an Englishman.”

The Emperor looked surprised. “Can it be possible Rome would elect a foreigner as pope? Are we entering a new age or are you so remarkable, Johannes Anglicus?”

“I feel rather ordinary, Highness, quite unworthy.”

“Well spoken, but can you swear allegiance to me and obey the constitution of the Empire without reservation?”

Johanna pondered the question, which was more of an unspoken demand. “Our Lord taught us to give to Caesar what is his. I can do no less. Still, I must tell you that I could not put you above our Lord and our God.”

“Nor would it be required of you.” Louis searched Johanna’s face, looking for any hint of deceit. Then he proclaimed, “I find Johannes Anglicus to be more than worthy. The Empire finds him exemplary. Turning to Johanna, he said respectfully, “I will await you at the Papal Palace in the Lateran with the mitre and crook. There I shall confirm you as pope of the universal church.”

42
Anastasius

Why did I let things go so far?” Johanna whimpered as Anastasius held her tight in her apartment in the
schola cantorum
.

“I’m as much to blame. I should’ve taken you away and we could’ve been together in Chiusi or anywhere in the world,” Anastasius said.

“I was blinded by pride. I believed I was better than everyone else and could change the church.”

“You’re guilty of no such thing. Only you could have accomplished what you did, but the price is too high.”

“What am I to do? Do you think I might actually be the Holy Father?”

“No one would be greater, but what about us and our child? Come, sit and rest.” Anastasius helped Johanna ease onto a chair. “Is it so important to be Pope?”

“I never desired to rule anything, least of all the church. Oh, I’m so anxious, my guts are twisted in knots and the spasms make me ill. I think I’m going to be sick.” Johanna leaned back in the chair and held her convulsing belly.

An insistent rap came from the door. “Yes?” Johanna called, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Who is it?”

“It’s Ahmad, Cardinal Johannes. May I come in?”

Anastasius slid the bolt and pulled the door open.

“The cardinal priests wait for you outside,” Ahmad said to Johanna.

“Already?”

“They say the time has come to accompany you to the
patriarchum
for your coronation.” Ahmad turned to Anastasius. “I’m also to tell you that you may not join them and neither may you enter the basilica, for you’re anathemized.”

Anastasius took Johanna by the arms as she rose from the chair. “Don’t do this, I beg you. Let’s flee now.”

“Cardinal Anastasius is right, Lady,” Ahmad said. “If you go down this road, you won’t be able to turn back. I’ll make an excuse so you can have a head start. But you must leave.”

“Not just yet.” Johanna set her jaw. “First, I’ll wear the Mitre.”

“I’m begging you,” Anastasius said.

“Don’t you understand? As Pope, I can remove your anathema. And I’ll have the horrid fresco in Saint Peter’s wiped clean. Then we can decide how we shall leave Rome.”

“I don’t care about the anathema or the excommunication. Let Uncle Arsenius or Louis handle that.”

“I’ll not leave while you’re condemned to the fires of Hell. I won’t ever be separated from you again. Not in this life or the next.”

Johanna left Anastasius and Prince Ahmad standing in the doorway of the
schola cantorum
as she took her place at the head of the procession of the archbishops, bishops and cardinal priests. Nicholas and Adrian held the reins of a donkey. Johanna needed their help climbing on. They led her down the Vatican Hill, across the Tiber, and into the streets of Rome, followed by a solemn parade of red-cinctured cardinals, hands tucked into their wide sleeves. Bishop Benedict trailed at the end, haughty and sullen on a high-spirited white stallion.

Anastasius confronted Ahmad. “How did you know Johannes was a woman?”

“How is it that all of Rome does not?” Ahmad grabbed his leather satchel from the foyer and headed to the door.

“Where are you off to?” Anastasius asked.

“To find Baraldus. Maybe he can talk some sense into her.”

“What shall I do?”

“Pack your belongings. I’ll send word to you.”

The citizens of Rome laid palm fronds on the road in front of the new Holy Father and tossed handfuls of rose petals as Johanna passed on her plodding donkey. The procession climbed the Capitoline Hill toward the ox pasture that was once the Forum. Crowds of Romans lined streets and leaned out windows to catch a glimpse of the Pope. Shouts of, “Bless you, Holiness,” resounded off brick walls and mixed with the monotone chanting of the cardinals.

Johanna looked neither right nor left as the donkey clip-clopped into the multitude that swarmed at the Coliseum. She thought only of righting a terrible wrong, and how she might then escape her preposterous dilemma.
Perhaps I can feign death
, she told herself.
If I simply disappeared, would they proclaim it a miracle, claiming I had ascended to heaven? Or would they think I’d been kidnapped? Maybe they’d blame Theophylact and his spell over Rome would be broken
.

She was oblivious to the horde of commoners that pressed on either side to touch the hem of her robe with whispers of, “Bless me, Holiness.” Nicholas and Adrian led the donkey into a narrow lane that led to Saint Clement’s Church. “Ow!” Johanna gasped as a biting pain wracked her belly.

“What’s wrong, Holy Father?” Archdeacon Nicholas reined the ass to a halt.

Johanna held her middle. “It’s nothing,” she grimaced. “Continue on to the
patriarchum
and quickly
.
”

“Holy Father, we should find a doctor,” Nicholas said.

“Go on, I say. My discomfort is passing.”

They urged the donkey forward, but had only walked fifty paces when Johanna was gripped again by spasms. She rocked back and forth on her humble mount, groaning in agony. “Help me off.” Nicholas and Adrian supported her weight as she slid down the donkey’s side.

“Sit against the wall in the shade,” Nicholas said and they lowered Johanna to the cool stone, out of the sun. Cardinals crowded around their suffering pope. Fear clouded their faces. Tears glistened on some.

“Fetch a physician,” Adrian called out.

“There’s no need I say.” Johanna tried to sound calm between the convulsions. “The pain is passing.” Then she gasped as fluid seeped from her body and trickled onto the cobblestones. Panicked cardinals looked on, horrified.

“The Pope is dying,” a shout came from one of them. People hanging out of the apartments overhead screamed and begged, “God, don’t take our pope from us.” The crowd of clerics prayed and shouts of “send for a doctor” echoed up and down the lane.

Johanna told herself that she would rise and run, but was powerless. An overwhelming force glued her to the ground in the narrow street. Thoughts of being Pope and how she might escape had gone. A voice in her head whispered,
Soon, all Rome will know the truth and I’ll be disgraced, humiliated. I don’t care
, she agonized,
but please God don’t make me deliver my child alone
.

“Eeee!” She screamed and spread her legs wide as she felt the unborn babe force its way from her womb. She sobbed, “Do what you will with me. I don’t care, but save my baby.” A tiny head appeared between her thighs.

Gasps came from the cardinals and the group who had pressed in to gawk. “It’s a miracle,” shouted one of the women, staring down from an open window. “God gives us another Holy Child.”

The crowd of cardinals was pushed aside by a white steed as Benedict forced his way between them. “It’s no gift from God,” he said. “Johannes is a demon, a succubus. Observe how he has changed into the guise of a woman.” He hopped off the stallion and jerked up her robe to reveal the half-born babe. “This is his wicked spawn with some unwitting priest, or Satan himself.”

The cardinals recoiled in unison. They held up their crosses to ward off the evil. “It’s true,” one of them said. “Johannes has been possessed. Here’s the evidence of his sin.”

Johanna grunted, breathless and flushed as the babe was born on the hard cobbles. The crowd looked on bewildered as she lifted the newborn from the stone and pressed it to her breast. “I’m no demon,” she whispered. “I’m a woman. I’ve always been a woman.”

“He lies,” Benedict said. “By who are you with child?”

Johanna shook her head.

“Even now he keeps the secret of his evil master. He must be destroyed and his offspring too, lest their evil infect us all.” Benedict grabbed a stone and held it over his head.

“Don’t do this,” old Adrian said, but Benedict pushed him aside, knocking him to the pavement. His eyes blazed in a lethal mix of fear and hatred as he launched the stone. Johanna rolled on top of her child as the missile thumped between her shoulder blades. An onlooker scooped up a piece of brick and cast it too. The pitch was true and split the back of her head. Blood seeped down the nape of her neck. Bystanders scoured the ground for rocks and stones and hurled them upon the helpless woman. Her body shook from every blow.