The Psalter (44 page)

The doctor uttered solemn words in Hebrew to Avraham, who ushered him to the door and thanked him, pressing coins into his hand. Then he padded to his own bedroom, peering in with his smiling, frizzy face.

“Come in,” Johanna groaned.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’m on a ship in the middle of a storm and I want to get off.”

“Could you eat some chicken soup?”

Johanna shuddered. “Don’t even mention food. What did the doctor say? Is it serious?”

Avraham petted her brow and smoothed the red hair that curled at her temples. “Indeed it is.”

“Am I to die?”

“On the contrary, no life is forfeit. One is to be given.”

Johanna looked at him, puzzled.

“You’re going to be a mother.”

As the anthology of letters and documents comprising the
Decretals of Isidore Mercator
was studied by experts, it was evident by the handwriting that they had been composed in Francia. In fact, specialists in monastic script pinpointed the exact location: the monastery of Corbie near Amiens.

Patriarchum
theologians noted that the one hundred letters, supposedly authored by popes and bishops during the first three centuries after Christ, gave the papacy absolute power. Nevertheless, it was just as certain that none of the letters had been written then. Each and every one had been penned in the last few years, and all of them at the Corbie monastery. And curiously, many of the passages resembled the writing style of the brilliant author and theologian, Abbot Paschasius Radbertus.

Tucked away in the collection of forgeries was perhaps to most brazen of the church’s fakes, the
Donation of Constantine
. The forged
Donation
conveyed colossal power to the papacy proclaiming, among other things, that the Bishop of Rome was Christ’s representative on earth and giving him dominion over
all the churches of God in the whole world.

Leo relied on the
Donation to
command that the title
Pope
would be reserved exclusively for the Bishop of Rome. Bishops the world over were confused, since they were already called pope, which simply meant father, by their congregations. Even priests were often dubbed popes. The Patriarchs of Alexandria and Africa and the Patriarchs of Antioch and Constantinople, also popes, protested the effrontery. Yet in each negotiation, Rome produced mountains of forged documents to support claims of primacy, so much so that for hundreds of years, the Roman Church was derided as the
Home of Forgeries
.

Archbishop John of Ravenna rankled at the exaggerated powers Leo granted himself based on a collection of dubious
Decretals
which had never before existed and had been assembled by a bishop who also didn’t exist. Naturally, he rebelled at his own diminished authority. After all, Leo was only the Bishop of Rome and had no sovereignty over any other bishop outside the Roman diocese. However, everything changed with the
Decretals
and the
Donation of Constantine
.

Accordingly, Leo and Benedict and Count Theophylact, accompanied by a cohort of soldiers, journeyed to the Italian capital with the intention of inspiring the Archbishop. The trip was successful, and Archbishop John submitted to the Holy will after Leo’s prayers and Theophylact’s display of military might. However, the exertion of travel had weakened the aging Leo. And far from calming rebellion, the Pope discovered that another archbishop, Hincmar of Reims, publicly proclaimed the
Decretals
to be obvious frauds and rejected not only their authenticity, but the absolute power they bestowed on the Holy See.

Hincmar bristled at Leo’s audacity and claimed the forged
Decretals
were blasphemy. He derided the worst of the one hundred forgeries, a letter attributed to Saint Ambrose, proclaiming that anyone who disagreed with the Holy See was a heretic. Such a profane belief would render the pope infallible. No bishop or cardinal or even lowly priest could accept such a preposterous premise. “Blasphemies like the
Decretals
cannot stand,” Archbishop Hincmar preached to his followers, “and such an obvious power grab is based on a pack of lies.”

Leo had no other choice but to embark once again on another holy pilgrimage supported by Theophylact and his troops, to the Frankish lands northeast of Paris to inspire Hincmar as he had John of Ravenna. The voyage to Reims in Lothair’s territory was much further than Ravenna, and the journey was made more grueling by the heat of the mid-July sun. Leo and his retinue had journeyed but three days when a courier galloped back to the
patriarchum
with an urgent dispatch. Pope Leo IV was dead.

What no one in Rome knew until imperial dispatches arrived from the Empire’s capitol in Aachen was that Emperor Lothair had fallen seriously ill. He commanded that no Papal Elections would be held until he recovered, upon threat of retribution. However, there would be no recovery. Two months and twelve days later, Lothair followed Pope Leo to his eternal reward. His son, Louis, the avenger of Lothair’s honor, now ruled the Holy Roman Empire.

Louis’ first order of business was the Papal election. “I shall allow no further shenanigans from Theophylact, nor permit the Roman nobility to thumb their noses at the Constitution,” he told his Queen, Engelberga, and his councilors. “The law will be enforced.” For the first time in many, many years, there was to be a lawful vote for the Holy Father.

41
Pope of the People

The patriarchum’s cardinal priests in their finest robes, emblazoned with red cinctures and scarlet skullcaps, assembled in the
piazza
in front of the Apostolic palace to pay homage to the newest Emperor and his Empress. The two senior clerics, old
vicedominus
Adrian and Archdeacon Nicholas, positioned themselves at their head. Even the Bishop of Albano, Benedict, was in attendance, although he had slunk to the back of the assembly.

Johanna stood in her rightful place next to Bishop Arsenius as thirty-year old Emperor Louis, dressed in tight stockings and a rich doublet of Imperial purple, rode by on a sleek bay stallion. At one side, the beautiful Queen Engleberga sat sidesaddle, garbed in a long, creamy gown gathered at her waist by a silver cincture. Golden curls flowed down her back. They were followed by a column of attendants, grooms, and a cohort of Imperial troops.

Behind the Imperial procession, hordes of commoners from the city trailed the elegant entourage. The assembled cardinals marveled at such pomp and richesse as the parade passed, but Johanna’s eyes were locked on the proud, triumphant return of the man in a cardinal’s robe riding at Louis’ other side, her own beloved Anastasius.

Louis dismounted and faced the assembly as grooms rushed forward to help the Empress step down. Louis motioned them aside and lifted her himself. Vicedominus Adrian genuflected, and the assembled clerics who ruled Christendom bowed. The show of obeisance pleased the young Emperor and he responded with a courtly wave.

Old Adrian padded unsteadily to Louis’ side and took his arm, leading him toward the open doors of the palace. The congregation of cardinals and bishops opened a pathway, and the three passed through. Johanna raised her eyes to gaze upon Anastasius and could not force the loving smile from her face. The anathemized cardinal turned his regard and reached out his hand but brought it back, reflecting instantly on the gesture.

The reception went on all afternoon with a sumptuous banquet and speeches promising fealty to the Emperor as well as Louis’ pledges of support for the church. Johanna ate modestly, having little appetite, which surprised Anastasius, for as he cast furtive glances her way, he was sure her thin frame had swelled. At long last, when all were sated from the meal and drowsy from the August heat and endless speeches, Louis proposed they adjourn. For on the morrow, Rome would name a new pope according to the constitution.

“Why did you not tell me you were with child?” Anastasius said as they lay together caressing and touching, locked in seclusion in Johanna’s apartment in the restored
schola cantorum
.

“Because you would have come back and risked your life and I couldn’t prevent it.”

“I missed this time with you while our child grew in your womb and it’s time I can never reclaim.”

“Our child will come whether you’re here or not. However, had you fallen into Leo’s hands or Theophylact’s, you might never have seen the babe, who would have been deprived of his father.”

“It will all be at an end soon. No one would dare harm me with Louis here. But do you not fear Theophylact and his men out in the Vatican?”

“I’m using the
schola cantorum
for my classes until the Borgo is rebuilt. Ahmad and the students protect me. Not a soul can pass who they don’t inspect, but what about you? Louis can’t stay here forever.”

“Too true, but he’s raised an army to defend the southern borders against the Saracens and assured me they will follow my uncle’s command. If God wills that I’m elected Pope, they’ll obey me. In any wise, the army has been ordered to safeguard me, and Louis shall make this known whilst he’s here. I’m back and I’ll never leave your side.”

“What am I to do? I thought about running away, for I fear the child is due soon. The cardinals believe I’m simply getting fat and indeed I am, but I still have work to do. My students need me.”

“Is it not time to end this charade and live the life you were born to, as a wife and mother?”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to teach nor learn, and I’ve even contrived to admit girls to the
schola anglorum
to receive an education without having to disguise who they are.”

“You’re living in a dream. God has protected you thus far, but it’s over. How can you hide a child?”

“I’ve given it much thought. I can give birth in the
Trastevere
, at Avraham’s. There are midwives aplenty and we could attend our babe secretly and…”

“Johanna, my love, it’s finished. Just as you would not risk my life, I wouldn’t endanger yours and the life of our child, as well. Johannes must leave forever. You may hide at Avraham’s until you bear the babe and your hair grows out. When you emerge from your confinement, however, you must don the clothes of a woman and be Johanna. We can be man and wife as it should be. I’ll bring books and scrolls to our home and you can read and study to your heart’s content, but Cardinal Johannes must be no more.”

Johanna sighed with resignation. “You’re right. I had hoped I might find a way to live in a man’s world, but I love you so much that I would now be a woman. The election is tomorrow, then Johannes will leave, never to return. Nevertheless, a movement is afoot to ban clerics from taking wives. You might be on shaky ground if you would marry me. Perhaps if you had a wife before you were pope, but to take one after?”

“I assure you it’ll never happen,” Anastasius said. “popes have wives, bishops are wed, cardinals and even the lowliest priests enjoy the sanctity of marriage. Why, old Cardinal Adrian has a wife, and a young one to boot,” he laughed out loud. “Such a thing will never become law and indeed the canons support no restriction. Anyway, no one will ever keep me from you, my dearest.”

Louis was determined the elections should be free and fair and all would have an equal voice as it had been for centuries and as the Constitution of 824 mandated. He further resolved that he wouldn’t leave Rome until he personally questioned the pope-elect and found him fit to ascend the throne of Saint Peter. And this time, he would post Imperial soldiers under command of the
missi
, Bishop Arsenius, to guarantee that no one would unseat the lawfully elected pontiff.

Imperial guards were stationed all around the courtyard of the restored Saint Peter’s, and Louis forbade the attendance of soldiers from the Roman nobility, especially Theophylact’s troops. “They may attend as citizens, for it’s their lawful right,” he told the heads of the noble families, “but they may not wear their uniforms or the crests of the clans they serve. Neither can they bear arms.” His sternness left no doubt he meant business. Theophylact bristled at the admonition, but there was naught to do but obey.

The sun rose large and warm on the autumn morn of the vintage month when grapes are harvested from the vines. Standard bearers claimed their space in the
piazza san Giovanni
, facing Empress Fausta’s old Lateran palace. Tall poles flew pennants emblazoned with family crests. The nobles crowded around their family’s flags near the doors of the Apostolic palace as lesser noble families moved to their positions behind. Lowly clerics, artisans, merchants, and freemen were relegated to their undistinguished sites at the rear of the multitude.

Count Theophylact had a chair placed in front of the stone steps where he might be seated during the ceremonies, a symbolic throne of defiance. He hated the low-lying Lateran, thinking the area unhealthy. “At least it’s not the middle of a malarial summer,” he groused. “If I must be here, I’ll be at my ease.”

Nevertheless, the rest of Rome was atwitter, anxious to catch a glimpse of the dashing emperor and his comely bride. Of course, they were just as excited to raise their voice for their candidate. This time, though, the citizens told themselves, neither Theophylact nor the Roman nobles nor even the cardinals would hijack this election. Commoners would have their say.

The doors of the Apostolic Palace opened and the towering Emperor robed in Imperial Purple, holding his Empress’s hand, guided the procession of cardinal priests onto the wide stone porch to the oohs and aahs from the crowd. Even the noble women could not restrain their exclaims at the sight of Empress Engelberga’s rich crimson robe trimmed in white ermine. At Louis’ other side stood Anastasius, evidence of Louis’ favor. He was every bit as tall as the Emperor, though not as broad.

Archdeacon Nicholas led the congregation in prayer asking God’s guidance and blessing on the elections. The stirring crowd fell into a solemn but uneasy quiet. The dais was turned over to Louis, who proclaimed in his deep voice that any Christian, even laymen, could be lawfully elected without regard to class. “I caution every man here,” he glowered at the still-seated Theophylact, “before the pope-elect is confirmed, he will swear an oath of allegiance to me as the constitution demands.” The sullen noble families grumbled. “People of Rome,” Louis said, “name your Holy Father.”