Pope Joan Read Online Free PDF

about. Better to keep talking, answering her questions, silly and childish as they were, until she tired of the game.
    “Thirty-three, the bishop said, the same age as Christ Jesus at His crucifixion.”
    “And when St. Catherine defied the Emperor, she was already admired for her learning, like the bishop said?”
    “Obviously.” Matthew was condescending. “How else could she have bested the wisest men in all the land in such a debate?”
    “Then”—Joan’s small face was alight with triumph—“she must have learned to read
before
she was a saint. When she was just a girl. Like me!”
    For a moment Matthew was speechless, torn between irritation and surprise. Then he laughed aloud. “You little imp!” he said. “So that’s where you were headed! Well, you have a gift for disputation, that’s for certain!”
    She handed him the book then, smiling expectantly.
    Matthew took it from her, shaking his head. What a strange creature she was, so inquisitive, so determined, so sure of herself. She was not at all like John or any other young child he had ever met. The eyes of a wise old woman shone forth from her little girl’s face. No wonder the other girls in the village would have nothing to do with her.
    “Very well, little sister,” he said at last. “Today, you begin to learn to read.” He saw the gleeful anticipation in her eyes and hastened to caution her. “You must not expect much. It is far more difficult than you think.”
    Joan threw her arms around her brother’s neck. “I love you, Matthew.”
    Matthew extricated himself from her grasp, opened the book, and said gruffly, “We will begin here.”
    Joan bent over the book, picking up the pungent smell of parchment and wood as Matthew pointed out the passage, “The Gospel of John, chapter one, verse one.
In principio erat verbum et verbum erat apud Deum et verbum erat Deus”:
“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”
    T HE summer and fall that followed were mild and fruitful; the harvest was the best the village had had in years. But in Heilagmanoth, snow fell, and the wind drove in from the north in icy blasts. The window of the grubenhaus was boarded up against the cold, snow drifted high against its walls, and the family stayed indoors most of the day. It was more difficult for Joan and Matthew to find time for lessons. On good days the canon still went on his ministry, taking John with him—for Matthew he left to his all-important studies. When Gudrun went into the forest to gather wood, Joan would hurry to the desk where Matthew bent over his work and open the Bible to the place where they had left off the previous lesson. In this way Joan continued to make rapid progress, so that before Lent she had mastered almost all of the Book of John.
    One day, Matthew withdrew something from his scrip and held it out to her with a smile. “For you, little sister.” It was a wooden medallion attached to a loop of rope. Matthew ringed the loop around Joan’s head; the medallion swung down onto her chest.
    “What is it?” Joan asked curiously.
    “Something for you to wear.”
    “Oh,” she said, and then, realizing that something more was needed, “Thank you.”
    Matthew laughed, seeing her puzzlement. “Look at the front of the medallion.”
    Joan did as he told her. Carved into the wooden surface was the likeness of a woman. It was crudely done, for Matthew was no woodworker, but the woman’s eyes were well made, even striking, looking straight ahead with an expression of intelligence.
    “Now,” Matthew directed her, “look at the back.”
    Joan turned it over. In bold letters ringing the edge of the medallion, she read the words “Saint Catherine of Alexandria.”
    With a cry, Joan clasped the medallion to her heart. She knew what this gift signified. It was Matthew’s way of acknowledging herabilities and the faith he had in her. Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said again, and