Prologue
Rome, Italy – 857 CE
As the legend goes, the sedia gestatoria—a litter supporting the portable, red velvet papal chair adorned with flowers and garlands—was carried along the uneven cobblestone streets on the shoulders of the faithful palafrenieri, an elite group of Italian nobles in service to the Holy Father. The cheering crowds along the route gave way as the Easter procession of Pope John VIII and his entourage made its way up the Caelian Hill and on to the Lateran Palace, sanctuary of the papal residence and Apostolic offices.
The streets were lined with shops and market stalls selling everything from food and clothing to household goods and luxury items. The smell of roasting beef, freshly baked bread and aromatic spices filled the air, along with the pungent odor of animals, since vendors kept livestock close to their stalls, allowing them to ensure the freshness of their products, demonstrate their quality, and advertise their goods effectively to customers looking to purchase fresh meats slaughtered on site.
The palafrenieri had just guided the papal carriage through the Roman Forum and onto the famed Via Sacra when suddenly the pope, apparently in great distress, motioned for his entourage to stop and allow him to step down off the platform. The adoring throng surrounding him assumed he was stopping to embrace them and to give them his blessing. But that was not to be.
Clearly in anguish, the pope inexplicably began to mount one of the ceremonial horses prancing astride the procession, presumably to take off for someplace more quickly than the palafrenieri were able to take him on foot.
But his attempted mounting was unsuccessful, and he stumbled off the horse and down onto the cold cobblestones. Now wailing in pain, the pope lay down on his back, lifted his knees and spread his legs, pulled up his gown and, mere moments later—to the shock and horror of onlookers—the crowning of an infant’s head appeared from his nether region, followed immediately by the tiny body of a newborn boy.
The people, not understanding what was happening, were thoroughly confused. Why had the Holy Father hidden an infant beneath his vestments? they wondered. What was this curious vexation?
But then they witnessed the blood, the gush of amniotic fluids onto the cobbles, then the dark red placenta fell out, along with the umbilical cord attached from the child to its newly exposed mother.
Word spread quickly through the assembled crowd that Pope John’s gender was not that of a man at all, but of a woman! A female pope?! they murmured. The very thought was preposterous!
Angered by the obviously willful deceit, or worse, that this was the unholy work of witchcraft or even Satan, people began throwing stones at the pope and her child. Papal guards—who were as surprised as anyone—were still bound by their sacred duties, and took the pope and her child under their wings, whisking them back onto the litter and, in pell-mell fashion, raced as fast as the feet of the palafrenieri could carry them further up the hill and into the safety of the Lateran Palace.
Consequently, the papacy of “Pope Joan” was short-lived and shrouded in mystery, leading many to later believe that she never existed. The disgrace and humiliation it would bring to the Church should she be deemed a legitimate pope would be too great to bear, so for centuries the Church had shrouded her factual existence to that of being a myth, a legend, contrived by the centuries-old Order of Papal Guardians, a league of European nobles who to this day rejected the concept of Joan's legitimacy as pope.
* * *
Many Years Earlier
In the ninth century, England was divided into a number of different kingdoms, with the most powerful being the Kingdom of Wessex, ruled by the Anglo-Saxon king Alfred the Great. During this period, the relationship between England and the Vatican was shaped by a number of different factors, including politics, religion, and warfare.
The relationship between the Vatican and the English monarchy has been shaped by a series of significant events, but perhaps none as impactful as the arrival of St. Augustine of Canterbury in 597. Sent by Pope Gregory the Great, Augustine's primary mission was to convert the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity, a mission that heralded the beginning of a transformative epoch in England's history—its Christianization. As the Christian faith took root and grew over the centuries that followed, so too did the influence and power of the Catholic Church in England.Â
St. Augustine of Canterbury's arrival marked a major shift in the religious and social dynamics of England. Previously a largely pagan society, England was swept by a wave of Christian teachings and beliefs that were gradually assimilated into its social fabric. St. Augustine himself established the Archbishopric of Canterbury, becoming its first archbishop and paving the way for the central role this institution would play in England's religious, and subsequently political, life. The archbishopric would later act as a crucial bridge between the English crown and the Vatican, further intensifying their relationship.
The spread of Christianity in England wasn't seamless. As the Catholic Church extended its influence, it found itself in conflict with various elements of society, both domestically and abroad. One of the most significant external challenges to the growing Church came with the Viking invasions that began in the late eighth century and persisted throughout the ninth. These invasions marked a time of intense struggle for the Catholic Church and England as a whole.
The Vikings, originating from Scandinavia, were predominantly pagan, and they posed a substantial threat to the burgeoning Christian establishment. Their frequent attacks targeted Christian monasteries and churches, the symbols of the new faith, and the repositories of valuable religious artifacts and literate clergy. The assaults on these monastic sites not only resulted in physical destruction but also threatened the dissemination of Christian learning and culture that these institutions nurtured. Moreover, the Vikings' disregard for the sanctity of these religious sites challenged the authority of the Church and the monarchy that protected it, forcing them to develop new strategies to secure their positions.
These violent conflicts, however, weren't merely destructive. The Catholic Church, monarchy, and general population were forced to consolidate their beliefs and strengthen their defenses, thereby promoting a stronger sense of community and shared identity. This process ultimately contributed to the development of a more unified English nation under a Christian banner, further embedding the influence of the Catholic Church in the political and social life of the country.
As the Viking invasions tapered off towards the end of the ninth century, the Catholic Church, having weathered the storm, emerged more entrenched than before. The Church's survival and the sense of unity it helped foster among the population further solidified the English monarchy's relationship with the Vatican. This relationship would continue to evolve over the ensuing centuries, marked by a series of political and military conflicts, forming a complex and intertwined history between the Catholic Church and the English monarchy.
* * *
Likely seeking to evade the Viking incursions while bringing their message of Christianity to the European continent, the English missionary parents of Johanna, or Joan, Anglicus had moved from their ancestral home of Sherborne, England, to the fertile conversion grounds of Mainz, Germany, where Joan was born in 815.Â
Despite her humble origins growing up on a small farm, Joan had prepared herself well in life. An ambitious young girl, she developed an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and languages, both of which she ultimately mastered through as much schooling as was permitted women in the early ninth century, as well as by reading every book she could lay her hands on. In her teen years, she found furtive refuge in the local libraries of monasteries and institutions of learning, becoming proficient in Latin, Greek and German.
But the best educational opportunities were available only to men—men whose ambitions were to lead the world in all manner of occupations: educators and doctors, shipbuilders and shop merchants, and the more humble but essential vocations such as farmers, butchers, and carpenters, as well as those called to religious life.
Joan realized early on that to fulfill her desires to learn all there was to know, the norm would have to be different for her. The life of an uneducated woman doing what was expected of women then was unthinkable to her. She wanted far more out of life—but to do that, she would have to take drastic measures.
Among the top schools of learning in Germany at the time was the Benedictine’s Fulda Monastery, where more than anything Joan wished to study. But she knew that, as a girl, she would never be permitted enrollment or even visiting status at a monastic school.
One day as she was out walking, she encountered a young monk from the Fulda Monastery with whom she struck up a friendship. Sympathetic to her desire to learn, over time the monk had smuggled out various books and manuscripts from the monastery’s vast library for her to read. Her educational aptitude was insatiable; she simply could not acquire enough knowledge and, in time, became quite learned, improving her languages with earnest fluency and impressing those she encountered in all walks of life, who were surprised that a mere girl could know so much.
But Joan still deeply desired a more formal education, and in time, she and the monk hatched a plan for her to change her appearance to that of a boy, thus enabling her to at least be considered by the abbot for enrollment. Her hair was cut and shaped as a boy’s, and she adapted the deeper voice and more masculine gait of her male counterparts. The monk even provided her with one of his own brown, hooded woolen habits to mask her feminine attributes. And not long after, he introduced Joan to his superior at Fulda Monastery, Abbot Rabanus Maurus, as a childhood friend named “John” Anglicus.
Abbot Maurus was duly impressed with this new candidate for his monastic order, especially the “boy’s” remarkable facility in three languages at such a young age, an aptitude upon which the Benedictines were at the time placing great emphasis in expanding their mission.
And so, in short order, Brother John Anglicus took his probationary monastic vows as a Benedictine monk. Joan had made it, and as long as she hid her true self—not difficult to do in the sequestration of a chaste and solitary monastery—she would survive well, and learn.
As the years went by, such masculine adaptations had become so ingrained in her that, for all intents and purposes, she was recognized and accepted as a man by everyone she encountered.
* * *
Sometime in her twenties, Joan was drawn to Athens and the more expansive educational opportunities available there. In the early Middle Ages, Athens was controlled by the Byzantine Empire, and education was primarily focused on the study of classical Greek literature, philosophy, and history. The city attracted scholars and intellectuals throughout the Middle Ages, and Athens remained an important center of learning, with its ancient ruins and monuments continuing to inspire scholarship and intellectual inquiry.
By this time, Joan was successfully passing herself off as an English priest, Father John Anglicus. Her superb education was apparent even to the dimmest of those she encountered, so once again she had carved her way inside the male-dominated institutions of higher learning in Greece. She often spoke at assemblies and became a recognized authority on many topics—a master whom people in high places soon heard of but would not soon forget.
In 847, Joan, now in her early thirties, decided she wanted a deeper connection to the Church in Rome, and left Athens for the Eternal City. Already an accomplished teacher, she sought out and procured opportunities as an educator, orator, and tutor. Eventually word of her scholarship and achievements reached the ears of powerful men in the Church, and Father John Anglicus was soon invited to work inside the historic walls of Vatican City.
As a standout priest gaining broad respect from those with whom she worked and taught, Joan’s “Father John” persona had gained such accord that “he” was promoted to Cardinal John Anglicus a mere year later, while serving as personal secretary to Pope Leo IV.
In the heart of the Middle Ages, a profound narrative was unfolding, one that would send shockwaves through the annals of religious history. It was during this period that Joan, a woman of unparalleled intellect and charisma, was believed to have made a revelation that was as daring as it was unthinkable: She had taken on a lover.Â
The whispers around the Vatican corridors suggested that Joan's paramour was not just any man within the confines of the Holy City, but an influential cardinal. This man was believed to not only be aware of Joan's audacious masquerade, as a woman concealed within the vestments of a man, but he had actively nurtured and promoted it. The tale of their relationship was shrouded in a layer of mystery and intrigue, further fueling the rumors that swirled around the Holy See.
Pope Leo IV, the reigning pontiff of the time, had been suffering from a protracted illness. His health had been in decline, and his days were seemingly numbered. Finally, after a long battle, the Pope succumbed to his ailment and passed away, leaving the papal throne vacant and the Curia in a state of anticipation and apprehension.
Joan Anglicus was in an advantageous position during this transition. For nearly three decades, she had maintained her façade, living and working as a man within the walls of the Vatican. Her in-depth knowledge of Church and Curial matters was exceptional, and her intellectual prowess was widely acknowledged. Moreover, her affable nature and ability to navigate the complex webs of ecclesiastical politics had earned her widespread likability among the clergy and laity alike.
These factors, combined with her physical proximity to the papal offices and her alleged relationship with the influential cardinal, created a unique momentum in her favor. With a mix of awe and disbelief, the Cardinals gathered in Conclave to elect the successor to St. Peter's Throne, and Joan Anglicus, the woman who had been masquerading as a man for nearly three decades, was chosen. She ascended to the throne of the Catholic Church under the name of Pope John VIII.
Joan's ascension as Pope was a pivotal moment in the history of the Church, one shrouded in secrecy, intrigue, and scandal. Not only did it represent the culmination of her audacious masquerade, but it also marked a point of intense controversy that has stirred debate among scholars and theologians for centuries. Despite the many questions and doubts surrounding her story, Pope Joan's narrative continues to captivate and perplex those who delve into the complex and often mysterious history of the Vatican.
