I played this character in Caryl Churchill's Top Girls and wrote this as a character study. Yes, it is supposed to be confusing: it's written in the style of William Faulkner (The Bear, The Sound and the Fury, etc.)
Because this is a very little-known story, I'll give a bit of background. Joan supposedly reigned as Pope for two years during the Middle Ages until it was discovered she was a woman when she gave birth to a baby in the middle of a papal procession (after which she and the baby were immediately dragged off and stoned). Her existence is widely refuted: the story first appeared in the 13th century, possibly to explain why the yearly papal procession no longer went down the street of La Papessa (where Joan supposedly gave birth) as well as the existence of the infamous "pierced chairs" on which the popes sat (so someone could reach up and check that they were men). It's most likely she never did exist, but it is an interesting theory to explore.
O Miseras Hominum Mentes
It was Rogation Day, and a larger crowd than before had gathered in the square. It was a testament to the people's love that they had all come despite the gathering clouds, though the day before it had been bright and sunny; yet they would not break tradition that had existed even since the height of the pagans, praying not to Robigo to protect their crops but rather the One God of the True Faith. And though darkness boiled above them, a small shaft slipped through the cracks, the fine powder dancing gold across the ruby that lay on her cold finger, blood spots playing on the cheeks of the crowd that were far less crimson than she.
It was two years past the time they had come to love her, but they could not know of the ultimate sin, of the deception that would lead to centuries without record until her bust appeared in the cathedral, that would forever stop any who after her held the Key from, in horror of the deed she had committed there, following her steps down the street of La Papessa, that forced her successors through the trial of the pierced chair where the red-robed humble servant squatted on his knees to reach and confirm to waiting chapel "Mas nobis nominus est," of the lie she had lived all her life from the time as a little girl she followed him faithfully away from all that she had known, her heart already then lost, knowing he could never see her as the woman she would never be as long as she clung to life and to the books that gave her solace and pride, whose dusty, yellow pages she adored and over which she carefully pored even as the moon was dim and whose mere existence was the key to the fulfillment of this desperate longing for the absolute truth.
They pressed against each other, drawing closer to observe for themselves the blasphemy that had occurred before their eyes as the holy body had seized and convulsed, staring with repulsion and horror at the twisted blue body that lay where it had fallen between the once-pure white robes, curled around itself with one limp arm angled as though it was trying to clutch onto the lifeline that could bring it back to Eden and its creator despite the futility of this hope, for man had been reaching for years, yet this creature had not even yet tasted of the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge though its creator had gorged, and it surely did not deserve the fate that had come upon it, but crimson judges disagreed, their heads to the sky and arms thrown in horror, "Diaboli! Diaboli,"
and she saw all this clearly and yet not so clearly, for initially all was black, but there appeared before her again a tiny pinprick of light, but she could not move, and she reached for familiar hands because though all around her believed that because of her sin none would come to lead her, but she had learned well from Scotus Erigena, for she knew that despite her great sin she would never join the Tempter in his infernal eternity but rather those hands would purify and lead her home in the height of apocatastasis, so she was not afraid, but as she reached she found no hands, but instead something pushed her forwards, and the more she tried to stay the harder it pushed, until she was hurtling towards the light as it grew closer and brighter and she burst once more into clarity, hearing the screams but seeing only the pitiful being she had cast from the garden, and all she wanted was
the banners they had carried from the inner city swirled together until they were a swirl of color, indiscernible to her fading eyes, but still they carried her on a journey, to the first festival she was ever allowed to attend, and she had worn skirts then, and there she had danced with him, and years later when she had forgotten what it was to let her hair down and twirl her skirts he would remind her of that first dance and how she could still feel, minding not her hair which would never again be as long as it was that first night nor her rough hands, callused from hours of pressing the ink and quill to her skin, nor the low voice that had sprung from her throat, for he was the only one who knew who she was, the only one who could know, yet despite this he had left her far too early, though not of his own volition and she did all she could do but He had loved him and deemed it time to take him back, and then she was forever alone, unable to speak, perhaps condemned already, but
dimly aware of each strike against her stained body, tethered to the poor beast whose gorgeous sweeping tail hairs could not possibly support her weight, but she did not care, she reached out for the blue creature that had lain at her feet, bound to it, and though she could no longer feel, pain and sorrow and terror racked her for she knew their bond had withered and she had failed, more sin than any of which she could be accused for there had been nothing more important but the people had cared more for the fruits of her labor, and she hoped her mother could forgive her for this abandon
And as she faded and the lights grew smaller, she knew that in the end she had achieved the absolute, for she knew now that John Scotus had been right, and she had the truth, and despite her sins she would see that blue creature again soon with all men and beasts and souls when they reached the ultimate harmony of His Kingdom. And she saw once more the swirling banners, and the love that had borne her to her place, and the laughing blue eyes of the boy who'd reminded her how to dance, and when she turned away and looked this time she saw the hands that she knew would be waiting for her when the time came, spread open, an Archaic smile; but she glanced once more to the people behind her, for she was sad for them, for they could never know truth, the minds of man so weak and hearts so blind,
"O miseras hominum mentes, O pectora caeca!"
"mas nobis nominus est" - our nominee is a man
"diaboli" - devil
"o miseras hominum mentes, o pectora caeca" - Oh minds of man so week, oh hearts so blind