The Betrayal

by W. Michael Gear

  “That is unfortunate. When the time is right, I’m sure you will discuss our Lord’s teachings with her.”

  “I’ll ponder the risk of a dagger between my ribs if we survive our current dilemma.”

  Libni gestured to the dark high-backed chairs around the table. “Sit. Tell me what brings you here.”

  Barnabas eased into one of the chairs and exhaled hard. “You’re looking better than I would have thought.”

  Libni seated himself at the end of the table. As he leaned forward to brace his elbows on the dark wood, his shoulder-length hair fell forward. His sparkling eyes were half insane, and filled with tears. “I dreamed you were coming. God told me to prepare for your arrival. I am so glad to see you.”

  “God told you?” Awe filled Barnabas, just like in the old days.

  “Oh, yes.” Libni looked around the cave. “Every stone here breathes the Word of God. What He did not tell me is why you were coming.”

  Barnabas leaned across the table to touch Libni’s hand. For several moments they just stared at each other. “I need your help.”

  “With what? Something in that old gazelle leather bag?” He gestured to the book bag resting on the far end of the table.

  “Partly. We are on a mission of great importance.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you remember the papyrus?”

  Libni’s smile faded. Despite the fact that they had translated hundreds of scrolls, codices, and fragments of papyri in their lives, there was only one that deserved a whisper. Libni took Barnabas’ hand in both of his and crushed his fingers. “You found it! Tell me you found it!”

  “No, no, I’m sorry to get your hopes up. That’s why I’m here.”

  Disappointment slackened Libni’s features, and his gray eyes flared as though in sudden understanding. “You’re in danger, aren’t you? Because of the papyrus?”

  “More danger than I can tell you. Some days ago a bishop from Rome came to our monastery to deliver the edicts of the Council of Nicea. That night, the monastery was attacked. The supper was poisoned. Everyone was killed, murdered because of the books. Two brothers and I—and Kalay—escaped down the Nile in her boat. I’m certain we’re still being followed.”

  “By whom?”

  Barnabas shook his head. “The name of the bishop from Rome was Meridias. Libni, if they’re terrified enough to kill dozens of innocent monks, they’ll do anything. After we leave, you should take precautions.”

  Libni cocked his head and gave Barnabas a singularly gentle smile. “I’ve been trying to die for more than twenty years, my friend, and God has not allowed it. I will, however, take precautions. Not for myself, but for the young men who have chosen to study with me.”

  “I was surprised to see the youths here. I thought you were a hermit?”

  “I was.” Libni shrugged helplessly. “Now I’m a teacher.”

  It must have been many years since anyone had visited Libni, let alone come to “study” with him, and the fact seemed to bring him great joy.

  He said, “I truly appreciate the lengthy conversations and even more lengthy scriptural readings my brothers and I share. I had forgotten the serenity of—”

  Uzziah and Tiras returned, carrying two plates heaped with bread, cheese, and jugs of wine surrounded by chipped ceramic cups. As they set them on the table between Barnabas and Libni, Tiras said, “Brother Barnabas, your companions are on their way. Is there anything else I might bring you?”

  “No, Tiras. Thank you very much.”

  Kalay and Zarathan emerged from the tunnel, and Zarathan’s nose started to wiggle. He almost ran across the room to plop himself down in the chair closest to the plates of food. Fortunately, he did not grab for anything, but peered at the feast like a predator about to pounce.

  Libni said, “Kairos,” and bowed his head.

  Barnabas and Zarathan joined him in praying. “Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amayne.”

  When he lifted his head, Barnabas found Kalay staring at him with a distasteful squint to her eyes.

  Libni said, “Here, allow me to pour the wine while you help yourselves to the bread and cheese.”

  Zarathan’s hand moved faster than a serpent striking. He had a slice of cheese in his mouth before Libni had even fully risen to his feet, and with his other hand was in the process of snatching a chunk of bread.

  Kalay, sounding a little bored, said, “I think you missed your calling, Zarathan. You should have been a pickpocket.”

  Around a mouthful of food, Zarathan slurred something unpleasant that sounded vaguely like “You ought to know.”

  Libni poured four cups of wine and handed them around the table, before he seated himself again, and noted, “I think that was an attempt to asperse your character, my dear.”

  “Oh, yes, sitting over there all the way across the table, he’s very brave. Unlike me. I won’t insult someone unless they’re close enough to knife.”

  That silenced the chamber. Every man stared at her as she nonchalantly ripped off a piece of bread, ate it, and washed it down with a long drink of wine.

  Once she’d swallowed, she said, “I hope Brother Barnabas told you that we’re being followed by crazed killers, and you might want to boot us out at first chance.”

  “Yes. He told me.” Libni nodded. “But who are these men? Surely, you have some notion?”

  Barnabas began, “They may be—”

  Kalay interrupted, “Devout men—probably spend their lives with their knees stuck to a floor—but they’re well-trained in the military arts. Likely they’re members of some secret organization mustered to protect the mysteries of your faith.”

  Surprised, Libni said, “Which organization?”

  “I suspect—,” Barnabas tried.

  Kalay interrupted again. “My guess is they’re Militia Templi. But they might be—”

  “Kalay, would you mind if I answer some of Libni’s questions?” Barnabas scowled at her.

  “Not a bit, brother.” She extended a hand, telling him to go on. “Assuming you don’t mince words in an effort to protect your holy brethren.”

  Barnabas sighed in irritation. “The one thing we know for certain is that they came from Rome with orders to burn all the documents recently declared heretical, and to kill anyone who’s ever read them.”

  Libni stared down into his cup, watching the candlelight reflect from the rich red liquid. “Strange.”

  “What is?” Zarathan took another bite of cheese. “That they came to burn the documents? Or kill anyone who’d read them?”

  “Well, I should think both. But that would suggest that they …”

  His voice faded, and Barnabas frowned. “That would suggest that they what?”

  “Hmm?” Libni gazed at him as though he had no idea what he was talking about.

  “You said that the fact that they would burn the documents, and kill anyone who’d read them, would suggest something … . What?”

  A breath of wind penetrated the cave and the flickering candles cast odd shadows over Libni’s intent face. In a voice just above a whisper, he said, “Did you know that I once killed a man?”

  Kalay and Zarathan both stopped eating and were regarding Libni with wide eyes. His devoted students, Uzziah and Tiras, appeared frozen with shock.

  “Libni,” Barnabas said soothingly. His old friend’s tormented expression broke his heart. “I was there. Of course, I know.”

  Libni wet his lips. “Were you?”

  “Yes, my friend. Don’t you remember? We sat for the longest time staring at the stars, talking about forgiveness.”

  Tears drained down Libni’s cheeks. “Oh, yes. Yes, now I recall.” He smiled his love at Barnabas. “How could I have forgotten? You helped me that terrible night.”

  Barnabas reached out to put his fingers on Libni’s threadbare sleeve. “God forgave you long ago, my friend. You don’t need to keep punish
ing yourself for it. Let it go.”

  As though he’d suddenly come back, Libni pulled himself up straight in his chair. “Since that day, I have believed that murder is grief taken to the extreme. It is a desperate act of bereavement. If these truly are Church-sanctioned killers, then what is the source of the bereavement? What loss does our Church fear so much it would resort to murder?”

  In a hoarse whisper, Barnabas said, “Have you heard about the declarations of the Nicean synod?”

  “We get very little news out here. What declarations?”

  “Libni, a synod of bishops just met in Nicea. They cast out the gospels of Maryam, Philippon, Thomas, and many other books, even the Shepherd of Hermas.”

  “But that’s absurd!” Libni exploded, half rising out of his chair. Just as suddenly he went absolutely quiet, and a foreboding stillness filled the cave, broken only by the spluttering of the candles. As he sank back down to his seat, he murmured, “Oh. Of course.”

  Zarathan glanced around at each person in the room, before he asked, “Why?”

  Libni stared straight at Barnabas. “It’s the fleshly resurrection and the virgin birth, isn’t it?”

  Barnabas replied, “They just decreed both to be fact and apparently consider them to be the two doctrines that will bind Christianity together.”

  Libni’s mouth quivered with rage or disgust. “You mean they think they need a few miracles for the masses, or they won’t believe our Lord’s teachings?”

  “I think so.”

  Libni squeezed his eyes closed.

  Uzziah and Tiras looked stunned that two old monks would dare to speak such heresy aloud. As they had during their time together in Caesarea, Libni probably said the Creed four times a day, and instructed his brothers to do the same. The youths had to be completely confused by the discussion.

  Libni opened his eyes and stared, unblinking, at the dark tabletop. “They have cast aside our Lord’s own words.” In a very small voice, he recited, “Truth is a life-eater.”90

  “They fear the Truth more than anything.” After several taut heartbeats, Barnabas continued, “That’s why they want to destroy the papyrus and anyone who has ever read it.”

  Candlelight glinted in Libni’s eyes as his gaze bored into Barnabas’. “If the fools think we understand it, they obviously give us more credit than we are due.”

  “We must try harder. Before it’s too late.”

  Libni took a long drink of his wine, set his empty cup down with a thud, and in a forlorn voice asked, “Do you really think they would destroy the Pearl?”

  “They must. You know it as well as I do.”

  Kalay sat forward. “You mean you know what the Pearl is?”

  Barnabas remained mute, staring at Libni.

  Libni’s gaze drifted over the arching stone ceiling, and moved silently from one overstuffed hole in the wall to the next. Finally, he grunted softly and rose to his feet, answering, “Well, let’s say we have a good guess.”

  “A guess? Killers are hunting you down over a ‘guess’?”

  Barnabas ran a hand through his dirty gray hair and sighed. “They don’t realize all we have is a guess, Kalay. I’m sure they think we know everything.”

  In an innocent voice, Kalay said, “Well, then, why don’t you just tell them you don’t know anything? Maybe they’ll stop trying to kill you. Did you ever think of that?”

  Barnabas gave her an annoyed look. “We don’t want them to know we’re as ignorant as we are. The more time we have, the more likely we are to decipher the papyrus.”

  She gruffly folded her arms. “You two have bishop potential.”

  Libni walked to a stash of scrolls. As though touching a frail and beloved child, he lifted one and brought it back to the table.

  He rested his hand protectively on top of it as he spoke. “There is a passage I’ve been meaning to write you about.”

  Barnabas could tell from the grave tone of his voice that it might refer to the papyrus. In a subtle gesture, he tipped his head toward Tiras and Uzziah. “What do you think?”

  Libni studied his students with moist eyes. “Tiras? Why don’t you take Uzziah and lay out blankets for our guests. After that, please retire to the reading cave and study the Acts of John. Pay particular attention to the passages regarding our Lord’s suffering. We will discuss them tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Abba Libni,” Tiras said, and turned to the table. “Peace be with you, brothers and sister.”

  “And peace be with you, Tiras and Uzziah,” Barnabas responded. Between chews, Zarathan echoed his words. Kalay gave them a saucy wink.

  Both youths looked horrified, and left.

  Barnabas and Libni next turned and peered at Kalay. She understood immediately and pursed her lips as though she’d just eaten something sour. “Well enough. I didn’t want to hear your prattle anyway. I’ll go and wait for Brother Cyrus to return.”

  She rose and strode into the tunnel that led outside.

  Barnabas looked back at Libni, who softly added, “I think perhaps we should talk alone, just the two of us.”

  Zarathan, who had a mouthful of bread, choked it down. “But I know all about the papyrus! I helped translate some of the words.”

  Barnabas nodded obligingly. “Yes, you did, and I was grateful; but Libni and I have many things to discuss. The papyrus is only one of them. Perhaps it would be better if you waited outside with Kalay. That way, when Cyrus returns, you can lead him here to this chamber and we’ll all discuss the papyrus together.”

  “Kalay could do that just as well as me.” Zarathan angrily shoved back his chair, grabbed another chunk of bread, and stalked from the room.

  Libni watched the retreat with kind eyes. “Pride is his greatest obstacle.”

  “As I’ve told him many times.”

  “How long has he been a monk?”

  “Three months.”

  Barnabas lifted his cup and took a sip of wine. He could feel Libni’s eyes upon him, heavy with the weight of their next words.

  Libni waited until the voices in the outer cave had faded before he whispered, “How many of the Occultum Lapidem are left?”

  “The two of us, and I pray that Symeon is still alive in Apollonia.”

  Libni petted the scroll that lay upon the table. “Barnabas, I believe I may have found the answer in the Gospel of Nikodemos.”

  “Nikodemos? But I’ve read it a thousand times. Where? What verses?”

  “The story of Yosef Haramati.” He used the man’s Hebrew name, rather than the more familiar Greek, Ioses of Arimathaia. “Do you remember? After he placed our Lord’s body in his garden tomb, Annas and Kaiaphas were enraged. They ordered him arrested. While they discussed his fate, they imprisoned Yosef for a week in a room without a window.”

  “A room with one door, to which Kaiaphas had the only key.”91

  “Yes.” Libni’s voice was a hiss in the stillness.

  For a few brief moments, Barnabas could hear the ocean. Waves crashed upon the shore, and he wondered if a storm had arisen.

  “What else, Libni?”

  “When Kaiaphas unlocked the door on the first day of the week, the room was empty. Yosef was gone.”

  “Yes, yes. I know all that. What does the story have to do with—”

  “Don’t you see? The priests went searching for Yosef after Phinees, Adas, and Angaeus came from the Galilaian to Jerusalem, and told the high priests, ‘We saw Yeshua and his disciples sitting upon the mountain of Mamlich.’ They thought he was alive! They said, ‘Give us Yosef Haramati and he will give you Yeshua.’ They truly believed that Yosef knew where our Lord was and would betray him. But they found Yosef’s prison empty!”

  Libni’s face was alight. He was relating the story as though it had just happened days ago, rather than centuries.

  Patiently, Barnabas inquired, “What does that have to do with the papyrus?”

  Libni leaned forward until his nose was less than a cubit from Barnabas’ face. In a win
e-scented whisper, he said, “Yosef had spent that entire week on the run, he—”

  “Libni, I’ve read the Gospel of Nikodemos. Papias reports this same story, with a few variations, in his Logia. What does it have to do with the papyrus?”

  “Oh, Barnabas,” he said with true amusement and joy. “You’re going to be so surprised when I tell you—”

  Voices rose in the next chamber, followed by footsteps in the tunnel. Kalay ducked into the chamber, then Zarathan and Cyrus followed.

  The wind must have picked up, for Cyrus’ black curly hair had been blown back from his bearded face, making his straight nose seem longer, his eyes more like hard, shimmering emeralds.

  “Cyrus,” Barnabas introduced, “this is my friend Libni. He is a great scholar of the ancient texts.”

  Cyrus came around the table and bowed to Libni. His once white robe, torn and streaked with dirt, old blood, and soot, clung to his tall body. “Brother, thank you for sheltering us tonight. I promise we will be gone before dawn.”

  Libni placed a gentle hand on Cyrus’ bowed head. “You must sit and eat to restore your strength for the long journey ahead. Please, let me pour you some wine.”

  Cyrus cast a glance at Barnabas, as though he could shed light on the “long journey” comment.

  Barnabas merely said, “Sit down, Cyrus. I’ll explain soon. What did you find outside?”

  Cyrus took a chair and reached for the loaf. As he tore off a chunk, he said, “I scouted the area. While I saw no one, there are tracks everywhere. I could make no sense of them, which means I have no idea if we are safe or not.”

  Libni spilled some wine on the table beside Cyrus’ cup and, as he wiped it up with his sleeve, said, “Of course there are tracks everywhere. The coastline is a major thoroughfare. Fishermen, traders, merchants, even whole caravans move up and down the length of it.”

  Libni finished filling every cup on the table, including his own, and eased back down to his chair. When he looked again at Barnabas his gray eyes had a curious glitter.

  Barnabas, exasperated, said, “Libni, just quickly give me a clue. Then we’ll open the discussion to everyone else.”

  Libni sat back in his chair. “Do you know what mahanayim means?”