The Psalter (6 page)

“If blame is to be assigned, it’s mine and mine alone.” Anastasius paused for a moment. “Perhaps in the future, you’d do well to question the boy before you deliver one of your famous blows. You’re right to command obedience, but you don’t know your Lombard strength.”

“Forgive me,
primicerius
.” Baraldus hung his head, which made his double chin bulge.

“I won’t say you were wrong, but I cannot say you were correct, either. I simply beseech you to meditate on your violence.”

Baraldus covered his face with his hands in shame. “Give me a heavy penance.”

“You need not atone for my carelessness. Go in peace that I may speak with our insubordinate young brother who evidently reads ancient Greek.”

“I should retrieve the other scrolls before they’re destroyed, shouldn’t I?”

Anastasius pondered the question. “Of course. Leave them in the antechamber and I’ll be more vigilant.”

Baraldus pushed his bulk off the floor and backed out of the
scrinium
, bowing up and down like a child’s toy.

The
primicerius
returned to his seat behind the lectern. “Sit down,” he said to the novice. The boy pulled up a cross frame chair and slouched sullenly before the master of the archives. “What’s your name?”

“Johannes.”

“Indeed. Well, learned novice, I think you have a story to tell.”

“Sir?”

“How can one so young read Koine Greek, the dialect of the Holy Scriptures?”

“Shouldn’t we speak about the scroll of Matthew?” The boy’s sullenness changed to fervor in a flash.

“So we shall, my impetuous friend, for it holds great import and perhaps greater consequence for you. First, please try to reply to at least one question.” The
primicerius
smiled, and his words held no threat.

“Of course, Father. I learned Greek in Athens, where I studied before coming to Rome. Athens isn’t the seat of learning it was a thousand years ago, but the city still has brilliant philosophers and mathematicians from the world over.”

“You’re full of surprises,” the librarian beamed. “We don’t often receive a novice into the church with such an education. What else have you learned?”

“I speak Latin, of course, and German since I was raised in Mainz. I spoke English at home because my parents are from Engla-lond and only traveled to Germany to convert pagans.”

“That would account for your fiery hair, my young Englishman.” Johannes blushed at the reference and smoothed the back of his red tangle. “Is that all?”

“I can also read Aramaic,” Johannes said.

“The language of our Lord! How came you by this knowledge?”

“It was commonly taught in Athens since it was needed to translate many Old Testament scriptures.”

The
primicerius
leaned back in his chair, touching his fingertips together in an arch. “To my recollection, I’ve never met a novice with an education such as yours. Yet we have you laboring all day, up to your elbows in lye.”

“I don’t mind. I’m a hard worker.”

“You’re an opinionated laborer.”

“I believe it’s wrong to destroy any work of knowledge.”

Anastasius nodded, understanding. “I used to feel as you, Johannes. I spent many days of my youth rubbing out works of antiquity. The worst is recognizing the genius required to create such books. My passion is Greek history, and when I think of the countless chronicles destroyed because it’s cheaper than making new parchment, well, I, too, had many dark days. Nevertheless, we put the pages to good use in the writing of prayer books, our Psalters. Noble ladies have developed a passion for the Psalms, and we can hardly make enough to keep Rome supplied. The commerce earns the church a tidy income.”

“Would you destroy priceless histories for mere money?” Johannes raised his voice.

“The church has just and good reasons to expunge some writings. Come here. I want you to translate a passage.” Anastasius pointed to the scroll on the slanted lectern from which he had been reading. “The first verse.”

Johannes started slowly so his translation would be precise. “
In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judaea, and saying, repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand
. The words are from Matthew, the same as the one I erased.”

“Correct, and your translation is precise, but didn’t you notice something out of place?”

The novice furrowed his brow. He re-translated the verse in his head, positive he hadn’t erred.

“Focus on the chapter,” Anastasius said.

Johannes didn’t understand at first, then his eyes widened as he spotted the omission. “They’re missing.”

“They?”

Johannes studied a few moments more. “The first two chapters.”

“Quite right. You’re not only a linguist, but you know the scriptures.”

The novice puffed out his chest with pride. He had always been the best student in his classes in Athens. Now, he had received his first words of praise in Rome from the man who was renowned as the Western World’s greatest expert in ancient Greek. Then Johannes appeared confused. “Why would scribes copy Matthew and leave out chapters?” Before the prefect could answer he added, “Are all the scrolls brought to me to erase the same?”

“Yes.”

Johannes smirked as he said, “What a colossal blunder.”

“It was assuredly no mistake. The chapters were left out by design. Do you recall which story they told?”

Johannes put one hand on his chin, mumbling barely audible words, “The lineage of our Lord and his birth, and Joseph and Mary fleeing to Egypt.”

“Correct again! But did I hear you recite Matthew from memory?”

“In a way.”

“How can one so young quote the scriptures by heart? Is your recollection that prodigious?”

“It’s not remembering really, more like seeing.”

“I don’t take your meaning,” Anastasius said.

“Well, I can’t remember everything. For instance, I couldn’t tell you who sat next to me at Vespers last night or what we ate at the noon meal on Tuesday. But if I’ve read something and need to recall the words, I simply look at the page in my mind.”

“Indeed, I’ve heard of this thing. A century ago, a monk in the monastery at Monte Cassino was said to possess such a memory, but in truth, I believed the story an exaggeration.”

“It seems normal to me, yet I realize it’s not. But pray tell, why would anyone care about our Savior’s ancestors?”

“Some things they didn’t teach you in Athens. The story of the virgin birth shows the divinity of Jesus since God was his father.”

Johannes looked disappointed. “Everyone knows that.”

“Perhaps in our world they do, yet it was not always so. These scrolls were no
blunder
as you presumed, nor were they an accident of overworked scribes. They were created by a group of ancient heretics we call Ebionites, from the Hebrew word
ebionim
meaning the poor ones. We like to think of them as poor in spirit.”

“Such a translation is a stretch,” Johannes said. “Even our Lord could be called
ebionim
, since he was poor as well.”

Anastasius smiled. “Like you, I think our rendition includes some editorializing and reflects our abhorrence of their heresies.”

“But look at the writing.” Johannes pointed at the Greek letters. “It’s very old, and if the words were written by Jews, were they not the first Christians, even before gentiles? Could these scrolls be older than our Gospels?”

“Are you here to convert the
primicerius
of the archives to this heresy, or do you follow the teachings of the church?”

The young novice hung his head. “Forgive me, Father. It’s a bad habit I learned in Greece, to argue every point. I swear I’m a faithful follower of the universal church, and I submit to her teachings.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I merely wish to make a point. You may discuss with me what you will in the privacy of my cell, but if you would become a priest in the order of Saint Benedict, I beseech you to suppress your arguments. I assure you that because of your learning and young age, you’ll incur the jealousy of many brothers. Give them no reason to condemn you.”

Chastened, the novice said, “Of course, Father. Thank you for your counsel.”

Anastasius waved his arm, motioning to the scrolls and heavy volumes stacked on shelves in the room. “This is the accumulation of the world’s knowledge about our Lord. I have the advantage of access to everything here. Believe me when I say there are few texts, gospel or heresy, that I haven’t read. I know the story of the Ebionites and I, too, wrestle with it. They deny the divinity of Christ yet still claim Him as the Messiah. They reject the virgin birth and avow that Jesus was adopted by God. And there are many other heresies in the
scrinium
. All of this I keep to myself and I counsel you, Johannes Anglicus, to do the same.”

“These scrolls of Matthew that we destroy, are they the scriptures of the Ebionites?”

“Indeed. Now you understand why the account of the virgin birth is missing,” Anastasius said.

“So that I may know for myself since we’re alone in your cell, did the Ebionites remove the chapters, or did the church add them later?”

“You must decide for yourself and not even I can tell you, for I don’t know. Perhaps one day, you will be the one who finds the truth.”

“I?” Johannes arched his eyebrows.

“Yes, you. I now grasp the depth of your knowledge and I believe you would use such wisdom prudently.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“You may or may not thank me once you hear my request. I want you to assist me in the
scrinium
, the Holy Archives. You already speak more languages than anyone in Rome. You have a remarkable understanding of the scriptures, and I think you have the good sense to keep your scholarship to yourself. Do I read you rightly?”

The boy could scarcely believe what he was hearing. The newest of novitiates, he had hoped he might be allowed to study after a few years of menial labor. Yet it had only been a month and he was asked to assist the
primicerius
of the
scrinium
in the capital of Christendom. Tears welled up in his eyes, “Of…of course I’ll work for you.”

“Dear Johannes, I’m not asking you to work for me. I want you to assist me as my
secundarius,
the vice-prefect.” The boy’s jaw dropped. “You shall take over the task that I now perform. It will be you who decides which texts to expunge, leaving no trace of them, and which to archive for posterity. So consider well, because the responsibility for the destruction of these scrolls shall be yours and yours alone. Is this a commission you can accept?”

Johannes only now realized what Father Anastasius asked of him. The words would still be erased, but he would be the one to silence their authors, forever. The boy hung his head. “Yes, Father, I’ll do it.”

7
Parchment

October in the Year of Our Lord 843

Father Baraldus stood at Johannes’ desk tapping his heavy, sandaled foot, occasionally blowing out a breath of exasperation from his round cheeks. “Please,
secundarius
, the novices have no work. The scribes in the
scriptorium
will soon be out of parchment and they’ll blame me. You must come to a decision.”

“Yes, I know.” A stout worktable in the
scrinium
held two piles of scrolls, a large pyramid-shaped stack and a much smaller one. “But please don’t call me
secundarius
.”

“What shall I call you? You’re so young that I’d be embarrassed to call you Father.”

“Johannes will suffice.”

“I cannot. You’re a superior and I must show respect for your position, although you’re just a young man, if that. I dub you Brother, for I can think of you as my younger, most learned brother, but only in private. In public, you’re the
secundarius
.”

Johannes rolled his eyes.

“But please, Brother,” Baraldus said, “we need parchment. We can wait no longer.”

The red-haired youth resigned himself to the fate of the scrolls. “Very well. Take the large pile.” Baraldus began to scoop up rolls. “Not the small pile.” Johannes cautioned his assistant. The hulking priest let a scroll fall and trotted to the door. He stopped, trying to figure out a way to close it with his arms full.

“I’ll get it,” Johannes said and rose to shut it himself. He returned to the scrolls still lying on the table. Unrolling one, he scanned the first few lines of a Greek copy of the Gospel of Luke. The author’s name was emblazoned at the top. The earliest scriptures did not include authors’ names, which were only added centuries after the books were written.

This Greek scroll, like many Bibles before Saint Jerome’s translation into Vulgate Latin, was replete with errors, accidental and intentional. Johannes felt overwhelmed that one of his tasks was to correct the unintended mistakes, but not the ones sanctioned by the church since they represented official doctrine. Now, because of his new position, he needed to know the difference.

Some inaccuracies were careless mistakes caused by scribes toiling tedious hours more asleep than awake in dim
scriptoriums
. However, the proclivity of certain priests to alter words intentionally was most disturbing.

Johannes examined the Greek text, passing his finger underneath the lines until he came to the verse recounting the story of the child Jesus in the Temple. It read,
Joseph and his mother marveled at what was said about Him.
Something wasn’t quite right. He opened a second scroll written at least a hundred years earlier. It was almost identical, but had no title. He skimmed the chapter until he found the same line, yet it was slightly different. This version began with the words
his father
instead of
Joseph
. Obviously, a scribe had removed the words
his father
in the later edition and replaced them with
Joseph
. It was a small change, only a few words. Yet like magic, Joseph was no longer Jesus’ father.

Staring at the stack of scrolls, Johannes didn’t understand the church’s compulsion to alter or forge any part of the scriptures. T
hese earliest versions must be saved,
he thought,
even if the church wants them destroyed. Otherwise, future generations will have no true record of the Bible. Perhaps one day
, he mused,
scholars will possess enough knowledge to discern which were truly original scriptures
.