Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
The Betrayal (24 page)
A young man, perhaps sixteen, met them at the cave entrance. He was short and ugly, with black, vulnerable eyes. His head had been shaved, probably in penance for some affront. As he stepped toward them, the coarse fabric of his brown robe molded to each hard muscle.
He said, “I am Tiras, assistant to the blessed hermit. How may I help you?”
Barnabas carefully took hold of his book bag, dismounted, and handed the reins to Zarathan. A tattered curtain covered the cave entrance. Through the rips, warm golden light streamed. “I am Brother Barnabas, here to see my old friend Libni, if this is where he lives.”
The youth's eyes flew wide. “Oh! He said you were coming!” He swiftly ducked beneath the curtain and a golden glow of firelight flashed across the sand. Soft voices rose inside.
Barnabas turned to the others and said, “You may dismount. All is well.”
“Really?” Kalay said suspiciously. “How did he know you were coming?”
“Libni probably foresaw it. He's always had visions.”
In the early days, Barnabas had been jealous, wondering why God had chosen to reveal himself to Libni and not to him. Barnabas had studied harder, prayed harder, and worked harder. But over the decade they'd been
together, his jealousy had mutated into deep reverence. Libni
had
been chosen, and he was grateful to know a man favored by God.
together, his jealousy had mutated into deep reverence. Libni
had
been chosen, and he was grateful to know a man favored by God.
“That's not a very good answer, brother.” Kalay's mouth quirked. “Especially not after what we heard in the last village ⦠that someone else had been asking about Libni. I'd say it's likely the sicarii got here before we did and are waiting to greet us.”
Barnabas turned in irritation. “Kalay, if that were the case, don't you think Libni would have ordered his assistants to warn us?”
“Not if a dagger is poised over Libni's heart.”
“You have so little faith. Please, trust me. All is well. You may dismount.” His clutched his bag to his chest.
Despite her misgivings, Kalay dismounted, followed by Zarathan, leaving Cyrus alone on his horse.
“Cyrus,” Barnabas said. “Come, join us.”
His horse tossed its head and the reins clinked. “I need to scout the area. I'll leave as soon as I know that you are safe here.”
“Very well.” Barnabas sighed, realizing that arguing would be fruitless. “I'll send Kalay back as soon as we've met Libni.”
“Good.”
Tiras ducked beneath the door curtain again, followed by another young man, perhaps thirteen, with wavy red hair, green eyes, and freckles. Clearly of Celtic descent.
Tiras said, “My master bids you enter,” and thrust out a hand to the entrance.
Barnabas shoved aside the curtain and ducked inside. Tiras and the other youth followed him.
The interior, lit by distant candlelight, was much larger than he'd suspected. The roof of this particular cave rose twenty cubits over his head, but there were tunnels going off in every direction from this main chamber. The faint warmth penetrated his thin robe and made Barnabas shiver in relief.
Zarathan and Kalay entered and stood behind him.
Kalay adjusted her weapons belt and asked, “Where's the murderer? Out on a jaunt?”
Tiras frowned at her as though mystified by the comment, but vaguely aware that he ought to be insulted by it.
Barnabas turned. “I've seen no one since I entered. Perhaps he's in another chamber.”
He took two steps forward, but Tiras said, “No, not that way, brother. Please, follow me.” He held out a hand to the tunnel on the right, showing them the way.
As Barnabas and Kalay followed the two young monks into the dark tunnel, Zarathan called shrilly, “I'll stay here to keep watch!”
Kalay turned and acidly said, “Cyrus will feel so much better with you at his back.”
At the end of the passageway was a large, smoky chamber. The candles on the long table cast a flickering gleam over the stone wall. Over thirty cubits across, the rounded chamber rose another ten cubits over their heads. Holes of every size and shape honeycombed the walls, and each was stuffed with books, scrolls, writing instruments, and ink.
Barnabas smiled. Even in the middle of the desert, a librarian could not survive without books. He set his precious book bag on the table and turned to Kalay. “Please go and tell Cyrus that all is well.”
Kalay's thin red brows lifted. “You're a gullible soul, Barnabas. I've seen nothing to suggest safety, let aloneâ”
The curtain on the far side of the chamber was thrown back and Libniâolder, more grizzledârushed into the chamber in a whirl of threadbare brown rags that fluttered around him like an ancient shroud.
“Tiras! Uzziah! Fetch us down some wine and food,” Libni ordered, passing between the startled youths. Libni almost flew across the floor and embraced Barnabas in a bear hug that nearly cracked his ribs. “Barnabas, my dear old friend! How good of you to come see me! It's been what, twenty years? Twenty-one? Did you ever find the village of Asthemo?”
He was a massive man, tall, with the meaty shoulders of an ox, and hands twice the size of Barnabas'. A loose mane of graying brown hair framed his bearded face.
Barnabas pulled away from his strong arms and laughed. “Not yet. I'm still looking.”
“I always thought it was in the region of Eleutheropolis.”
“As I do. I just haven't found any evidence to support that suspicion.” He held out a hand to Kalay, and introduced her. “Libni, this is my friend Kalay.”
At some point in the past twenty heartbeats, Kalay had drawn her knife and fallen into a she-wolf's crouch.
Libni turned and went still, looking at her with wide gray eyes. In a tender voice, he said, “At first I thought you were an angel. Now I am genuinely delighted to discover you are flesh and blood. Please, both of you be seated. My brothers will arrive shortly with refreshments.”
Kalay nonchalantly kept her knife at the ready. “I'll stand.”
“But you must be tired, please sit.”
“No.”
Libni frowned. “You're going to stand all night, after you've been riding hard for days?”
“Possibly.”
Libni's mad eyes flared a little wider. “You don't say much, do you?”
Kalay tilted her head. “Well, if you leave out all the pig shit in life, you don't need many words.”
A slow smile came to Libni's lips, and he let out a belly laugh that boomed from the cave walls. “A beautiful woman with a sense of humor! I've been blessed by God.”
Kalay squinted at him, straightened, and shoved her dagger into its sheath. “You've a curious way of looking at things, brother.”
“Yes, but don't let that worry you. I'm harmless.”
Under her breath, she said, “That's not what I've heard.” Then louder, added, “Forgive me, but I must go tell my companions that it's safe.”
“Well, of course, it's safe,” Libni said, a bit indignantly.
Kalay gave him an incredulous glance, and left.
Libni watched her duck into the tunnel, and affection melted his face. “Her eyes remind me of Sousanna's. Do you remember how blue they were? Like pieces of the sky fallen to earth.”
“I do remember. I think it is Kalay's misfortune that she reminds every man of a woman he's lost.”
A pained smile turned Libni's lips. “Yes,” he replied softly, “I can see how that might lead a girl's soul astray. How does she come to be in your company?”
“She was the washerwoman at the monastery.”
Libni arched an eyebrow. “What did you do to make our Lord so eager to test the chastity of your monks?”
Barnabas suppressed a smile. “Nothing I'm aware of.”
Libni thoughtfully smoothed a hand over his unkempt beard. “And before she was a washerwoman? What did she do?”
“I don't know how she earned her way in life. None of that matters to me.”
A sad reverie filled Libni's eyes. “Has she repented?”
“No, and I wouldn't bring it up if I were you. I overheard her say that most of her family was killed during the Persecution. She blames the Church.” Barnabas remembered the conversation he'd inadvertently overheard between Cyrus and Kalay that morning on the shore of the Nile. He had wondered then if he shouldn't speak with her, but had decided to wait.
“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!”
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 Iâand Kalayâescaped 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 ofâ”
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?”
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