The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (38 page)

But he wondered why the teachers resented his questions. After his third query about the nature of God—“So, Moist Mother Earth is actually Mary, Mother of God?”—Father Albertus smacked Javor on the head. “No, St. Mary was the Blessed Virgin, not your savage pagan earth goddess. All those gods you worshipped in your ignorance are false! Only God, Yahweh, is true. Now stop asking questions and learn your Gospel!”

Through some reasoning process that Javor could not understand, the monks decided that Javor could serve best in the kitchen. The chief cook was an obese, angry man named Verros. His robe was stained and his sleeves were always dipping into the soup. He screamed at everyone in the kitchen, humiliated the younger monks and hit the novices with a ladle every chance he got. He threw a knife at Javor on his first day in the kitchen; luckily, it missed him and sank with a terrifying
thunk
into a cutting board.

Javor literally kept his head down, sweeping the floor and washing pots.

He learned the life of Jesus and of Constantine, the Emperor who had converted the Empire to Christianity when God had led him with the sign of the Cross to victory over rivals for the imperial throne. He learned of the works of Justinian and the churches, walls and monuments he had built.

And in side comments, he learned about the enemies that beset the Roman Empire on all sides: barbarians who had swept from the east to crush the Western Empire, plunging a region called Europe into a dark age—a region that he soon realized included his home. 

The king of the novices was Salonius, called Lepidus by the other novices: tall for a Roman, but not as tall as Javor; handsome, with thick curly hair and large eyes that girls found captivating; wide shoulders and muscular arms that he liked to show off by stripping down to just his trousers at any excuse. He showed off his straight, white teeth by smiling often and laughing at the slightest jokes. At the end of the evening meals, when the rules were relaxed enough to allow the novices and monks to talk, his table was always the liveliest, with the most cheerful conversation in the dining hall.

All the novices vied to join his entourage, and Lepidus always made a great show of befriending newcomers. When he first met Javor in the dining hall, Lepidus shook his hand with both of his and practically shouted “Hey, Javor! Settling in okay?” as if he could do something about it.

“
Yes, fine,” Javor said, bemused by the attention. Other novices stared enviously, waiting to see how Lepidus would decide to treat him.

Lepidus gave Javor the benefit of the doubt at first. He beckoned Javor to sit at his table. “So, most of the new novices start in the spring. What brings you here?”

Javor had thought about what to say. “An old friend of mine was a member and told me I should join the Order.”

“
Oh, really? Who was that? Someone we know?”

“
Photius. He … he passed away a few weeks ago.”

“
Photius? Never heard of him. Sorry to hear that he died, though. Was he a close friend?” Lepidus asked, his face a perfect facsimile of concern.

“
Yes.” Javor felt his throat choking. He face felt hot. “We travelled together for a time.” He blinked rapidly.
Don’t cry, Javor!

Lepidus brought out his white, perfect smile again. “So, Javor, where are you from?”

“
From the north. Beyond Dacia.”

Lepidus and the other novices gaped at Javor. “You crossed Dacia?” Lepidus asked. “Alone?”

“
No, Photius was with me, until, well, almost at the Danuvius River.”

There was silence almost through the entire dining hall, until someone said quietly, “Man, Dacia is haunted.”

Javor looked from one incredulous face to the next. “Haunted? Well, yes, I guess it was. We met some pretty strange things …”

“
Like what?” someone asked.

“
Well, one night we were attacked by blood-suckers that Photius called
strigoi
, who had sucked the life out of a whole village. The people, they were mindless, barely alive, existing only as sources of blood for three horrible, naked women.” As he described the encounter with the vampires, he was surprised at his ability to tell a story. He warmed to the task, adding emphasis and embellishment, now speaking loudly, then shrinking almost to a whisper.

“
I thrust my sword into the closest one, but it had no effect. She laughed as I pulled the blade out, leaving a horrible wound in her chest, but no blood came out!”

He told his audience about their narrow escape in the freezing river. “We also saw a gryphon.”

“
Oh, come on!” said a thin, dark boy. “No one believes in monsters like that anymore!”

“
Once, I didn’t believe in them, either,” Javor retorted, glaring at the novice who had interrupted him. “But I’ve seen them with my own eyes.”

“
What did the gryphon look like?” someone else asked.

“
Well, it was as big as a large dog,” Javor said, and the image of the beast leapt into his mind, vivid as if it were standing right in front of him. “It had big, feathery wings and a feathery head like an eagle, with a sharp beak, but it had four legs like a big cat, and claws like a chicken, only bigger.”

“
Did it attack you?” someone else asked.

Javor hesitated, recalling the attack on Bilavod. “No, strangely enough, it
helped
me.” His audience may not have believed him, but they were all waiting for his next word. “We—Photius and I—were staying in a village that was being raided by Avars. Or at least, we thought they were Avars. I’m not sure. Anyway, we were inside the
holody
—that’s like a stockade—and they were coming over the walls, setting fire to the place, killing villagers. Well, I thought we were done for. But then the gryphon swooped down and scattered the raiders left and right. It landed right in front of me and looked at me. It reached out one claw toward me and screeched, then flew away.

“
Well, you should have seen the raiders run away after that!” he crowed, slapping the table in front of him. His face felt hot.

The novices stared at him, many with open mouths, for several silent heartbeats. Then Lepidus started to laugh, softly at first, and the other novices joined him.

“
A gryphon! Vampires! That’s a good one, Javor,” Lepidus laughed. “You’re a great story-teller! I would never have thought a country boy like you could tell tall tales!”

“
But—”

“
Go on, country boy, that’s enough for one day!” said Father Peter, sliding up from behind, his sarcastic smile glued to his face as usual. “Go on back to your cell, before you stray from entertaining the boys into the sin of false witness. Good story, though.”

The other novices walked away, laughing. “A gryphon!” one laughed. “Vampires! Probably just a girl that wouldn’t let him kiss her?” “What girl would want to kiss a barbarian like him!”

Javor couldn’t believe what had just happened. His ears burned, his face felt hot, but at the same time indignation threatened to bubble up like a pot overboiling.

“
Hey, lazybones!” Verros screamed. “Get over here and start washing up!”

Time continued in the abbey like it had no beginning and no end: prayers, chores, more prayers, instructions. Father Peter spent time with Javor every day, instructing him in the basics of Christianity.
Such a strange religion: they talk about forgiveness, but everyone is so unforgiving.

He liked parts of the Sunday Mass, especially the singing. He discovered that he had a pleasing voice. Father Peter made a point of praising it.

Some details mystified Javor. “There is a city called Rome that is not the capital of the Roman Empire?”

“
It was the capital, but Constantinople is the New Rome,” Father Peter answered.

“
Why isn’t Rome the capital of the Roman Empire?”

“
Because the Emperor Constantine moved his capital to the city of Byzantium, here on the Bosporus, and called it Nova Roma—New Rome. Old Rome was the capital of the Western Empire. Constantinople, as it is now called, is the capital of the Eastern Empire, and truly the pre-eminent capital.”

“
But Rome is in a different country?”

“
It is in Italy, and is presently a part of the exarchate of Ravenna, and thus a province of the Empire.”

“
But it used to be the capital? Where Rome began?”

“
Yes.”

“
Why isn’t it the capital anymore?”

“
I told you, Javor: the Emperor Constantine, the first Emperor to see the True Light of Salvation, decided to make a new capital city for a new kind of Empire! Then, Rome was sacked and burned by barbarians from the east.”

“
Barbarians. People like me.”

Father Peter hesitated. “Well, no, not exactly. It was the Goths, and later the Vandals. You are a Slav.”

“
But I’m a barbarian, because I don’t speak Greek like you do.”

“
Well, yes.”

“
Are the Romans—the ones in Italy—are they barbarians, too, because they don’t speak Greek?”

“
Heavens, no!”

Father Peter liked to use his hands when talking. During lessons, he was always touching Javor, taking Javor’s hands in his own, slapping Javor on the shoulder or the knee, chucking his shoulder, slapping his face gently. As the physical contact increased, Javor tried to stay farther from Father Peter.

Within a few weeks, Javor could not keep one thought from recurring every time he went to the chapel or heard a prayer:
This makes no sense.

Chapter 22
: Novice

Stupid rules.

No talking during prayers. Nor during meditation. And a minimum of talking allowed during chores, like cleaning the kitchen or sweeping the stables. Anything more than “I’ve finished sweeping, sir. What duty next?” or “Where is the bucket?” would earn a shushing from the
hoplitarches
, in charge of the household.

No eating between meals. No going outside the abbey without permission. No loitering in corners. No napping during the day, especially when there were chores to do—getting caught napping resulted in a sharp snap of a switch across the butt or, worse, the backs of the hands.

Javor consciously broke one rule every day: he kept his amulet under his novice’s robe, and his dagger, too, strapped right next to his skin.
It’s a good thing this robe is loose.

Father Peter followed through on his promise. One morning, a Saturday, two monks woke Javor in his cell especially early and gave him a long white robe to wear. They led him to the front entrance of the great Church of St. Mary, where Father Peter, dressed in white robes, Father Albertus and some monks that Javor didn’t know waited—and to his surprise, the
Comes
and
domestikos
, Austinus.

“
Welcome, Javor. It is time for you to join the community of the Church, the Body of Christ,” said Father Peter.

Javor had no idea what he meant. “You will receive three of the holy sacraments that will bring you into the Christian community: baptism, first communion and Chrismation.” He lifted his hands until his arms were fully extended to the sides. “For Our Lord said, ‘He who is baptized will be saved, but he who does not believe will be condemned. Unless one is born of Water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the Kingdom of God.’”

He turned to the other men beside him. “Who stands for this person who wishes to enter the Body of Christ?”

Austinus stepped forward. “I will stand for him.”

“
Do you believe in the Word of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and renounce the Devil?” Father Peter asked.

“
Yes, I do.”

“
Do you accept for this child Him who is the light of the world? Do you unite yourself to Christ?”

“
I do.”

Father Peter turned toward Javor and, with sweeping motions of his right hand, made a sign of a cross. He took Javor’s and Austinus’ hands in his own and, chanting a prayer, led them into the church.

A little grey light filtered in through the high windows, and candles all along the walls cast a flickering, hopeful yellow light. Father Peter led them to small chapel at the side of the church. On the eastern wall, Christ in a white loincloth stepped into a river, his halo a golden disk behind his head.

Sunk into the middle of the marble floor was a pool, filled with water. “Step into the basin, Javor,” Father Peter said. Javor hesitated; the air in the church was chilly, and all he was wearing was a thin linen robe. Austinus and Father Albertus took him by the arms.

Javor gasped—
the water is cold!
Austinus and Albertus pushed him down. “Go right under,” Austinus instructed. Javor gulped, took a breath, closed his eyes and submerged, coming up again with a gasp.

“
The servant of God, Javor, is baptized into the Name of the Father, amen,” said Father Peter.

Austinus and Albertus pushed Javor under again, and as he came up sputtering, Father Peter said, “And of the Son, amen.” When they pushed him down a third time, Javor realized he should have expected it after his head went in, but he gasped water into his lungs anyway and came up choking and coughing while Father Peter intoned “and of the Holy Spirit, amen.” Austinus and Albertus lifted Javor out of the basin. He stood before Father Peter again, shivering and covered only in the robe, which was now almost transparent and clinging to his skin.

“
Javor, you have received the full forgiveness of the Lord,” Father Peter said, making a sweeping sign of the cross again. He frowned, looking just below Javor’s chin—directly at eye level for him. “What is this?”

The amulet showed through the wet linen and was starting to tingle. Before Javor could react, Father Peter pulled the amulet out by its thin silver chain. “What is this pagan symbol? Austinus, how could you allow him to wear this icon of the Devil to his baptism?”

“
It’s an heirloom from my great-grandfather, who got it from the Emperor!” Javor protested.
Stretching the truth
.

“
Not pagan, just savage,” said Austinus, calmly. Javor was surprised at Austinus’ demeanor.
He’s never seen the amulet before.
“There is nothing satanic about it. Let him wear it next to a cross.”

Father Peter looked lower. “And a knife!” The dagger, as always, was strapped to Javor’s side, under the robe. “No one brings a weapon to a baptism!” Father Peter glared at Austinus, then at Javor. “Very irregular. However, it is not good to interrupt the rites,” he said unhappily. “We now move on to the Chrismation.” He poured a few drops of oil from a small bottle onto his fingertips. “With the
myron
, I anoint you with the seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit.” He lifted his hand and drew a small cross in oil on Javor’s forehead.  Very gently, the priest marked a tiny cross on Javor’s eyelid, repeating “The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit.” In a blink, he did the same on the other eye. He repeated the seal on each nostril, on Javor’s mouth and on his earlobes, each time saying “The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit.” He did the same on Javor’s hands, his chest, and with a grimace and a little grunt, got down on his knees to anoint Javor’s feet. Finished, he struggled to his feet again. “Despite your pagan—I’m sorry, your savage—amulet, you are now a
laïkos
, a full member of the people of God.”

Father Peter led them into the main part of the church and spent close to an hour praying in a voice too low for Javor to understand. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the church by the time he finished.
Not even the blessings of the plantings or of the harvest at home took that long.

He was still shivering as Father Peter took something out of a tall golden cup and lifted it over his head. “Take, eat, This is my Body…” He ate whatever it was. He said more prayers, then lifted another gold cup overhead, said “Drink, this is my blood,” and sipped. Javor was horrified.

Father Peter carried the chalice down the steps, dipped a small golden spoon with a very long handle into it and pulled out something small and dripping red. “The Body of Christ,” said Father Peter, and he held the spoon to Javor’s mouth.

“
Wait—you want me to eat the body of Christ?”

“
Those were His words,” Father Peter answered, pushing the spoon closer.

Javor pulled back. “Is it really his body and blood?”

“
It’s bread and wine, Javor,” Austinus muttered.

“
Transubstantiated into the Body and Blood of our Lord through the miracle of the Eucharist,” Father Peter insisted. “Weren’t you listening during Catechism?”

“
It’s bread and wine,” Austinus repeated. “Just eat it, Javor.”

Javor closed his eyes and opened his mouth. He heard the spoon clink on his teeth, tasted metal, then sweet and acidy wine with something crumbled in it. He swallowed.

“
Amen,” said Austinus.

Javor had trouble with the difference between the Church’s teachings and the priest’s behavior. “Shouldn’t we accept the fact that other people don’t have the same beliefs as the Church?” he asked one day.

“
No, never!” Father Peter thundered. “We cannot tolerate the presence of pagans or witches!”

Javor gradually learned the hierarchies and the difference between the stated and the real order of power within the Abbey.

The overt hierarchy was easy to learn: at the top of the Order was the
Comes
, Austinus, in his black and silver robes and silver chain; next was Philip, the chief scholar, with a smaller silver chain and robes that were red and black; beneath him, a ladder of lesser officials and dignitaries, each with their symbols of rank. There was the main priest, who led most of the masses, Father Albertus, and the next most important, Father Peter. There was the Head Novice, a very serious-looking, tall young man named Sergius, whose hair showed bright red no matter how short he cropped it. He directed the novices in their chores and prayers.

             
Verros was in charge of the kitchen staff, a group of eight who chopped, stewed, built fires, slopped and cleaned. Javor learned  that he was at that very bottom of that hierarchy.

But there was a different, unspoken order as well. While Father Albertus was acknowledged as the leader in the chapel, he was noticeably diffident toward a certain monk, a quiet and mysterious man who wore a grey robe as plain as a novice’s, and who always kept his hood on. He seemed to be very thin under his robe. He had a clean-shaven, thin face and long, thin hands. He was called just “Theodor” by the priests, although the novices all called him “Brother.” Even Austinus spoke to him very respectfully.

Among the novices, there were also two hierarchies. While Sergius was Head Novice, the other novices were much more likely to listen to the affable Lepidus. He was always first in line for every meal, had the lightest chores and the driest, brightest cell in the barracks. Other novices were always giving him pieces of their bread or helping him with the few chores he did. When Lepidus spoke, the novices listened; if he interrupted, the speaker paused; when he told a joke, all the novices laughed. No one ever interrupted Lepidus.

Lepidus’ best friend at the Abbey appeared to be Mamercus, also called Quadratus: a hulking brute, as tall as Javor but much heavier. His neck was twice as thick as Javor’s, his shaved head had ripples bulging at the back above the neck and another heavy ridge supporting the bushiest eyebrows that Javor had ever seen. His jaw was heavy and loose and had few teeth. His arms looked like the heavy ropes Javor had seen on the boat from Constantia. His calves were a thick as Javor’s thighs. And apart from his head and face, which were trimmed and shaved according to the Rule, every bit of his skin was covered by thick, coarse black hair. Despite his hairiness and general air of animalistic menace, he could not have been more than a year older than Javor.

Quadratus rarely spoke, only growled through hymns during Mass, but obeyed Lepidus implicitly. He glared at anyone else who spoke to him, but laughed at every joke Lepidus told, even when it was at his own expense. Javor once saw another novice gently tease Quadratus; without a second’s hesitation or any warning, Quadratus punched him full force in the chest. The smaller boy flew back, fell on his rump and banged his head on a chair. Two others helped him up, not daring to look at Quadratus, and led the victim away. Quadratus went back to hanging on Lepidus’ every word, seeming to have already forgotten his tormentor.

The hierarchy continued below Quadratus in a series of unstated deferences, honours and obeisances that Javor gradually learned to respect. One day, he learned that he was at the bottom.

After starting the morning cooking fires, prayers and helping to prepare the porridge, Javor took his little bowl to the main dining hall to sit with the other novices. As he approached, two moved over to block an empty space.

“
Down at the end of the table, slav!” one whined, a skinny, pimply youth named Timotheos. “Yah!” said the novice beside him, a stout boy named Zotikos.

“
What’s wrong? I always sit here,” Javor protested, attempting to wedge himself between the two.

“
Not any more,” Timotheos sneered. “You’re a dirty slav. You can sit at the far end so we don’t have to smell your stink!”