The Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

Brother Barnabas.”
    â€œBarnabas!” Zarathan said in surprise. “The heretic?”
    Jonas’ bushy brows lowered thunderously. “Brother Barnabas helped Abba Pachomius build this monastery. He has been here for twenty years
and is probably the most devoted, certainly the most scholarly, monk we have. Just because he believes in leaving room for compromise on the scriptures does not mean he’s a heretic. It would, perhaps, be more accurate to say he is a pragmatist.”
    â€œWell,” Zarathan said and puffed out his chest, “we will see if the synod of bishops meeting in Nicea agrees—”
    â€œThank you, brother,” Cyrus interrupted, which annoyed Zarathan, who had only just begun his tirade. “We know that Brother Barnabas is a very holy man.”
    Jonas scowled at Zarathan. “You may both go and see Brother Barnabas. Now. And keep in your hearts the fact that Barnabas never assigns a punishment he does not follow himself. If he tells you to scrub floors for a month, he will be there beside you on his hands and knees. Let that knowledge be your burden.” He started to turn away, then added, “And maintain silence until he speaks to you.”
    Cyrus nodded, dried his hands, and started for the monastery. Zarathan hurried behind him. Why had Cyrus taken responsibility for something he had not done? Zarathan knew he shouldn’t speak until released from the vow of silence, but he caught up with Cyrus and whispered, “Brother, why did—”
    Cyrus gave him a reproachful look and firmly shook his head.
    The stunning basilica with its magnificent dome rose in front of them. The walls had been built two cubits thick to support the majestic arches and columns inside and the roof that stretched eighty cubits into the sky.
    Zarathan breathed a sigh of relief. This was the place where hearts were weighed. Whoever entered here with faith found the forgiveness of sins and offenses, and the glory of the pure of heart shone over the whole world.
    Cool air rushed from the door when Cyrus opened it, and they stepped into the shadowed interior. High above, in the vaulted ceiling, dust danced and spun in the light streaming through the windows. Paintings covered the walls depicting sacred moments in the life of their Lord: his birth, the breaking of the bread at the Last Supper, his trial, the crucifixion.
    They walked side-by-side toward the library where Brother Barnabas spent the day, every day, translating tiny fragments of ancient documents brought to him by nearby villagers. Sometimes even traders passing through, who knew of his peculiar interests, brought him scraps of papyri.
    Zarathan hissed, “Cyrus? What do you think of Brother Barnabas? Do you agree that he is a heretic? I’ve heard him say, for example, that our Lord did not rise in the flesh, but that it might have been a spiritual resurrection of the soul! The emperor has ruled such utterances heresy. What do you think?”
    He gave Cyrus a sidelong glance and saw his brother lift his eyes briefly to heaven, as though begging God to give him patience.
    â€œCyrus,” he continued, “you know the synod of bishops recently met in Nicea to decide such issues once and for all. Has there been any word as to their decisions?”
    When Cyrus kept his green eyes on the massive wooden library door ahead, Zarathan added, “I have truly been eager to learn what day they have decided is Easter. Will it be on the date of the Jewish Passover, as the Gospel of Ioannes says, or the day after as told to us in the Gospels of Markos, Loukas, and Maththaios. Personally, I think the correct date—” 13
    Cyrus stopped and gently put his fingers over Zarathan’s mouth. He said nothing, but just stared down into Zarathan’s eyes.
    Grudgingly, Zarathan nodded.
    Cyrus continued toward the library door. The iron hinges groaned when Cyrus swung it back, and they stepped into the musty