part0010

A rledge leaned back in his hard wooden chair and stretched as he unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. His entire body ached, as it had for months, each day a little worse than the last. His only reprieve were Sundays, when Abbot Ceolfrid permitted him to participate in the services with his fellow brothers. That one day of rest was precious to him, allowing him to reconnect with his Lord Jesus Christ—all he needed to renew any waning vigor in his duty.

The recreation of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

Abbot Ceolfrid had commissioned three copies years ago. It had been a herculean effort, involving man and beast. All three volumes were written on vellum, over 1500 calves had been raised and slaughtered for their skin, the thousands of pages necessary to produce the three copies painstakingly manufactured by the hands of the believers in the surrounding villages.

It had been a monumental undertaking.

Yet what he was doing would receive none of the accolades the glorious work undertaken by his fellow monks had. For he toiled in secrecy, locked in a room on the second floor of the abbey, a room he hadn’t known existed until Ceolfrid had shown him where he would work. It was sparsely furnished with a table at which he worked, a chair in which he sat, several candles for light, a lone window that gave him some sunlight, though most days seemed dreary, and a simple bed on which to rest should he need it, though he rarely did. The abbot brought him his midday meal, his breakfast and supper enjoyed with his brothers.

And it was his brothers that made things the most difficult.

He had known them all for years, some for as long as he could remember. Many had grown up together in the monastery, like him, and they were his friends. His good friends. Yet he couldn’t talk to them.

On the same day he had agreed to do the work, Ceolfrid had announced at the morning meal what turned out to be the most challenging aspect of what was to come. “Brother Arledge has taken a vow of silence to bring himself closer to God. I ask that you refrain from posing him any questions, or speaking to him in any manner. Respect his wishes, and know that I have given him my blessing in this most pious of endeavors.” He had been congratulated, then left alone. His brothers always greeted him with genuine smiles, always welcomed him to their table, yet obeyed the abbot’s wishes.

And despite being surrounded by his friends, he felt more alone than he ever had.

That was why he relished the thrice-daily visits from Ceolfrid. In the morning, he would bring him his day’s work, at noon his meal enjoyed over a brief conversation about his progress, then the end of the day to collect what had been completed, and to take the work still remaining into safekeeping.

For no one could know what he was doing, though he wasn’t certain why.

The three copies of the Bible had been created quite publicly. One didn’t raise 1500 calves without people taking notice, one didn’t create thousands of pages of vellum without stories spreading far and wide about what was being undertaken.

Yet his work was secret. He was to create an exact copy of the Bible. An exact copy known only to him and the abbot. For what purpose, he had no idea—Ceolfrid hadn’t shared his reasons, though he was certain they were just and pure. The abbot was the kindest man he knew, and was like a father to him, his own parents having died ravaged by disease when he was a child. The monks had taken him in, fed him, clothed him, and when Ceolfrid had discovered he had an aptitude for letters, had taught him how to read and write. It was later that his artistic side had been revealed.

Making him the perfect man for the job.

He understood the text he was reading, could recreate the drawings and decorations that adorned its holy pages, and apparently had another necessary skill.

The ability to hold one’s tongue, his slip-ups in his vow of silence few over the months he had been working, though speaking with the abbot did make things easier, giving him several brief reprieves.

He rubbed his sore eyes, the sun low on the horizon, signaling an impending visit from the abbot. He smiled at the footsteps on the stairs beyond the door to his locked chamber, then rose as the key hit the lock. He bowed as Ceolfrid entered. He waited for the door to close before speaking.

“My brother, how does your work progress?”

“Very well. If my memory of the Bible is correct, all I have left are the final verses of Revelation. I should be done tomorrow, assuming you have the vellum I requested?”

“The final shipment arrived earlier today from a faithful benefactor.” He sighed. “These thousand pages were far harder to procure than the first three thousand.”

“Because of the secrecy of what we are doing?”

“Exactly. I have had to source it for years, a few pages here and there so as not to arouse suspicions. It was a difficult task I am happy to put behind me.”

Arledge stared at the floor. “Umm, may I, umm, ask why all the secrecy?”

Ceolfrid stared at him for a moment, then pursed his lips, nodding. “You deserve the truth. As you know, I intend to personally deliver a copy of the Bible to the Pope himself.”

“Yes, Father. You informed us all last night.”

“Exactly. And because the existence of our Bibles is so well known, it will be impossible to keep our journey a secret.”

Arledge’s eyes widened. “You expect trouble!”

“Yes, I do. I fully expect someone will attempt to steal the Bible during our travels.”

“Then why take the risk?”

“Because something as beautiful as what we have created, at such great sacrifice, must be kept at the holiest of all sites.”

“But if you’re certain it will be stolen, then what’s the point?”

Ceolfrid smiled. “Because while we travel, with the world watching, the Bible you created will be journeying in secret, unbeknownst to those who would do us harm.”

A smile spread on Arledge’s face at the genius of the abbot’s plan. “Because one cannot steal what one does not know exists!”