part0012

A rledge leaned back and closed his tired eyes, the burn palpable, though the discomfort was easily overwhelmed by the agony his shoulders and back inflicted on him. It had been months of excruciating work, yet it was finally finished, the closing verse of Revelation now copied, the illustrations and decorations on the page lovingly and meticulously recreated.

It was as identical a copy as one could expect from the hand of a mere mortal, and he was ashamed at the sense of pride he felt.

It was God’s work he had done, and He had given him the strength to persevere through the pain and isolation, He had guided his hand as each letter, each word, each embellishment was replicated from the original, an original also created by the divinely guided hands of other scribes like him, though they were blessed with the luxury of sharing their work with their brothers.

He folded his hands in silent prayer and awaited Ceolfrid’s visit, a visit that, judging by the sun’s position on the horizon, visible through his lone window to the outside world from his secret second-floor workspace, should come at any moment.

He smiled at the plodding footsteps on the stairs and rose, bowing his head as his abbot entered, closing the door behind him.

“Do you have the news I have been anticipating all day?”

“I do, Father.” Arledge smiled. “I have completed my work.”

Ceolfrid stepped forward, examining the pages, careful not to touch the still drying ink. “Remarkable. Your hand is truly guided by the Good Lord Himself.”

A surge of pride rushed through Arledge, and he apologized silently to his Lord. “You humble me, Father.”

Ceolfrid returned the pages to the table then put both of his hands on Arledge’s shoulders. “I’m afraid your task is not yet done.”

Arledge’s heart thumped as the strength washed from his body at the thought of even more of the grueling work he had suffered through all these months. The only thing that had sustained him was the knowledge that there was an end, an end he could see coming from the very first page.

The Book of Revelation. Chapter 22.

He dreaded the answer to the question he must now pose. “What…what more do you require of me?”

Ceolfrid smiled. “Don’t worry, my brother, your work in this room is done, your vow of silence is finished. You will never see the inside of this prison again.”

Arledge’s shoulders sagged in relief as his strength slowly returned. “How may I serve?”

“As you know, I and the others are leaving for Rome tomorrow with the copy meant for Pope Gregory the Second.”

“Yes, Father, of course.”

Ceolfrid pointed at the pages on his table. “I will bind this fourth copy tonight, then place it in this room.” He smiled. “I suppose I spoke too hastily. You will see this room, one last time.”

Arledge’s eyes narrowed, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“After we leave tomorrow, you will take a donkey, provisioned for several days. I will leave the fourth Bible in this room, with a map. You are to follow this map exactly to your final destination.”

Arledge gasped. “Father, I don’t understand! Why would you ask such a thing of me? Aren’t you already going to Rome?” He stopped, his jaw dropping, recalling yesterday’s conversation. “You expect trouble.”

Ceolfrid nodded. “I expect trouble.”

“You expect your copy to be stolen.”

“And you want me to follow you, with the copy no one knows about, in case your fears prove true.”

“Exactly.” Ceolfrid stepped over to the window, peering outside as if to be certain no one was somehow listening despite being so far from the ground. “Only you and I know this fourth Bible exists. No one else. That means it must be you who transports it. You will trail us by a day. As you make each stop, you will confirm if we arrived the night before through casual conversation. If we did, then you will know our journey continues unencumbered. But if we don’t, then you will know something has happened to us, making your mission all the more vital. Should we both arrive in Rome, we will reunite, and discuss with the Pope whom he feels should receive the gift of our creation.”

Arledge bowed his head, honored a task so important was being entrusted to him, but at the same time overwhelmed at the daunting task ahead, for a journey from here to Rome would take months, and the road would be treacherous if traveling alone.

“You seem troubled.”

Arledge raised his head and stared at his abbot. “I am, Father. It is a long journey, again leaving me alone with my thoughts, with the added pressures of the dangers that lie ahead on the roads from here to Rome. It is a cruel world in which we live, filled with heathens and ne’er-do-wells. I fear I might not be strong enough to accomplish the task.”

Ceolfrid smiled, gently squeezing Arledge’s shoulder. “My brother, I can think of no man more capable.” He gave him a gentle shake, pointing again at the drying pages. “And as the Good Lord guided your hand these past months, He shall guide your feet as well, and deliver you safely to Rome, where you shall rejoice in the power and glory of God, among the most faithful of His believers.”

Arledge closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, the words comforting, though not enough to completely allay his fears. He said his own silent prayer, beseeching the Lord to deliver upon Ceolfrid’s words. “Amen.”