The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (41 page)

“
Drink the blood of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma,” she said. Javor sipped.
This is the best wine I’ve ever had!
Tiana broke a cake in half and put a piece in her mouth. She broke a second and put half of it in Austinus’ mouth, then broke the third and gave half to Javor. “The fruit of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma,” she repeated. It was more like bread than cake, Javor realized: dry, chewy, and a little salty. When he swallowed, Tiana and Austinus bowed to the sunlight; Javor followed suit.

Her prayer done, Tiana took Javor to an ornate chair. He sat facing the high window under the sunlight, hot and bright. “The glory of the Pleroma, imperfectly reflected in the sun,” Tiana said. “Yet brighter than the eye of man can behold.” She began to sing, and Austinus, Philip and Malleus joined her in singing praise, their voices rising in joy. Their song ended with the word “rapture!”

There was a long pause during which the four Gnostics looked at each other, then at Javor. He started to get uncomfortably hot.

“
You have now been sealed five times in the light of the water, that death may not have power over you,” Tiana said. “You are qualified to experience the True Glory that is higher than any glory. You have been stripped of the garments of ignorance and put on a shining cloak of knowledge. You may now partake of the mystery of knowledge and become a light in light.”

“
Welcome, Javor,” said Austinus. “You are now an Initiate to the Secret Knowledge. Guard it well.” He pointed back to the main part of the chamber, so Javor stood and followed the
Comes
back to the table in the centre of the room. Someone closed the curtain while Nikos opened the main door and stepped back inside. Someone else must have opened a window, for a cool draft was refreshing Javor. Other young men, initiates all, brought chairs, small tables and trays of food. Austinus served Javor water, wine, fruit and cheese, while the others helped themselves. More young men bustled in and out of the chamber, carrying food, books, scrolls and other items for Austinus and Tiana. Nikos gave Javor back his dagger and then faded away. Two monks stacked up scrolls and heavy books on the table.

When they were done with breakfast, Austinus sat in his beautiful chair and said “Now that you have been admitted to the secret mysteries, we may talk more freely. Please, will you show us your dagger again?”

Javor drew it from its sheath; it glittered in the sunlight. Everyone in the room gathered closer and peered at the blade.

“
Yes, these markings are very curious,” Austinus said. “I recognized some of them the first time I saw it, when you came here and had your duel with Malleus. I have done much study since, reading in some of our oldest sources, and I think I have found more information.” He pointed carefully along the blade. “These markings are ideograms, a type of writing from Cathay in the far east. This script dates back thousands of years, and comes from people who moved from a country that is at the top of the highest mountains in the world.

“
I recognized these characters initially,” he pointed to a series of boxes and squiggles near the handle of the knife. “And after consulting some ancient texts, I think that they are the name of the maker of the blade. And these here are an invocation for good fortune to the … I think it means the rightful bearer of the blade.” He reached for a scroll, opened it, peered at it with a furrowed brow, discarded it and picked up another, then dropped it and picked up a third to study it just as carefully. “Yes, it seems that the blade is intended to be used only by a member of a select group.” He put down the scroll and picked up a codex, brushed dust off the cover and opened it up. He carefully turned crumbling pages until his eyes lit up as he found what he was looking for. “Ah, yes, that character is a warning of ill fortune to he who attempts to wield the dagger without … something. Hmm. I don’t know what that something is, exactly.” He put down the text and sorted through more scrolls.

Tiana pointed to another character on the blade, then to something similar on a scroll. “It means something like ‘friend’ or ‘companion,” she said. Then she carefully turned the blade over. “What about these markings on the other side?”

Everyone, even Malleus, drew closer to look at the markings that curved along the blade. Philip, Tiana and Austinus spread scrolls on the table, searching for some kind of translation.

“
This one means ‘blade,’” said Philip.

“
And this one means ‘earth,” said Austinus.

“
This one here, halfway down the length of the blade, signifies ‘protection,’” said Tiana. “And this one here means ‘bone.’ Or perhaps ‘bones.’ The writer of these characters is saying the blade is made of the ‘bones of the earth.’”

“
So he went to all this trouble to say it comes from ore mined deep in the earth?” Philip wondered.

“
Maybe he was just being poetic,” suggested Malleus, the first time he had spoken that morning. “Steel comes from iron, which is mined underground. We liken ore to veins in the earth. Perhaps these ancient people thought it was more like bones.”

“
Perhaps,” said Tiana, staring intently at the blade.

They spent hours looking at the dagger, turning it over again and again. Philip made drawings of the blade, the handle and the writing on it. Austinus and Tiana read scrolls and books. Javor tried to remember everything that Photius had said about the knife. He had mostly spoken about the amulet, but Javor wanted to stay quiet about that. Austinus had seen it, but seemed to have dismissed it as a bit of pagan costume.

Finally, the group was tired. “Well, as far as we can tell, the writings seem to be an attempt to cast a spell,” said Philip, summing up what they had decided. “The dagger is meant to be carried and used only by certain people. In the hands of the select few, it is an unbeatable weapon that cannot be destroyed in combat. It was made from the bones of the earth, whatever those are. And … well, that’s all we know.”

Austinus stood and sighed. “Yes, that’s as much as we are going to determine today. I suggest we all rest. Let’s rejoin the brotherhood of the Abbey for the midday meal and then get back to our regular chores for the rest of the day. Apparently, we have more research to do. I suggest we reconvene in three days.

“
Javor, you are an Initiate now, and not a Novice. We have to keep the Initiation secret from your fellow novices, but you do deserve better quarters. Remind me in a month or so to have you granted the Orthodox rites, promote you and get you better living quarters than a cell. But don’t tell anyone about it, just yet.” And with that, he dismissed Javor again.

Javor returned to his cell and lay quietly the rest of the day, trying to think about what had happened and what it might mean. 

The next evening, Philip took Javor to another room in the Initiate-only part of the Abbey. It was the first time he had ever seen a library, and he marvelled at the shelves along three walls, bearing countless scrolls and codices, or books.

Philips pulled one codex down and put it on a table in the middle of the room.

“
This is a very special, secret testament, and you must never even breathe a word of its existence outside this room,” he said with his hand protectively over the cover. “There are only two copies of this in the whole world, and no one else even knows this one exists. There are officers of the churches of Rome and of Constantinople who are searching for these kinds of texts to destroy them. If they were to find it with you, they would burn you at the stake as a heretic, and probably everyone else in this Abbey to protect against the slightest chance that anyone would know of it.”

As soon as he put his hands on the cover, Javor felt his amulet tremble.“What is it?” Javor whispered.

Philip opened the cover. Inside, in a beautiful and simple script, was written “The Sophia of Jesus Christ.”

“
Sophia of Jesus?” Javor asked, not daring to turn the page.

“
Wisdom. This is the truest account of the words of the Savior, Jesus, the Christ, the embodiment of the Logos,” breathed Philip, fearful and reverent.

Philip turned the page. The top was shadowed in the poor light of the tower room, but Javor’s eye fell on one passage:
“the Savior appeared—not in his previous form, but in the invisible spirit. And his likeness resembles a great angel of light. But his resemblance I must not describe. No mortal flesh could endure it, but only pure, perfect flesh.”

Javor’s throat felt dry. “Is this true?” he asked, his head swimming and his heart pounding.

“
This is the truest of all the gospels, and the most secret.” Philip let Javor read a few pages, then gently closed the book and sent Javor to bed.

Austinus’ words about a “deeper knowledge,” and his Gnostic initiation changed Javor's view of his Christian education. At first, he tried hard to memorize every detail of the Creation, Abraham, the Exodus, the Passion. The unquestioning faith of Fathers Peter and Albertus now was impossible for Javor.

Maybe I can think of the Bible as a way to explain the universe to children.
The concept of the Pleroma emanating aeons that were still fully part of itself was hard to understand, but by simplifying it to a Father and a Son, the Church made religion easy to grasp.
Still—why no Great Mother? There is a Mother of Jesus, but who made the Father?

The Christians look up to heaven, as if it’s in the sky. But they call the earth hell.

Christmas came with cold weather, and church services got longer, more splendid and more sombre; Javor wondered how the congregations could seem so depressing while professing the birth of the Saviour. He learned not to question the contradictions in the story—questions usually earned him derision and scorn, or at least a passing reference to “the mystery of Faith.”

He did not get involved in the arguments about how Jesus Christ was divine and fully human.
Maybe the answer is that the human mind cannot comprehend God.
But no one ever said anything like that.

These Romans are ready to fight and riot over the littlest things when it comes to religion.

Receiving instruction in two different, overlapping religions at the same time often got confusing. Javor once asked Father Peter “Which Gospel says Mary Magdalene married Jesus?” Father Peter's face go so red, Javor thought it would pop.

“
Where did you ever hear such a heretical idea?” he screamed. Foam flew from his lips. “I ought to have you flogged for uttering such blasphemy!” Terrified at the priest’s anger, Javor ran from the room.

“
Examinations will come soon, Javor,” Brother Theodor said one day. “How do you feel about that?”

“
What’s coming?” Javor was still expanding his Greek vocabulary.

“
Examinations,” Brother Theodor repeated gently. “Where your instructors will measure how much, and how well you have learned your lessons in Catechism, history, rhetoric and so on.”

The whole concept was new to Javor. “How will they do that?”

“
By asking questions about the things they have taught you. Do you feel ready?”

Javor thought about that quietly for a few minutes. “I think I should try to keep feelings out of it,” he said, finally. “I'll rely on memory and logic.”

Brother Theodor was speechless.

Chapter 25
:
The barbarian princess

Winter in Constantinople was mostly rainy and dull. Winds blew wet and miserable through bare trees, chasing drops off rooftops. Javor did not miss the killing snows of his home, but he found it almost impossible to feel warm.

The monks and priests had given up on assigning menial tasks to Javor. Everyone could tell he was favoured by the
Comes
. He had his regular duties helping to clean up in the kitchen, but he was usually excused from work in the stables along with the other first-years to make time for his lessons in Gnostic knowledge.

Of course, no one else knew he was learning about
gnosis.
And he liked to help his friends when he could. He even was willing to help Flaccus shovel manure from the stable.

“
Are you going to be a priest?” Flaccus asked one brighter day that brought a promise of spring. The air was almost warm and the sky was clearing.

Javor was shocked. “Why would you think that?”

“
Well, you’re doing a lot of extra classes.” Flaccus flung another pitchfork of manure onto the pile.

Javor thought fast. “I’m training for a—a mission.”
Will he believe that? Why didn’t I ask Austinus about this?
He wheeled a barrow to  Flaccus. “I’ve just been talking to the
Comes
about my people in the North. What it will take to convert them to Christianity. The True Faith,” he added.

Flaccus dug his pitchfork into the smelly pile and grunted. “Don’t you need to be a priest to be a missionary?”

“
No, not at all,” Javor said quickly.

Flaccus grunted again and shovelled more manure into the barrow. “You’ve got a pretty sweet deal, here.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
You do about half the work of any of the rest of us.” Flaccus’s tone was flat, neutral; anyone but  Javor would know he was bitter. “No after-school chores. No stable chores. Just a little help in the kitchen—that’s all they ask of you.”

Javor thought hard. “Well, the missionary training is pretty tough. I have to learn… another whole language.”

Flaccus leaned on his manure shovel. “Oh really? I thought you already spoke Slavic.”

“
I’m not ‘Slavic,’ Flaccus,” Javor protested. “I told you: my people are the ‘Sklaveni.’”

“
Okay, okay,” Flaccus waved.

They were interrupted by Brother Sergius. “Fall out in the main courtyard. We’re going to see a Triumph.”

“
What’s a Triumph?” Javor asked, but Sergius ignored him.

“
Whose Triumph is it?” Flaccus asked, putting his pitchfork in its place and brushing off his cassock.

“
General Priscus has returned victorious from a campaign against the Slavs,” Sergius said, and Flaccus turned to Javor and raised a single eyebrow. “We are all going to the Mese to watch the parade.”

Within the hour, the entire Abbey, priests, monks, novices and the few initiates like Javor were trooping down the hill toward the Mese. Because the big thoroughfare would be dominated by rich people, Father Albertus decided they should all walk through the side-streets toward the Tetrapylon, the great four-sided gate where the Mese intersected Embolos Avenue.

They were paralleled as they walked by the Sisters of the Convent of St. Mary. Dressed all in white robes and kerchiefs, the Sisters did their best to snub the Brothers.

The closer they got to the Mese, the heavier the crowds got. Before they were halfway to their destination, the Brothers and the Sisters were separated by throngs of other Byzantines, all hurrying to get a look at the triumphant army on its return.

Javor was soon separated from the rest of the monks. He looked up and down the broad avenue, lined with spectators and scattered Praetorian Guards, but he couldn’t see anyone else from the Abbey. But he forgot about looking for them when the Triumph came into view.

For the first time, Javor saw the true might and majesty, the basis of the power of the Roman Empire: its Legions. Looking at the
Equites
on horseback, capes fluttering in the April breeze, at the ranks upon ranks of proud Legionnaires, stepping high with straight legs, Javor felt there was nothing on earth that could stand against them. The men looked—
indomitable. Where did I learn that word?
Their faces were proud, stern, terrible. They looked straight ahead, to the future, confident in their power to continue the Empire forever.

Then came hundreds, thousands of prisoners: men, women and children tied and chained at the necks and legs; some were cramped into rough yet sturdy wooden cages on wagons pulled by oxen. The cages were not high enough for the men to stand up straight, and many prisoners bore terrible wounds. They wore only dirty rags. The women stood staring wide-eyed, hands like claws around the wooden bars. The children were dirty and slumped; their eyes looked dead. “They say General Priscus brings more than seventeen
thousand
prisoners back from the war against Bayan, Khagan of the Avars,” said someone beside Javor.

Avars!
The word ran through Javor like a blade. He remembered the fur-hatted horsemen on the hillside on his birthday—not even a year ago, but it seemed like a different world. He remembered their cruelty, remembered old Oresh falling under their mace, remembered Elli’s screams as Krajan and his men took her and Grat for multiple rape. The dirty, broken men in the cages didn’t look like they were capable of cruelty anymore. “The Empire defeated the Avars?”

“
In battle after battle, Priscus defeated and routed them!” gushed the man  beside Javor. He was thin and had light-brown skin and lots of curly black hair. White teeth flashed under a prominent nose. “He killed sixty thousand of the barbarians!”

“
Just Avars? Some of those prisoners look like Sklavenes.”

“
Huh? You mean Slavs? Probably. They’re servants of the Avars.”

“
No, they’re not. I’m Sklavenic—a ‘Slav.’” Javor did not know why he felt angry.

“
Oh—sorry. I thought you were Sarmatian.”

Javor’s anger deflated. He had never heard of Sarmatians. He turned his attention back to the parade. After what seemed like hours, the train of prisoners passed. Behind them was another troop of soldiers in splendid uniforms and gleaming armour, and behind them, a great wagon pulled by a team of enormous horses. On the wagon was a huge cage made of polished bronze, and inside the cage, sitting on a small but splendid chair of wood and bronze, sat a thin, young woman dressed in long, colourful robes. Her long brown hair hung down in waves behind her, tied with a golden ribbon. She had an oval face and a long nose, but the most striking thing about her were her big, green eyes. In her thin face, they looked even bigger, and sad beyond anything Javor had ever seen.

Javor gasped. The thin man beside him looked at him quizzically.

Javor could not take his eyes off the girl in the cage. Even though her clothes were resplendent, shimmering under the afternoon sun in more colours than Javor could ever name, he recognized her. It was Danisa.

She had the same half-starved appeal, the same look of wonder and terror in her eyes as Elli on the night he had brought her back from being kidnapped by the Avars. Behind Danisa, in another, plain wooden cage on another, plain wagon, was a small group of other women, wearing plain, rough-looking robes and dark scarves.

“
Why is that girl in the cage?” he asked.

“
Her?” The dark-haired man squinted. “She’s the barbarian princess, Ingund. The most valuable hostage. The daughter of some Slavic king who’s a vassal of Bayan. Pretty enough, if you like that type. Kind of thin, though. She’ll probably be married to some Roman or Greek nobleman.The ladies behind her are her noble ladies. Or what passes for nobles among the barbarians.”

Javor could not believe his eyes. It was Danisa. His Danisa. “Ingund? How do you know she’s named ‘Ingund’?”

The dark man shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the word around town.”

“
If she’s going to be married, why does she look so sad? And why is she in a cage?”

The dark man sputtered for a moment. “Well, it’s not her choice. She’s a princess! Her marriage is part of the peace treaty between Rome and whatever God-forsaken country she comes from!”

Javor watched the girl as her wagon slowly rolled past. She was trembling, and the crowds along the street were taunting her, hurling insults. Javor wondered if she could understand the language, but even if she couldn’t, she must have understood the tone, the intent to jeer and humiliate the enemy’s princess. But she ignored the crowd, looking down at her feet. The ladies behind her were all crying.

“
Danisa! Danisa!” he called, as loudly as he could, when her cage-wagon passed him. But she didn’t hear him.

“
What’s wrong?” the dark-haired man asked. “Do you
know
her?”

Javor shook his head, fighting back tears. Something told him to keep his knowledge to himself.
What would people think? 
He watched Danisa until her cage was out of sight.

The final display of the parade came into view: the triumphant general, Priscus, in shining silver armour decorated with gold tassels and bracelets. His helmet was plated with a gold eagle on the front, and was topped with a huge plume of pure white horse-hair. A white and gold cape fluttered from his shoulders in the morning breeze. He rode in a gilded chariot, driven by a tall black slave and pulled by two huge white horses, and he waved and smiled at the crowds who cheered as he went by.

“
That’s Priscus!” shouted the dark-haired man.

“
He’s so handsome!” exclaimed an older woman behind him.

Priscus seemed to be a typical Roman to Javor: short, with dark curls escaping from under the helmet ; a broad face with a heavy nose and mouth.
He looks a lot like Antonio. But I'll bet he has all his teeth.

They watched the parade go by until it had disappeared down the Mese, presumably to be greeted by the Emperor. The crowd was excited. Men congratulated each other on the power of the Legions and the intelligence and prowess of the general as if they had personally and single-handedly defeated the Avar Khagan.

Danisa. What are you doing in Constantinople? Why do people call you Ingund?
Javor found the other monks on his way back to the Abbey. He kept thinking about Danisa in the pond, the way the wet cloth clung to her skin, the way the sunlight flickered in her green eyes, the shape of her mouth and her long chin. He thought of how they had made love that night when they both had too much to drink. But more than anything else, he thought of her green eyes. Her big, bright green eyes that seemed to know everything.

You said you were the daughter of the hetman. I guess that makes you a princess. But how did you get back home? Or did you? Are you really a captive?

Was anything you said true?

At the Abbey, he went immediately to find Austinus. “Domestikos? Did you see the parade?”

“
Parade? The Triumph? Well, I saw some of it from the high window as it went along the Mese. Why do you ask?”

“
Did you see the girl in the cage? The princess?”

“
Ingund? Yes, I saw her. Pretty little thing, but terribly thin. Poor girl.”

“
What will happen to her?”