“Ah. The Master, coincidentally, was about to send for you. Come.”
After Feletheus pushed aside the curtain to Theokritos’ office, Getorius saw the old librarian thumbing through a thick volume. His ruddy face was wreathed by a white beard and matching full head of hair, and his dark eyes had a nervous squint from years of poring over manuscripts and books. Dusty shelves had left him with a chronic cough. When the man turned around, Getorius noticed a gold medal hanging from his neck. The design depicted a serpent with its tail in its mouth, encircled by the Greek letters IAW ABPAXA. Abraxas…definitely not a Christian symbol!
“Surgeon, you read my thoughts,” Theokritos rasped, looking at him. “The last galley from Constantinople brought me books. One was this Latin translation of a treatise on gynecology by Soranus of Ephesos.”
“There are midwives for that, sir. I’m never called on to assist at a birth.”
“Then perhaps it would interest your wife,” Theokritos countered. “I understand she trains with you.”
Getorius flushed. “Thank you. Arcadia will be grateful.”
Theokritos squinted at the leather case. “You have brought me a scroll?”
“Three, sir, to ask your help. Yesterday I examined the body of a holy man who died.”
“Behan of Clonard. The”—Theokritos succumbed to a fit of coughing before continuing—“The monk read here often.”
Getorius was not surprised that the librarian already knew about the death—there were few secrets kept from palace gossipers. He slid the parchments from their case. “These manuscripts were in his hut and I didn’t want bandits to destroy them. Two are in Celtic.”
“The language of the barbaroi.”
Getorius ignored the implied slur about non-Greek barbarians and unrolled the sheets. “Sir, this one is in Latin.”
“Perhaps a translation of the others? Feletheus can read the writing of the Keltoi for us in a moment.” Theokritos scanned the Latin, then scoffed, “Even an acolyte could identify this paraphrase of verses in the Testament of the Apostle John.”
“The last ones, too? They seemed different.”
Theokritos read again. “Hmm…you’re correct, Surgeon. Clumsy, but it seems to be a prophecy concerning the other two.”
“I thought so.”
“Such predictions are common, every cult has one. Feletheus, read the other scrolls.”
After examining the writing, Feletheus admitted, “Master, I’ve not seen this alphabet style before.” The assistant read silently a moment, then translated, “‘The humble meditations of Behan, from Clonard Abbey. Know that the Eternal King, the Son of the Living God, speaks in threes. For this is the number of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.’”
“Hibernians are fond of spinning riddles involving a triad,” Theokritos commented. “Words, numbers, verses and such. Please continue.”
“‘For one and two make three, just as three and four make Seven, the number of Completion.’”
“Of creation, I assume he means.” Theokritos cleared his throat, spit into a cloth, then sneered, “A childish game.”
“Truly, Master.” Feletheus bent over the words and then continued,
And Three…Blessed Jesus, Holy Mary, and the Saintly Joseph comprise the Unblemished Family.
Three-sectioned Triangle, the Eternal Monogram of Three Persons in One.
The Three of the enlightened Pythagoras…Beginning, Middle, End.
Three astrologers who first saw the Blessed Child.
Three days in the tomb.
Heaven, Earth, under the Earth…
“Arkata!” Theokritos cried in Greek. “Enough! Great Zeus, the man tells us nothing with his riddles. These Hibernian monks are flooding into Gaul from their island, founding monasteries and trying to force Gallic bishops into adopting their liturgies. Get to the end of this ridiculous game.”
Feletheus moved his index finger down to the last few lines.
Know that the Nazarene was in the world, but not of its ways. Know this through the Testament in a book of John, to be revealed now, in our time.
He paused at the final six lines. “Master, another arrangement of threes.”
A book of John.
A Testament.
The Fulfillment.
Faith, Hope, Love.
The greatest is Love.
Proof is hidden in a book of John.
When Feletheus finished reading Theokritos had already turned back to examine the gynecology volume. Getorius was disappointed in the librarian’s lack of interest, but determined to ask about the interpretation of what he suspected was a prophecy.
“‘To be revealed now, in our time.’ Sir, what does that mean? Or, ‘Hidden in a book of John? Shouldn’t it be ‘The Book of John?’”
“Word games to pass the time,” Theokritos snorted without looking up from Soranus. “These monks need a diversion from their penances and constant prayers.”
Frustrated, Getorius snatched the scrolls from the worktable. He was rolling them up when he noticed a sketch at the bottom corner of the one with the prophecy. A few deft strokes in red ink depicted the outline of a cockerel. The symbol reminded him that he had heard a rooster crowing somewhere outside Behan’s hut.
Why mention it to Theokritos and be ridiculed? He thought the verses prophetic, then dismissed them as a word game. If it was a prophecy, did the monk drown before he could proclaim it? Getorius eased the scrolls into their case with an uneasy thought. Was Behan strangled, as Arcadia thinks, so he couldn’t predict an event that is to be revealed soon, ‘in our time?’ And why this emphasis on a dawn watch? Is that the significance of the rooster?
Getorius tucked the leather cylinder under his arm. “I’ll give that volume by Soranus to my wife.”
Theokritos nodded a reply and handed him the book. Feletheus held the curtain open, then followed Getorius out of the office.
“The master is preoccupied with a Gnostic Gospel of Thomas he received in the shipment from Constantinople,” he said. “You saw his amulet.”
“It’s a Gnostic talisman?”
“Yes. I…ah…found the monk’s word games intriguing, Surgeon, as I suspect you did.”
“I found them a waste of my time,” Getorius retorted, “and would have done better coming here to read either Galen or Hippocrates.”
“What will you do with the manuscripts?”
“Keep them until someone from Behan’s abbey comes to claim what I found in his hut.”
“Let us talk of this again,” Feletheus suggested.
“Fine, you know where my clinic is located.” As Getorius started down the stairs the boy with the smudged tunic
