‘There are differing schools of thought on this subject. This could be the case, some translations may have been from Egyptian into Hebrew and also, later into Coptic, however, Aramaic was the Semitic language of the people, and incidentally the language of Jesus. Hebrew was the language of the priests. I prefer to think that Aramaic is the purest. At least it is purer than the pagan Greek language which has corrupted everything . . . Saint Jerome, God Bless him, translated the Bible from Hebrew to Latin, but it is fraught with errors. Moreover, the Greek text is known to have included a number of books not present in the texts used by the Hebrews, Saint Jerome did not include them and called them ‘apocryphal’.’
‘You mean . . . heretical.’
‘Actually, it means hidden,’ he said with a grin, ‘The Apocrypha has been embraced by some, others believe it to be inspired by Gnostic philosophy.’
‘And what of the gospels? I have heard there are a number not included in the new Testament. The gospel of Thomas for instance, and others like the secret Gospel of Matthew?’
The librarian turned an ash-grey, ‘The Gospel of Thomas, Matthew? Yes, I have of heard them.’
‘Curious, is it not? Though one can hardly believe that such things exist.’
The librarian moved closer. ‘Oh, but they do, preceptor!’ The man betrayed himself. ‘We are told they were not found to be canonical, firstly the gospel of Thomas does not mention the crucifixion and other important events while the secret Gospel of Matthew . . . better that the world not know of their existence, we must leave these decisions to those wiser than we.’
My master smiled a little. ‘Ah, yes, but think what a dull world it would be if one always deferred knowledge to wisdom. Still I know that you are right. One cannot help wondering, though, what such gospels might tell us . . .’
‘Yes, one can only wonder,’ Macabus narrowed his eyes, ‘and yet what can one more gospel tell us that we do not already know, preceptor?’
‘Indeed, I suppose we shall never know.’ Then my master made a gesture that signalled that we were about to leave, and the other man made a noise, a kind of clearing of his throat as though he were about to say something.
Dear reader, you may ask why brother Macabus embarked on the following conversation when there was no outward reason that he should do so. All I can say is that perhaps the sin of the intellect is best nurtured in collusion, because instruction is like an act of seduction that one man uses to gain advantage over another, or as in this case, to affect a semblance of importance. It seemed that the circumspect librarian, given the first opportunity, was about to divulge many things.
‘There have been rumours,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Rumours that we . . . that we have these same gospels here in the abbey.’ He held a hand over his mouth suddenly, as though he had uttered a blasphemy. ‘Held in the treasury as a relic given to us by a generous benefactor.’
‘Is this true?’ My master managed a look of incredulity that would have fooled anyone, no less the man standing before him. ‘And yet surely if such a precious item existed in the abbey it would be at your disposal?’
The man smiled a little wanly, ‘That is a logical conclusion and yet we do not live in a world ruled by logic, preceptor, but one ruled by obedience.’
‘Yes, however, as librarian you must have access to all the books belonging to the library, is that not so?’
The man straightened his shoulders. ‘No, in fact Brother Ezekiel alone was sanctioned to enter the library proper . . . Now, we must await the abbot’s decision . . .’
‘Oh, I see . . .’, he gave me another one of his peculiar looks, and I was coming to realise that they were meant to signal me to attention. ‘This must have been a source of much anguish on your part. An erudite man is by nature curious . . .’
‘You do not know preceptor . . .’ the other man said, opening up as a flower does to the warm rays of the sun, ‘how many long nights I have contemplated my shortcomings, I have mortified the flesh seeking the reasons for my exclusion, and yet . . . ‘I am a worm and no man: adversus eos qui tribulant me’.’
My master gave the man a look of warm commiseration.
‘And yet it is the worm that makes the earth fertile, brother. No one could blame you for becoming so overwhelmed with emotion that you would do almost anything to hold those precious codices in your hands, at the very least . . . to see them.’
Macabus eyed my master shrewdly and raised his chin in defiance. ‘Not anything, preceptor, I would not lose my virtue, nor would I kill for it, if that is what you mean.’