‘Nevertheless,’ Eisik said, ‘your Christ was a Jew whose life was guided by Jewish tradition.’
‘Oh yes,’ Sacar blushed, ‘you are quite right, one so easily forgets.’
‘If our Lord were alive,’ added my master, ‘I am afraid such a program would afford him little time for sermons on the mount or for the healing of the sick.’
Sacar smiled. ‘And yet we, his humble servants, can only remember his works in our oratio Dei, in the cantus pastoralis.’
‘The shepherd’s songs?’
‘Why, the psalms, of course,’ he admonished in good humour.
‘Of course!’ My master then cleared his throat by way of indicating that he was ready to discuss other things, and that the master of music should finish his work that he may do so.
Sacar nodded his understanding and gathered all the necessary information, writing out a little list of items down on a rough parchment. A moment later he closed the book carefully and with Andre’s help, replaced it in its repository. And as we emerged from the scriptorium and walked in the direction of the church he turned his attention to us as promised.
‘I am looking for Brother Setubar, perhaps you have seen him?’ my master asked.
‘No, he was missing from the services this morning, perhaps he is grieving as we all are for our dear departed brother . . . However, in light of recent events it is a little worrying.’ His face then changed, it filled with torment, ‘Oh, preceptor! What is happening to us?’
‘It is unfortunate, brother . . .’ my master said, and not waiting for a reply continued, ‘I was unable to express my deepest sympathy before for your sad loss . . . Brother Samuel’s death must have been very distressing.’
Sacar raised a hand in the air as if to stay my master’s apology, ‘I thank you, preceptor. I imagine him singing in the angelic choirs of heaven and this gives me peace.’
‘Indeed, a great loss after so many years together?’
‘The short years we knew one another were indeed precious ones,’ he sighed, closing his eyes.
‘So you have only come to the monastery recently?’
‘Oh, no, I have been here since I was only a young man, no older than your scribe . . . ahh, those days were so –’
My master interrupted him by clearing his throat, ‘So it was brother Samuel who had only been here for a short time?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘he and the others were from a monastery whose population was diminished and so forced to close its doors.’
‘When you say the other brothers you mean Setubar, Ezekiel, and Brother Daniel?’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
There was a pause, my master’s eyebrows worked furiously. ‘So around the year forty-four the four of them came here?’
‘Yes, I suppose it was forty-four, does it interest you?’
‘I am intrigued to know who the original founders of the abbey were.’
‘Oh . . . well, we are told that nine brothers from many distant lands and four from France were called to this place, it is said, by a spiritual voice. Legend tells how they arrived here independently, and yet within days of each other, each calling out the other’s name as if they had known one another all their lives.’
‘Indeed. And did they live long?’
‘I do not know,’ he answered with a frown, ‘I think they died shortly after the completion of the abbey. There is a grave with a headstone . . . one of our oldest . . . In any case by that time there were enough members to continue their work and an abbot was appointed.’
‘And what was his name?’
‘Nicholas of Aragon, a Spanish monk who lived many years in the Holy Land,’ he turned his gaze to Eisik, ‘the land of your forefathers! And yes, he was a wonderful translator. I did not know him, for he died before I came here.’
‘I see . . . so are all the abbots translators then?’
‘Oh, yes, it is a tradition. The next to succeed Abbot Nicholas was Abbot Otto of Troyes, and then of course Abbot Bendipur, who is himself a fine scholar and knows many languages including Aramaic and Greek, but more importantly Egyptian Coptic.’
The abbot knew Greek! So many thoughts were now coursing through my mind.
‘And so before Brother Bendipur became Abbot, he too worked in the scriptorium?’
‘No . . . not the scriptorium, but the library,’ he said almost in a whisper. ‘Brother Ezekiel took the abbot’s place as head translator when he was elected, and the secrets of the library were passed to him.’
‘So the abbot was the librarian?’
‘No.’
‘How so?’