Chapter CVIII
In a silence of astonishment we stumbled after the man - and, to tell the truth, even he also stumbled from time to time, despite his ability to see in the dark. At length, when the night was fully dark, we reached the top and to my relief there were lights in the valley - and the lights from windows, not just the twinkling of camp fires such as robbers might use.
The monk stopped and bade us stand still also, then he put his hands to his mouth and whistled a shrill little tune. We stood in silence for a moment and then, far below in the valley, someone whistled another tune as if in reply.
"I have told them you are coming," the monk observed. "They will be waiting for you."
Going down the slope in the darkness was even more difficult than climbing up, but half-way down we came to a path of sorts and things went easier. Nonetheless it was a long time before we reached the bottom and approached the lights, which I could now see came from a large building - or perhaps several buildings surrounded by a high wall. One of the buildings was a church, for I could see the silhouette of a bell tower surmounted by a cross outlined against the stars of the sky.
When we were still a hundred paces from the building a band of black-clad men appeared out of the darkness and our guide went with them to one side where they spoke softly so that we could not hear them. At length one of the newcomers came up to us.
"Come, you can put your animals in here," he said, leading the way to a low stone wall and heaving open the hurdle that closed the entrance. "There is water in a trough and we will bring fodder for tonight."
I tugged on the donkeys' halters and led them over to the gate and the dog brought the sheep behind. Inside the wall it was as the man had said, for a stone trough was there, fed by water gushing from a stone spout in the wall and flowing away again along a stone channel and out under the wall.
When I came out again, having unloaded the donkeys and tethered the dog near the gate, the same monk was waiting for me.
"Come, your wife and child are already gone within."
He led the way to the door of the monastery where half a dozen black-clad figures stood, waiting for us. As we approached they came towards us and surrounded me.
"Your pardon," the monk said. "It is not permitted to bring weapons of any sort within. You must allow us to search you or you must stay outside."
I had left my sword with the donkeys so I could not have resisted even if I had wanted to. The monk put out his hands and felt under my arms and down my sides as far as my knees and finally patted between my shoulder blades.
"Come inside," he said when he had finished. "Welcome, in the name of God and of His Son Jesus Christ."
Trudy was waiting in the courtyard inside the walls, Mariam in her arms, and attended - or guarded - by three men with torches. As I came up to them Trudy reached out and took my hand and squeezed it. Her face looked unusually white and her eyes were large.
"Are you all right?" she whispered in Arabic.
"Al-hamdu-lillah," I whispered back and she squeezed my hand again.
"This way," the monk who had searched me said.
We followed him into the building on one side of the courtyard and climbed a series of stairs to a room at the end of a long corridor. The monk pushed open the door and gestured for us to enter. I followed Trudy in and looked around me. There were two beds on either side of the small room, a low table and a barred window.
"We will bring you food and water," the monk said. "I am sorry, but I must lock the door. When you have spoken to the abbot in the morning you will be free to go and come as you please."
I glanced at him and then at the three men with torches, noticing for the first time just how big they were - and each man had a large cudgel hanging from his girdle. Clearly, whether I liked it or not, there was nothing I could do to resist.
"Thank you," I said, putting as brave a face on it as I could.
The monk raised his hand and intoned something in a language I did not recognise, then one of the other men came into the room and placed his torch in a bracket in the wall. After that they all withdrew and shut the door behind them. I stood still as their footsteps faded away down the corridor and then walked over and tried the door. It wouldn't open.
"We are prisoners," Trudy said quietly.
There was nothing we could do. A short time later more big men brought us food and water - the food was not luxurious but it was adequate in both quantity and quality. They brought extra bedding and a bucket for our necessary needs, but then they withdrew, locking the door behind them, and we did not see them again until the morning.
Long before daylight I was wakened by a strange knocking sound and shortly after I heard chanting, but it was very faint and far away. I got up and stood looking out the window as the courtyard below came to life in the gray light of dawn - a monk sweeping the flagstones, monks carrying jars of water from the well, monks hurrying back and forth.
Shortly after the sun came up I heard footsteps out in the corridor and several big monks came to the door and opened it. As they came into the room Trudy gave a little scream and sat up in bed and Mariam began to cry.
"Your pardon," one of the monks said. "Please, do not be afraid. Kurios, our abbot is ready to speak to you."
"A moment, please," I said. "We have to get ready."
"Your wife need not come," the monk said. He turned to her, "Kyria, we will not be long. Do not be afraid."
"Why have you locked us in?" Trudy demanded, rocking Mariam to soothe her. "Why are we prisoners here?"
"Kyria, believe me, we have more to fear from you than you do from us," the man said and then he took my arm and drew me, firmly but without violence, out of the room and I heard the door shut behind me.
"Fuad!" Trudy screamed behind me and Mariam began to cry again, louder than before.
I had no choice, however, but to follow the monks along the corridor and down the stairs. When we came to the courtyard they turned to the right, away from the main door, and led me past the well and into a small room where an old man dressed in black rose to greet me.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome in the name of God and of His Son Jesus Christ. Please, sit down."
He gestured courteously at a chair in front of the desk and my monk guards withdrew, shutting the door behind them.
"My son," the abbot said, "I understand that you are a Muslim."
"That is so, kurios," I replied.
"Ah," the abbot said, looking - for some reason - pleased. "Tell me, my son, what do you Muslims believe about Jesus Christ?"
I thought for a moment. "We believe that he is a prophet, kurios," I said. "He was born to Sitt Mariam, who was a virgin, through the power of Allah - of God - and God gave him many messages for us, just as we have received from Musa and Ibrahim and the other prophets."
"So you don't believe that he is truly God, part of this Trinity that the heretics believe?" the abbot asked.
"No, kurios. We affirm the unity of God. We believe that there is only one God and he does not have a son ..."
"Do you believe that Jesus died for us?" the abbot interrupted.
"Kurios, we believe that he did not die, for God would not allow one of his prophets to be killed. Rather he appeared to die, though some say that he was really on the cross but escaped from it and either someone else died on the cross or God blinded the eyes of those who watched so that they thought he was still on the cross when really he was not."
I hesitated, remembering the words of Sid Guy but also thinking for the first time how strange the Muslim belief was. After all, other prophets of Allah had been killed by unbelievers.
"Docetism," the abbot muttered. "Tell me, my son, have you ever heard of Arius?"
"Arius?" I repeated, trying to recall all the people I had met in Jerusalem. "I don't remember, kurios. Where did he come from?"
"You won't have met him," the abbot suddenly smiled. "He died nearly seven hundred years ago. He was a great man from Egypt, from Alexandria. He taught us that Jesus was an ordinary man, but that God adopted him and therefore he is called the Son of God. It seems to me that your beliefs are not all that far from ours."
"From yours, kurios?"
"Yes, from ours," the abbot nodded. "You see, my son, we are followers of this Arius and for this we are greatly persecuted by those heretics who were led astray by Athanasius, the great enemy of Arius. We have heard of you Muslims and we look for you to come and deliver us from our persecutors."
"Kurios," I said, "I know nothing of this Arius and Athanasius. How is it that the teachings of one man were accepted and those of the other rejected? Is it not written in your holy books?"
The abbot looked sad. "Alas, my son, the Holy Gospels can be read in many ways and those who hate the truth pervert them. There were many councils of the bishops and at one time Athanasius was successful, at another time Arius, first one was exiled by the Basileus and then the other. In the end the pope in Old Rome was persuaded by Athanasius and thus error triumphed."
"How can this be?" I wondered aloud.
The abbot made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "My son, those who are led astray by this Athanasius are yet more divided. First they divide the substance and declare that Jesus had both human 'ousia' and divine 'ousia'. Then they quarrelled over the question of the nature - the 'physis' - with some saying that he had one 'physis' and others two. Thus you have the Monophysites, led astray by Nestorius and those who dare to call themselves orthodox."
"I have heard of this Nestorius," I said.
"Would that he had been the limit of this foolishness," the abbot sighed. "These deceivers quarrelled further, some saying that Jesus had a human will and a divine will and others that there was only one will. These are called Monothelites. And then," he continued with a chuckle, "when God brought you Muslims against these heretics as a judgement upon them, the Basileus in Bzyantium tried to unite his people and reconcile all these heresies by saying that there were two substances, two natures, two wills, but a single energy. Pah! Foolishness!"
He waved his hand as if to dismiss these matters.
"Now, what can you tell me about the Turks?"
"Kurios, I know nothing except that they are also Muslims."
"Are you a spy for them?" the abbot asked.
"Kurios!" I exclaimed. "We are not spies. We are travellers seeking refuge from - er - from -" I paused, for it seemed strange to me that I should be fleeing from my own people, and yet that is what I was doing.
"From?" the abbot prompted.
"Kurios, my wife is a Frank whose father was killed in the great battle of Hattin. You have heard of it?"
The abbot shook his head. "We are far from the world and hear very little of its doings," he said.
"Well, there was a great battle in which the Muslims were victorious and the kingdom of the Franks was destroyed. My wife's father was, we think, killed in that battle, but before the battle he charged me to take her back to her own people - and that is what I am doing."
"I see." The abbot sounded disappointed. "So you can give us no hope that the Muslims will come soon?"
I shook my head in the Frankish manner. "Kurios, I can tell you nothing, either good or bad. I'm sorry."
"But at least you will not betray us to the heretics?" the abbot asked. "After all, we believe almost the same as you do."
"I swear by God, kurios, that we will tell no one about you," I assured him earnestly.
"Then come and eat with us." The abbot stood up. "We welcome you as a brother."
He rang a small bell and at once the door opened and a young monk appeared.
"Brother Anthony," the abbot said. "Take this young man and conduct him to the guest chamber where his wife is waiting. See that they have all that they need and guide them to the refectory. We will dine together."
