Chapter 27

Abba Moses at Baramas

Abba Moses, Yarrl and I sat at a table where breakfast would soon appear. He was tall and muscular, as dark as the night. His kind eyes and warm smile put us at ease.

“Good morning Yarrl, Artemus, we’re glad to have you here. Maybe you know that Akakios lives here when he’s not traveling. You’re both welcome to stay for as long as you wish and come back any time.”

“Thank you; good morning.” We spoke as one.

“Before I became a monk I wasn’t a good man.” His voice was level, sincere.

“I was born in the Nubian Desert of Kush, but when I grew up I left home and walked west toward Egypt to see the world. I met lots of people in the desert and soon fell in with a gang of robbers who attacked individuals and caravans. During those long years, I killed many desert travelers for their possessions and began to think I was invincible.” He paused.

Transfixed, we didn’t blink or move a muscle.

“I was wrong about that.” He drew a breath. “There came an afternoon when I was alone. I’d spotted a small caravan with the look of prosperous traders; and with my usual overconfidence I didn’t notice how well-armed it was. I attacked on impulse; was immediately knocked to the ground with several terrible wounds and left all alone.”

Horrified by this story, we forgot to breathe.

“Faint and weak, I could feel the life force slipping out of my body. I became weaker and weaker until a golden light fell on my eyes and all around. Dazed and muzzy, I only just glimpsed the luminous figure above me, slowly little by little growing brighter and brighter until I’d been revived and my wounds were healed.” A small smile softened his face.

“Ever after a great feeling of calm has been always with me.” Stunned, neither of us had ever heard a story like that.

“I came straight to Baramus and have stayed here to this day. In due course I became a monk and was given my name, Moses the Black.” His voice shared the joy he held within.

Then, before either of us could respond, he excused himself to take care of an errand while we ate breakfast. We sat still for a while and let his story sink in; then joined the monks for bread with dates and figs.

As we finished, Abba Moses returned to take us on a tour of the grounds.

“Baramas was built less than a hundred years ago; the first monastery in the Wadi Natrun. Here we are protected from Berber bandits and others who roam the desert. Monks who live outside the walls and local farmers also come here for safety.

“This is a consecrated place, where each can find his own way to salvation. It’s quiet here; we’re not bedeviled by the storms that sweep across the civilized world. Of course individuals may still choose to chase or create their own storms.”

“How many monks live here?” Yarrl asked as we walked past a row of cells.

“On this day, thirty seven monks live inside the walls. Each has a private room we call a cell, for daily devotions and a little sleep. Many others live in the countryside. Some solitaries choose to live near farms in the area; others are scattered about like grain tossed to the raven. They live in caves or simple mud-brick buildings of one or two rooms. If there’s a window, the sill will hold their holy book. There might be a sleeping mat made of reeds, an oil lamp or candle, and a few meager provisions like honey or dried peas. Often the daily meal is hard bread soaked in water with a little salt or herbs.”

We turned toward the north wall where we had entered yesterday. We’d come into the long corridor with barrel-vault roof through a small door in the outside wall. Inside, another door opened almost in the middle of the compound.

“Do you see how this works?” Abba Moses pointed to the inside door. “It’s intended to prevent a strike force from getting in or at least from surprising us at full force.”

“I understand,” Yarrl said. “And we also noticed a small platform above the outer door. What is that for? Why does it have a hole in it?”

“That’s called a matama, or feed place; we use it to see who’s at the outer door before it’s opened. The hole also allows us to lower bread to those who beg for food. We help everyone who asks. There are many poor men and women who left the cities to escape political or religious pressures or couldn’t pay the high taxes. Many of those displaced people now seek a simple, pious life.”

I’d read about how the Roman Empire went downhill and fell apart. As Roman troops were withdrawn from Egypt, many Roman citizens and Egyptian Copts in the cities had been ruined and left destitute. They received no help from the Church, so sought refuge in the desert.

“The farmers here are peaceful, non-Christian Berbers. Some of the monks work on their farms.” Moses turned around and we approached a great tower made of stone. “This is our keep. It’s a watch tower and our last secure place of refuge if we are besieged. I’ll show you around.

“We built it a few years ago after many died in a series of attacks by barbaric tribesmen.” We walked up stairs along the inside wall. “The top is connected by a drawbridge to that high walkway on the inside of the walls where monks stand watch over the countryside, day and night. On the roof there’s a big slab of wood and a club to make a loud warning. All around us, the solitaries and farmers know that sound as a signal for them to run here for safety. On the ground floor, the kitchen has ovens, storage, a well and wine cellar. We’re well-prepared for a long siege.”

Back outside, we turned right; a church, constructed of mud-brick covered with plaster, was against the south wall opposite the monastery entrance. It was a plain building, adorned only by an altar and three windows. Monks sat on the earthen floor for worship.

To our left, vineyards, gardens and trees almost filled the east end of the compound and there was another row of cells nearby.

Moses turned around; we walked back to the keep and followed him into an interior room where our visit could not be overheard. Abba Moses spoke of current Church issues, emerging doctrine and the reason we’d come to Baramas.

“For the last couple of weeks there’s been much unease and tension between the older, uneducated monks and the younger monks schooled in the philosophy of the pagan Plato and Church father Origen’s teachings.” His words were straightforward, without emotion. “Monks loyal to the bishop started a few scuffles and attacked several free-thinking monks. Violence may soon escalate.” A worry line appeared across his forehead.

“If your reason for being here at the monastery was known by all, I fear there are some who wouldn’t hesitate to send your souls to the spirit world. I advise you to take great care in your conversations with each other, and to be especially cautious of what you say to any of the monks.”

Glad we’d kept everything to ourselves; we were surprised and stunned by his words.

“Thank you Abba Moses, for the tour and for letting us know what’s going on here.” Yarrl, a little unnerved, managed to keep his voice calm. “I know Theon and Hypatia studied and visited the Wadi Natrun monasteries before they made their plan and were told that religious materials from the library would be safe here.

“I’m sorry to hear that some of the monks are upset enough to turn toward violence and give everyone cause for worry.” Yarrl frowned. “Artemus and I will have to figure out what to do next.”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate that the Bishop’s words can so easily give rise to anger in some of the monks. I’m sorry this has happened.” Moses walked us out and returned to his work.

We headed for the trees where cooler air would help us calm down; and sat in silence for a while until Yarrl’s breathing slowed and he had taken some time to work this news over in his mind. It was an old story, Bishop Theophilus, Cyril’s uncle, had begun to mess with the monasteries and now it looked like Cyril intended to carry that influence forward with his own brand of orthodoxy. It could be the new normal, and would probably soon remove any autonomy the monasteries still had.

“Maybe things have changed since Theon and Hypatia were here.” I spoke first, not sure we could do anything. But if the problem isn’t going to go away, we’d have to figure out something.

“They determined all these monasteries would be suitable for use as regional storage facilities. I don’t think anyone told them that political or Church problems could arise.” Yarrl was irritated. “They even spent time figuring out ways to make use of such a dispersed collection. Now it sounds like that’s impossible. What can we do, Artemus?”

“Maybe this is something we should talk to Arsenius about.” I had no ideas for a solution or any notion that Arsenius could help; but I didn’t want Yarrl to get too discouraged. Surely this issue can be resolved; I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen. Any part of the library’s collection that’s saved would be of great value if found in the future when intellectual curiosity and philosophical inquiry are again essential components of education and an accepted part of public discourse. I didn’t know of any other options for storing scrolls and codices; and civilized Rome didn’t care about anything as they sailed toward their own doom. If monasteries were not reliable, safe places; we’d have to work out something else with Arsenius.

“Artemus, only last month Theon told me most of the monks down here were educated in Alexandria, Christian Neoplatonists sympathetic to free intellectual inquiry. He probably didn’t think Cyril’s recent mutterings in the city would affect these southern monasteries.” Yarrl was trying to figure it out. “I do know how devoted the Coptic monks are to Cyril, and so many of them are in the desert monasteries that Moses must be right; we have a serious problem.”

We realized every monastery in the Wadi Natrun would in all probability have the same problem, and by now the difficulties might be known in Alexandria. If Theon and Hypatia didn’t know; they soon would. But that didn’t really matter; they could do nothing about it.

We’d have to find another place to store the scrolls and codices. As we talked we began to wonder if the Library’s ancient knowledge might be safe somewhere around that rugged, craggy escarpment dotted with rocks, caves and rough terrain. After much debate we decided our best option would be to explore and map some of the caves. That remote, unfriendly landscape could make it the best hiding place.

“Should we talk to Abba Moses right away?” Yarrl thought out loud. We finally decided it would be better to wait. Arsenius would arrive tomorrow, and he was our main contact. With heavy sighs, we let go of worry and took a walk through the gardens.

Late in the afternoon, a small group of Roman soldiers approached the monastery door and asked to be let in. Abba Moses granted them entry. They were on a semi-annual search for army deserters. I guess some young men left the earthly army to join a spiritual one.

Our strength and energy restored, we looked forward to the next day. Even as we realized how precarious our mission was, the peace and quiet of the desert had worked its magic.

In their nighttime vigil against the devil and desert demons, the monks prayed non-stop. Their hushed voices a lullaby.

 NEXT.....Chapter 28
Yarrl's Path