Valeria's Cross. Kathi MaciasЧитать онлайн книгу.
a young Nubian with skin the color of dark chestnuts, appeared at the gate. He took a deep bow before them. “Welcome to the monastery, ladies.”
Valeria smiled at the beautiful young man with dark eyes and well-toned body, but Eugenia quickly reprimanded her. “This man is a monk. Please do not torture him with your tantalizing smile.”
Valeria blushed, wondering how Eugenia had the power to read her mind. Yet even under Eugenia’s watchful eye, it was hard not to stare at this strikingly attractive man.
Seemingly unaware of his admirer, Alara guided them on a tour of the church, which contained the most intricate mosaics the women had ever seen. The walls inside the church and other buildings were filled with mystical and colorful hieroglyphics, painstakingly drawn centuries ago. The octagonal domes of the church were painted with murals of Jesus and his disciples.
Once they had toured the magnificent church, Alara invited them to step outside into the courtyard. He led them through an arcade covered by a succession of arches that connected the church to the monastery. Through the archways, the women saw that the monks were cultivating vegetables and fruits.
“Would you like to go down into the garden grotto?” Alara asked.
The women declined, explaining that their own religion taught that these underground caves contained evil spirits.
When they crossed the gardens into the monastery, the women discovered it was a community in itself, busily humming with workers—not just scholarly monks, but brothers who were craftsmen, artists, carpenters, and potters. Alara paused at the kiln where the women observed several industrious monks in various stages of creating exquisite pottery from the red clay indigenous to the area. The women were delighted when they were offered several pieces as gifts. They thanked the monks and went on to the next room, which was a workshop manned by several carpenters. These craftsmen gave them hand-carved wooden crosses, inset with mosaics.
The aroma of the bakery caused the women’s mouths to water, and they were soon enjoying a sample of homemade bread fresh from the clay ovens. Their servants’ arms were quickly laden with loaves and cakes, filled with nuts and dates, to take back to the palace.
Next Alara gave them a peek into the monks’ living quarters. Each cell contained six beds carved out of the natural limestone. “How does one sleep on stone?” Valeria wondered aloud.
Alara laughed. “They are quite comfortable, and the stone is beneficial for the back. The monks do not afford themselves luxuries, for our Savior Himself had no home or bed.”
“Then I am sure I do not care for your religion, for I prefer luxurious surroundings,” Valeria declared.
“Ah, you misunderstand, dear lady. God does not expect everyone to choose the same path. You will not have to sacrifice luxury unless God calls you to do so. If He does, you will want nothing more because He will either provide the strength you need to live without it or take away the desire.”
Valeria made a face.
Alara smiled at her. “Some of the older monks do not choose the luxury of living at the monastery. The founder of our order, Antony, and many of his followers prefer to live in underground caves.”
Prisca gasped. “With the evil spirits?”
“Even if evil spirits resided in the underground caves, the Bible teaches, ‘Greater is He who is in us than he who is in the world.’ There is nothing to fear.”
Valeria’s eyes opened wide. “You believe you have a god living inside you?” Before Alara could reply, she added, “So does my father. He believes he is God and demands that everyone address him as Lord and God.”
Alara’s handsome face twisted into a pained look, but Valeria was not surprised that the young monk remained silent. What could he say? A derogatory statement in the presence of the empress and her daughter concerning the emperor would have been unwise.
“Father believes he’s Jupiter. So who do you claim to be?”
“I do not claim to be a god. Christians believe there is only one God and just by inviting Jesus into your heart, the Holy Spirit will come and dwell within you, giving you strength and peace.”
Alara smiled and changed the subject. “Come and let us visit the monastery. Before you leave, we will schedule your Bible studies, where you will find the answers to your questions.”
As they continued down the limestone hallways, they passed room after room filled with rows of papyrus. Prisca stopped at the door of one of the rooms and asked, “What is written upon all these papyruses?”
“Those are writings pertaining to Scripture,” Alara explained. “Many are Saint Mark’s interpretations. The Apostle Mark founded the church during the reign of the Roman emperor Nero, and a great multitude of Egyptians embraced the Christian faith. But even before Christianity, Jewish and Greek scholars joined forces with the Copts to translate the ancient Holy Scriptures.”
“Who will teach us the Holy Scriptures?” Prisca asked.
“The biblical scholars in the monastery will instruct you. You will love the poetic and inspiring Psalms penned by King David. And your daughter, as a young pupil, will grow in wisdom and garner valuable life lessons from Proverbs. The Holy Scriptures are rich with history, and many of the prophecies that were foretold of Jesus are written there.”
Prisca’s eyes lit up. “Oh, is it possible that the monks can tell my future?”
“Biblical prophecy is unrelated to fortune-telling,” Alara explained.
“I am not sure that I understand the difference,” Prisca confessed.
“You will after you study the Word of God,” Alara assured her.
The tour ended as they arrived at a door in the back of the temple overlooking the garden. Alara knocked and then introduced the women and their servants to Brother Bishoy, who led the group into a large library, with a barrel-vaulted roof and filled with arcades and pendentives. Shelves of papyrus lined the walls. In the center of the room were several tables and chairs, some occupied by monks so deep in study they were unaware of the women’s presence.
“Welcome,” Bishoy said, as the servants scurried around, finding chairs for the women and their attendants. “Please sit down.”
Valeria studied the priest in his long flowing robe, tied at the waist with a simple rope. A pair of bright red shoes peeked out like mice from beneath his robe. Brother Bishoy’s vestments were brightly colored, but tattered. His long, crooked fingers were smudged in ink. Tufts of white hair sprouted out of his mostly bald head, but his bright smile lit up his otherwise homely face.
After they were seated, Prisca spoke on behalf of the women and thanked the monks for agreeing to enlighten them.
“There have been hundreds of scholars throughout the Roman Empire who have come here to study,” Bishoy informed them with a smile.
“We are hardly scholars,” Prisca stated. “Just two women intrigued by your religion.”
“Two very important women,” Brother Bishoy added, bowing his head slightly.
The sound of a monk clearing his throat came from a nearby table, causing the women to glance in his direction. Seated at the desk was a man even more disheveled than the one who had welcomed them.
“Antony, the old monk who lives in the cave?” Valeria wondered in a whisper to her mother.
There were no papyruses stacked upon his table, but his hands moved furiously over stone tablets on the table before him.
“Is he reading with his fingertips?” Valeria asked.
Brother Bishoy answered her question with an introduction. “This is Didymus, one of our monks who will be teaching you. He is blind.”
The women greeted Didymus with cheerful salutations. Absorbed in his work, he did not look up, nor did his