The day was sunny. Lucius had gone for a walk at dawn, as he always used to. He was wearing the winter tunic, and now that the sun was higher above the horizon he was sweating already. It was going to be unusually hot for being at the end of November, but Lucius wasn't feeling uncomfortable at all: he liked warm weather. Every day, early in the mornings, he used to go out and meditate in the nature. How wonderful is Creation, he often used to think, sitting on a rock while he admired the sunrise or watched the flight of a kite.
It was time to walk back to the Vivarium, the daily tasks were awaiting. He had to go back to work, copying fragments of De hortis of Gargilius Martialis from the point where he had stopped the evening before. In the way back Lucius asked himself, which were the criteria that decided that a text was to be assigned to a copyist rather than to another? He had been living in the monastery for two years, and only in the last few months he had been given a role of copyist. He recalled it very well: five months earlier he had been summoned by the Abbot, who had told him that he was pleased with his work until that moment and so the "novice Lucius" was now ready for the delicate task of copying old texts, to be added to the library of the Vivarium. During the last five months they had assigned Lucius only fragments of texts on agriculture. De hortis, which Lucius had started to work on in the last few days, was the most substantial assignment they had given him until then, and still it was only a modest extract, not the entire work of Martialis. But what did he expect? After all, he was only a novice, in a monastery renowned in all the province. Yes, he came from a wealthy family, which had allowed him a good education; but here with the other monks he was one amongst many, no, he was even a newcomer. Lucius got irritated by himself for his own presumption; and for his non-stop thinking, too. His mother used to tell him: "You think too much, my son, and who thinks too much dies earlier". But he couldn't help himself: even when he wanted to rest and not to think of anything, his mind couldn't stop jumping from one thought to the other.
It must have been past the Terce when he arrived at the Vivarium. He would have come late at the prayer, he feared while hustling through the entryway of the monastery. He had just turned around a corner when he almost bumped into a huge monk. It was Brother Pelagius: "Lucius," he reproached him with a stench of onion in his breath, "the Abbot has summoned everyone in the common room".
"How's that? And the prayer of the Terce?"
"Today is replaced by a collective assembly. By now they should be mostly all there already", concluded Brother Pelagius, visibly irritated, as he started in the direction of the common room in long strides.
That seemed very strange to Lucius. It had never happened before, since when he was at the monastery.
In the common room the assembly had indeed started and all the monks must have been there, judging by the crowd. Some of them were sitting, several others were standing because there weren't enough stools.
Brother Pelagius, with his tremendous size, was parting the crowd in search of a place where he could easily see the Abbot, so Lucius followed him closely until he saw Brother Genesius standing there, then he stopped next to him. Brother Genesius was intent on listening to the Abbot, who was speaking.
"What's happening?" Lucius whispered to him.
"The emperor is dead", the other answered unperturbed, without distracting his attention from the Abbot's speech.
Emperor Iustinianus the Great, so that was the reason behind the assembly? But Iustinianus was very old, it was to be expected that soon or later he would die. Anyways, Lucius tried to silence his thoughts and focused on what the Abbot was saying.
"...Therefore the situation in the peninsula could become unpredictable, it will all depend on the decisions of the new emperor". The Abbot was speaking slowly and in a deep voice. He was very old too. A white beard framed his chin and only few thin white hairs sprouted from his bald skull. "I fear, dear brothers," he continued, "that we are living in a momentous age: in a few years everything, everything we are used to, might change forever". Many monks murmured at the Abbot's words. He raised slightly his voice: "I don't mean to raise concern, but I have been pondering over that for years, since when I founded this monastery. You all know what our work's primary mission is: to preserve the knowledge of our ancestors for the future generations. But maybe only few of you are aware of the real reason that urged me to dedicate myself to this mission: I am sorely persuaded that the legacy bequeathed us by our forefathers is fading away, and our grandchildren won't remember who we are and where we come from. Look at the situation of Italia since many years now, destroyed by war and pestilence, suffering from a decline never seen in the long history of Roma. And look at the city of Roma itself: once capital of the empire, now it lies half emptied of its former inhabitants. And the imperial armies that came to regain possession of Italia..."
The Abbot had to take a break and drank water from a cup that was in front of him on his desk. Now the whispering in the room had ceased completely: everyone was staring in silence, fearing what the Abbot was going to say. After he drank, he passed a wrinkled hand over his eyes, and then he fixed his own stare on the monks. It was a proud and piercing gaze. And suddenly Lucius saw in front of him not simply the Abbot, but Flavius Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus Senator.
"You know the story of my life", started again Cassiodorus, talking to the assembly. Actually Lucius knew nearly nothing about him, besides what he had overheard in some chats among the monks. What he did notice now, though, was that the Abbot had not finished what he was saying before drinking. But he was carrying on speaking: "You know that I stayed for long time in Constantinopolis, at Iustinianus' palace; and my brothers, I can tell you that the people, the imperial officials and the imperial army of Constantinopolis... are not Roman". Now the silence in the room was such intense that one could touch it. It was interrupted by an old monk's sudden cough; the poor old brother tried in vain to stop coughing, turning purple in his effort. Lucius was confused, as many other brothers too, judging by their faces: how the Roman imperial army was not Roman? Wouldn't that mean that Italia was occupied by a foreign army, then?
The Abbot in the meantime carried on: "I have called this assembly, my brothers, to tell you that no matter what might happen to our tormented peninsula, with God's help nothing can prevent us from preserving our culture and knowledge for the future generations".
Cassiodorus ended abruptly his speech just like that, and said something to his personal scribe, Brother Marcellus, who was next to him. All the other monks were silent and looked puzzled.
Then Brother Marcellus spoke in order to give some guidelines for the day. From the gaze of most of the brothers, Lucius could tell that many were worried. Probably they expected that the Abbot explained better what he had meant. But maybe he was too old and he couldn't speak for too long, and Lucius knew, for having heard that from some monks, that Cassiodorus didn't like to speak much, he rather preferred to write down his thoughts.
So, when Brother Marcellus finished talking, the assembly ended. Lucius went to his cell, took off his winter tunic and rested a little bit on his pallet, before he started the working day at the scriptorium. He couldn't stop thinking about the Abbot's speech, he was wondering if there were hidden meanings in what he had said.
He was deep in his thoughts when someone at the entrance of the cell called his name. It was Brother Marcellus: "Lucius, the Abbot would like to see you, he is waiting for you in his cell".
Lucius was stunned: "The Abbot? But... Did he say for what reason?"
In two years, only once Cassiodorus had spoken to Lucius, when he communicated to him his new role as a copyist.
"He will tell you by person," replied Marcellus, "when you are ready you can go to him".
It was the first time Lucius entered Cassiodorus' cell. He immediately noticed a brighter light inside: on a wall a glass window reflected the sun's rays, and the room was warmer than his own cell. Papyrus scrolls were everywhere, on the shelves, on the Abbot's desk, even on the floor. The smell of papyrus filled the cell, together with the scent of burned herbs. The space was bigger than Lucius' small cell. The Abbot was sitting next to his desk and another monk was there, Brother Leo. They seemed absorbed in a conversation when Lucius entered the room, accompanied by Brother Marcellus.
Cassiodorus turned his face to Lucius: "Welcome Lucius. You can go, Marcellus, don't worry, I will call you later. Please Lucius, come and sit with us". While Brother Marcellus was leaving, Lucius did as he was told. The Abbot was stone-faced, and Lucius became nervous now, he didn't have the faintest idea of what was all this about. Oh dear, I must have made some terrible copying mistake, he thought.
"How are you faring in your new role, Lucius?" asked him the Abbot once he had sat.
"Father, it is a privilege for me and I try my best...". Lucius teetered, and the Abbot intervened again: "I sense a 'but'?".
Not knowing what was at stake, Lucius decided to go all in: "I was wondering, just out of curiosity, is there a reason why I was charged with copying only extracts related to agriculture?"
Now Lucius noticed something close to a smile in the wrinkles at the corners of the Abbot's eyes, but maybe it was just his impression. "I think", answered Cassiodorus, "that the monks to whom I delegated the duty to decide what to assign you, made their choice on a simple assumption: that agriculture is an easy subject to be copied or translated, suitable for a novice. I tend to disagree with that, but mine is not always the last word. I personally think that in the agricultural field there are more specific and complicated words than in others. There is one more reason why until now you work on the same topic: usually we tend to assign to a copyist works from the same subject, so the copyist will become well versed in using those specific words. Sometimes it happens that some extracts have missing or illegible parts, and it's up to our responsibility and experience to fill those gaps with the words we find most suitable. Furthermore, when we need to translate from Greek to Latin, we must master a wide variety of words, including many specialised terms for each subject".
Lucius was stunned, he was expecting to be reprimanded without even knowing why, and instead the Abbot had dispelled all his doubts concerning his own role.
Cassiodorus must have noticed Lucius' puzzlement, because he talked again and this time his voice sounded warm and sympathetic: "Forgive me, novice Lucius, if it seems that I speak to you with a condescending tone, it's not my intention. Maybe it comes naturally because, after all, I think your age is about a fifth part of mine! Very soon you are taking vows and you won't be a novice anymore, and I will call you 'brother', same as the other monks".
Cassiodorus stopped, drank slowly from a cup to clear his throat, and started again: "Anyways, the reason why I wanted to talk to you is to discuss a completely different matter. I was talking with Brother Leo, here, about an epistle I received not long ago, from a monastery far, far away. In this letter, the abbot of that monastery asks me if we are willing to exchange copies of our scrolls in order to enrich both our libraries. As you all know, I have always welcomed any occasion of cultural interchange. All the more so after what I said today at the assembly. It's our responsibility to spread the knowledge we possess to any corner of the Latin world until we are still in time. Do you agree, Lucius?"
Lucius was more and more puzzled, but the answer came easily: "Yes, I agree".
"Good," carried on the Abbot, "I have asked Brother Leo, and he agreed, to carry some of our precious scrolls to that monastery and to others in that region, Hibernia, a fertile land for Christianity, apparently, much more than Italia these days. In the epistle they asked for a couple of well-read monks too, fit to teach Latin to their youth studying at their monasteries. This is another opportunity of cultural exchange, in my opinion. Brother Leo has decided to move there for one or two years as Latin teacher".
Lucius glanced at Brother Leo. He must've been around his forties, judging by the wrinkles around his eyes and by his composed attitude, typical in a mature man. He had a neat short black beard and he was placidly smiling. Lucius couldn't understand why a man was willing to move to the cold, uncivilized, extreme north of the known world, when he was lucky enough to do the work that he liked in the warm province of Bruttii, at the centre of the Mediterranean Sea.
Lucius, lost in his thoughts, was brought back to reality by the Abbot's words: "...Therefore I have thought that you could maybe accompany Brother Leo. You've had a good education and you are very young, with energies and enthusiasm needed for such a mission. You could learn a lot from such an experience and come back more mature. Brother Leo will leave in three or four months: winter is coming and it's not wise to undertake a travel by sea now. That would give you just the time to take your vows before leaving, if you will be willing to do it". The Abbot let his words soak in for a moment and then he asked Lucius: "What do you think?"
Lucius glanced again at Brother Leo, who was still smiling quietly, then, swallowing saliva and trying to organise his words, he turned to Cassiodorus: "Father, this is unexpected news to me... I didn't even know we had exchanges with monasteries so far away... I have never left this region in my life... I would like to have some time to ponder over it".
Cassiodorus wasn't taken aback: "Of course," he answered, "today I only wanted to tell you about this opportunity, but the decision will be yours, and whatever that'll be, it will be a right decision. In any case, I have faith in this venture: we need to connect as much as possible with other cultural centres, near and far away, during this difficult age, as I said earlier at the assembly".
Lucius now couldn't keep from intervening: "Father, if I may ask you, what were you meaning in your speech at the assembly? About the fact that in Constantinopolis they are not Romans? And about your prediction that everything will change?"
Cassiodorus seemed pleased with that question: "You see, Lucius, the answer is not easy, but it's important. I will try to explain better than how I did earlier this morning. Brother Leo, listen to this, you have never heard this story either. My father's paternal grandmother was born in Roma at the time when Theodosius the Great was emperor. She died almost centenarian, and among my earliest memories I remember the stories she used to tell me about her own childhood in Roma, during the years before the raids of Alaricus. At that time she was a little girl, unaware of the struggles the empire was experiencing: she used to remember that in her childhood Roma was still alive with the memories of its past, the huge ancient buildings and monuments, the traditions and way of living still intact since centuries. After she died, I grew up with the aspiration to revive those traditions and lifestyle, our old traditions and lifestyle. For years I thought that it could still be possible, but first the war and then my staying in Constantinopolis convinced me that our ancient Roman traditions are gone forever".
Lucius was watching at Brother Leo: he was not smiling anymore, he was now clinging to his stool, with a tense and intent expression on his face.
"And do you want to know why?" continued Cassiodorus, anticipating any questions: "Because the imperial power has been centred on the eastern part of the empire since too long. For too many years we have been out on the fringes. In Constantinopolis and in most of the eastern part of the empire they speak Greek in the everyday life and they have their own traditions and culture. For the emperors, Italia is nowadays a far and difficult territory, to be kept just for the honour and stability of the empire, nothing else. Soon the imperial officers, like Narses and his successors, will impose even here the Greek language. And even if that is not going to happen, the old Roman way of living is already fading away. People are living more and more in the country because the cities were destroyed in the war. In Roma, the Senate by now is only a ghost of the glorious institution it used to be, dismantled and without real powers anymore. The Italian capital Ravenna is being shaped as an eastern city, with culture and lifestyle more and more similar to the ones in Constantinopolis. These are only a few of the issues, but they describe well enough the situation".
The Abbot was visibly tired, but he had not finished yet: "And here we are talking about going to Hibernia. Why so far? Because in those lands they are interested in preserving our Latin culture. Not only there, anyways. I am in contact with some monasteries in Gallia, for example. Wherever the Latin language and way of living are still alive, we must help them to survive. In a way, I envy you, Brother Leo, you are going to a land mysterious and yet anchored to our Latin heritage, strange and exotic and yet so full of fresh energies. In that land you may witness something different, maybe even the beginning of a new age".
Brother Leo looked entranced. Lucius was not so sure of rejecting that proposition anymore.
