Chapter Two: The Olde Monastery

Brother Alban was one of the few brethren of St. Mary Graces who preferred to stay up late at night in order to keep vigil. Given the Protestant circumstances on the continent, which seems to now be infecting England - all the way up to His Majesty’s palace, it was now more important than ever to be constantly praying for the preservation of God’s church. Most nights, as his brothers in Christ were headed to bed, he would be deep in prayer. Tonight, however, he was distracted by the whispering voices coming from the entrance. It wasn’t uncommon for travelers to seek shelter at a monastery, but this late at night?

“What are we supposed to do now?” muttered one of the gentlemen. The other was a man dressed in a cassock, but Brother Alban wasn’t sure what his order was.

“God give you good even,” greeted Brother Alban. “How may I serve you?”

The man in vestments responded, “Good evening. I am Father Anastasios, and this be James Fryer. We pray that thou might give refuge to two lowly travelers this night.”

These two men must be strangers to England, thought Brother Alban, who slowly examined their dress. He had seen traders and diplomats from all over the world: from France, the Lowlands, Italy, even as far away as Constantinople. However, he had never seen men who dressed or spoke like the two before him. One with a floral printed shirt, and the other in black vestments that wasn’t quite the norm for the Catholic church. Hopefully not a reformer… or worse, a Cromwellian spy.

“Your speech betrayeth you. Whence come ye?” asked Brother Alban. If they were from France, the Lowlands, or German, they might in fact be secret Lutherans.

The two men looked at each other, hesitating. This raised Brother Alban’s suspicions.

“We are Englishmen from Ireland. That’s why our accent is different,” responded Father Anastasios.

Brother Alban was unsure that he had ever met an Irishman - or an Englishman from Ireland. If his geography served him well, that meant that they must be from the Pale. To be honest, he did not have the highest opinion of the Irish, who were known to be rowdy and heathen in their habits. However, these two men seemed mostly good-natured, and the religious among Ireland seemed largely sympathetic to Rome.

“Well then, come ye in. We have chambers to spare for weary travelers. Follow me.”

After recording and settling the two strangers in the cell, Brother Alban returned to the chapel, wondering what these men had in store. He had several questions to ask of them, and wasn’t sure how to explain their presence to the rest of the brethren. If he was being truthful to himself and to God, some of his brothers often frustrated him. Although he was loyal to the Bishop of Rome, he sometimes felt that the Reformers’ criticisms of corruption inside the church were unfortunately accurate. All the more reason to pray on bended knees for the salvation of England and the Church.

James woke early to the sound of Father Anastasios’ private prayers. So this hadn’t been a bizarre dream after all, he thought to himself.

“Good morning,” greeted James, and Father Anastasios paused his rule. “Nobody has come to check on us yet?”

As soon as the words left his lips, Brother Alban walked through the door with clothes in his hands.

“God be with ye this morn,” he said. “I have brought ye fresh raimant, for I saw ye had neither penny nor even purses. Come, change now. I shall wait without, and there is food yet in the kitchens, should ye hunger.”

James dolefully put on the garments. He had imagined they would be uncomfortable, but they fit him well. It took him a few moments to figure out how to put the hose and stockings on, but Father Anastasios, who had only received a fresh cassock, was able to help him. They made their beds and placed their folded, modern clothes on them before opening the door.

Brother Alban looked at the two and smiled. “Splendid, ye look the part of proper Englishmen now.

“We thank thee very much for thy gifts,” responded Father Anastasios.

“Thank you,” added James.

“We shall presently go to first hour prayers ere we eat. Then shall ye help me with the day’s labours - and perchance, I may at last hear the truth from your lips,” stated Brother Alban, with neither judgment nor praise. It was all a matter of fact to him.

Father Anastasios and James again looked at each other, but the two said nothing and followed the kindly monk to the chapel. It was a remarkable service, done all in Latin. Father Anastasios was afraid they would ask him to serve behind the altar, but they allowed him to be a layman. It would have been awkward, an Orthodox Priest trying to serve the Sarum Rite. Even if he could speak Latin, he would not know what to do.

After the service ended, James whispered to the priest, “What are you going to do if someone asks you to serve the Liturgy?”

“The only thing I can do,” he responded. “I’ll serve the Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom in English, and I have no doubt that you’ll aid me in doing so.”

James Fryer nodded his head in agreement, and Brother Alban led them to their breakfast. It was a simple meal: porridge, honey, and some fruit. Nonetheless, the two men were filled and thankful for the hospitality. At the end of the meal, they gave thanks to God, and everyone went their ways to perform the day’s tasks. Brother Alban led them towards the gardens, and directed their work.

“I had forgot to ask thee, Father Anastasios. Who is thy Bishop?” asked the monk.

“Bishop Maxim,” replied Father Anastasios truthfully while weeding his piece of soil.

“I know him not,” responded Alban. “Though I suppose I would not, if he be from the Pale. Now, let me ask the both of ye plainly - are ye reformers?”

“No, absolutely not,” said James. “And we reject their teachings.”

“Forgive me,” continued Alban. “These be troubling times, ever since the King hath put away Queen Catherine and the act that would make King Henry the supreme head of the church. Though I dare not oft speak my mind, I feel no fear to speak to ye, though ye be strangers.”

“Don’t worry,” answered James. “We are well aware of all the issues plaguing England and the Church. We won’t put you in any danger.”

“Then tell me the truth,” pleaded Brother Alban. “I know ye be not of the Pale, and I know ye not to be Irishmen. The raiment you bore and your speech - they are like none I have ever known. Tell me your story.”

Father Anastasios and James looked at each other for a long time, and their hesitation seemed to last age. Finally, Father Anastasios nodded his head at James, giving him permission to tell the monk who they really were.

“Because you are brave, hospitable, and have spoken openly to us, we’ll tell you,” explained Father Anastasios, who tried to push aside any sort of doubt that he had about the gentle monk before him. He could only pray that he was making the right decision.

“Alright,” began James. “We are both from the future, about five hundred years from now. Although we both have British ancestry, we are from America - the New World. Somehow - we don’t know how - we were transported to this time period. That’s the short of it.”

Brother Alban just stared at them in silence before continuing with his work, and the time-travelers did the same. They were aware that what they had just confessed to the monk sounded ridiculous, but they felt guilty that they had repaid his kindness and hospitality with lies and deceit from the start. Eventually, the church bells began to ring, signalling the time for midday prayers.

Chapter Three: The First Discourse

Brother Alban hadn't spoken to them for the rest of the day. It wasn't as though he meant to ignore them, but there was an unspoken realization that he did not wish to converse with them after their confession.

"Do you think it was the right thing?" James asked Father Anastasios, who himself restlessly laid awake.

"I hope so," he answered. "I don't know if we'll be able to make it on our own in this time period without help from one of the locals. Besides, I thought I had a good feeling about him."

"I don't know," admitted James. "I respect your opinion as a priest, but we have to remember that he's still a Roman Catholic, even if he is against the Reformation. Besides, we can’t just stay at this monastery indefinitely. I’d like to go back to my wife."

"I know," replied the priest. "Should we pray together?"

Though Father Anastasios couldn’t see him, James nodded, and stood up next to his priest, who began the Trisagion prayers. After exhausting their recollection for vespers, the two knelt and silently recited the Jesus Prayer. James never considered himself soft or emotional in any way, but he did miss his own time period, and prayed to God for answers. Just as he was about too tired to continue, there was a light knock on the door. The wooden frame creaked as it was slowly opened. At the entrance stood Brother Alban, with his own candle in hand, looking meek and exhausted.

"Pardon me for disturbing your prayers," he said. "But I have long pondered and prayed upon what you told me. I believe that, even as He gave a sign unto King Hezekiah, so too doth He now give a sign unto England. I pray—tell me more, and let me aid you in your mission."

"To tell you–thee–the truth," began Father Anastasios. "We do not know what our mission is exactly. We are not Lutherans, but neither are we Roman Catholics. We belong to the Eastern Orthodox Church."

"I have heard tell of Christians in the East who have cast off the Pope. However, I do not know much about their faith."

"We would be honored to explain it to you, if you’re interested," said James, eagerly.

"Indeed, but let us leave it for the morn," agreed Brother Alban, who presently bid them good sleep and himself went to bed. After all, he had a lot on his mind, and he feared that he would need rest in order to handle the days ahead.

The next morning, James had woken up just after Father Anastasios, and was lamenting the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in two days. Before they headed to the chapel for the seventh hour Mass, they performed the morning Trisagions and discussed what they would say to Brother Alban. The rest of their morning proceeded exactly the same as it did the day before, with a Latin service and a silent breakfast.

"I have come to a resolution," declared Brother Alban as they entered the gardens to begin their work. "London is too perilous for us, and most of all for you twain. Already, whispers stir among the brethren concerning your purpose here. I spake but briefly with mine abbot, keeping many of your secrets close. Yet, knowing me to be steadfast in my loyalty to Rome, he hath granted leave for me to guide you northward, where dwell many who oppose the King’s reforms."

Father Anastasios sighed, "It seems we have no other choice but to trust you. When do we leave?"

"I have already begun the gathering of provisions," answered Brother Alban. "The abbot doth counsel that we go quietly, that no undue notice be drawn. I mean for us to leave at dusk, when the brethren are at vespers. I pray you also—keep thy teachings until we are upon the road, where we shall have more peace to speak. Until then, let us pass the day in silence."

Neither James nor Father Anastasios were used to the premodern working conditions yet, and they both sorely missed future appliances such as air conditioning. In their time, they had taken for granted utilities such as running water and electricity. Nonetheless, they both worked diligently at their tasks, anticipating nightfall, when they would begin their adventure to the north.

The Night's Journey

Having occupied themselves for the rest of the day, night soon overtook the working men. Brother Alban had advised the two time-travelers to act like everything was normal, expressing worries that some of the people who frequented the abbey may be secret Reformers. Apparently, false rumors and stories of the two foreigners had started to spread throughout London, and Brother Alban was worried that it may be dangerous for them to act suspiciously. For now, all James and Father Anastasios could do was pray while waiting for Brother Alban to fetch them for their escapade.

“‘Tis time,” muttered a voice from outside the door.

The two strangers exited, forcing the door to creak as quietly as possible, and greeted Brother Alban.

“We shall take the back way and keep off the main road till we be well clear of London,” he explained. “We’ll not use the lantern until the morrow.”

James and Father Anastasios nodded in acknowledgment before pulling up the hoods of their cloaks and silently followed the sincere monk through a series of unfamiliar hallways and stony steps. As soon as they exited the building, James tried to orient himself, recognizing the sound of the Thames in the distance to his right.

“Do you see that?” asked Father Anastasios, pointing out the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and men with lanterns.

“Master Cromwell’s men,” replied Brother Alban, whose gray eyes gleamed like silver in the light of the full moon. “I marvel they come as thieves in the night, and not wield it boldly in the face of day. Make haste, ere they set eyes upon us.”

The three fellows trod quietly and sullenly all throughout the night, not letting themselves succumb to the temptation of sleep or rest. James himself fell into rhythmically repeating the Jesus Prayer every seven steps, wondering whether or not he would ever see Jane again. After what felt like an eternity, James noticed how the sky was starting to lighten into a softer blue. The stars, which James had so often admired, gently faded as the sun took over.

“Seest ye yon hollow?” asked Brother Alban. “We have walked long. Let us rest a short while, then press onward. I would not lie abed too long, lest knaves be prowling near. We shall take turns to keep watch. I shall be first.”

“I will go next,” continued James. “I’m younger and can handle it, Father.”

Father Anastasios didn’t argue with his friend, and wrapped himself in his cloak. The conditions made modern camping look like a fancy getaway, but he was far too tired to notice the discomfort. After last night’s intense hike, filled with unseen bugs, brush, and branches, a soft patch of moss on a cool ground felt decent enough.

Being used to staying up for long hours in an effort to achieve ascetic prayer, Brother Alban felt no immediate need for slumber. He sat down on a nearby stone and took out his rosary to continue with his prayers. He had noticed the priest—Father Anastasios—running his hands through his own rosary and wondered how different his faith could really be. Perchance God hath sent these men to answer the movings of my heart concerning the state of religion in Christendom.

Each time he completed the rosary, Brother Alban would pray for discernment from God and ask for intercessions from the saints, including his very own patron, the protomartyr of England. Years ago, when he became a monk, he never would have imagined following in the footsteps of his namesake. Things had changed drastically since then. Suddenly, he heard a twig crack next to him, and he quickly turned to see what it was.

“Father Anastasios,” he began, noticing that the sun had fully risen and that it must have been hours since they stopped. “Thou art awake. It should have been James.”

“Let him sleep,” replied the priest. “I’m ready to watch if you need some rest.”

“I am well enough,” said Brother Alban. “In sooth, I did but halt for your sakes, deeming ye might fare no further.”

“Well noted,” smirked Father Anastasios. “I’m afraid we’re much weaker and softer in the future. Most people wouldn’t have been able to make last night’s hike at all.”

“Is it so indeed? Do folk no longer labour, nor keep vigil, nor fast?” asked Brother Alban. To him it was obvious that these things would naturally strengthen the spirit and body of any man, but to his surprise, the priest shook his head.

“No, really only the Orthodox and some traditional Catholics do all those things,” he answered. “I am afraid to tell you of our time because you might think it worse than what you’re living through at the moment.”

Brother Alban didn’t like to be judgmental, but he scoffed, “You tell me the people of the future live a life of softness and leisure, yet it’s harder than now?”

“Not harder. Life in the future is easier; I’ll give you that,” conceded Father Anastasios. “But it’s not better. What if I told you that in England, the majority of people are atheists.”

“Atheists? As in godless folk?” repeated the monk, furrowing his brows. “I fear there are many now whose faith is faint, who give no heed to God or His works. I oft wonder whether our use of Latin be not to blame. The people have need of teaching in the things of faith. Were it so, I dare say there would be far less wickedness abroad.”

“That’s quite radical of you to say,” stated Father Anastasios. “I’m inclined to agree with you, and as a matter of fact, it’s the teaching of the Orthodox that the Gospel must be translated into all the world’s languages. This was the mission of saints like Jerome and Cyril and Methodius. In fact, the Gospel according to Matthew would have been translated from Aramaic to Greek; did you know that?”

“To speak plain, I know but little of the world. Thou mightest lie to me, and I should lack the wit to ken the difference.”

“I assure you—”

“No,” interrupted Brother Alban. “I trust thee. I cannot say wherefore, but my heart is opened to thy words. Yet thou must needs understand my doubts.”

“Of course,” replied Father Anastasios. “We can continue our conversation more slowly, if you prefer. James will need to be careful, though. He’s notorious for his heated debates in our time.”

“Rouse him,” said Brother Alban. “’Tis time we were on our way. God grant the Great North Road be safe to us now.”