Adalbert

In the setting of a new millennium tiptoeing in (1000 CE), the son of a prince, Adalbert, declines his assignment as bishop of Prague. A reluctant Adalbert is forced to leave his happy niche in a monastery in Rome at the order of the pope and return to his duties as bishop. On his way back, his younger brother, Razim tracks him down to inform him their entire family was slain by order of Prague’s ruler.

CHAPTER 1

Before I leave this earthly vale to undergo the judgment of the Lord, before whom both my body and soul tremble, Divine Providence compels me to relate the saga of the very best man whom the Earth bore during my lifetime. This is the man whom I deceived and sent to a certain death because I could not endure his largesse.
Abysmal sin weighs on the entirety of my life and I will neither erase it with my declaration nor try to hide the monstrous truth. Let my story serve as a warning to future generations… to all those who stave off holiness, because they cannot bear its splendor and power, and those who choose to live without upholding the truth or being dedicated to the glory of God.

My story begins on an August morning in the year 996. It was the holy day of the Transfiguration, when Jesus led Peter, James and his brother John up a mountain apart from the rest of his Apostles and was transfigured there before them. The Savior’s face shone like the sun, his garment was white as the light, and Moses and Elijah appeared with him. And the voice of the Father was heard to say, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Listen to him,” as St. Matthew tells us.
The sun had just risen over the thick red brick walls encircling the Boniface and Alexis monastery, when the brother porter opened the side door. He murmured a blessing, letting Adalbert out onto the shady cypress- and palm tree-lined street leading down the Aventine Hill, between the walls of the San Saba monastery and the St. Balbina convent.
Passing between the cloisters, Adalbert stooped over, concealing a long scar on his forehead, and humbly looked down. Young novices behind the narrow windows of St. Balbina’s were apt to tease and make pious friars blush, mocking them without mercy. They were joking, but knew well their sin when their voices caused the acceleration of their heartbeat and their blood to run hot. The novices’ laughter chased fleeing, embarrassed religious men.
Having gotten safely beyond both shrines, Adalbert had before him Via Santa Sabina and a tangle of nondescript streets depositing him at Via Druze and the Lateran – the objective of his journey. He hesitated, however, and stopped.
He still had an hour before his designated audience with the pope and his whole heart, against reason, wanted to never get there. He went back, detouring into Via Marmorata and headed north. Passing the ancient St. Sabina Church, he crossed himself, left behind the small Santa Maria monastery on the Aventine, and finally came down the steep Aventine slope into the house-encircled marketplace and town square where goods from overseas were stored.
From dawn on, merchants, screaming all at once in all the languages of the world, milled around. Market stalls and the pavement were stacked with bales of gowns, carpets, perfumes, articles of silver and gold, vessels, saddles and weapons. There was nothing but babble and bustle. Colorful parrots and monkeys squawked and screeched. Other wild animals lay inert in cages. New merchandise was unloaded continuously from river barges, as skinny porters carried the goods to oversized warehouses behind the emporium. Merchants followed them with an ever-vigilant eye on their property.
Not far from there, the Portunus Marketplace began on the banks of the Tiber River. Here, the traders’ tables sagged from the weight of fish, meat, fruit and cheeses. Olive oil, wine and beer were sold in pitchers and amphorae. All manners of cereal grains were stored in jute bags. Peddlers quarreled with Roman townswomen, as palace cooks loaded their roomy shopping baskets. Over the cacophony of human voices, the neighing of horses harnessed to two-wheeled carts, asses’ bellows and goats’ bleatings pierced the bedlam.
The place was full of beggars, children and thieves expert in pilfering money pouches. Cripples without legs or hands, and other unfortunates begged for alms, exposing to public view their horrible wounds and ulcers. Harlots with garishly painted faces clutched men’s privates under their tunic flaps. Screaming guards pushed through the throng, their elbows and sticks making room for their masters. Jugglers and animal trainers performed among the stalls. The racket of pipes and drums deafened the ear. Criminals’ shaved heads protruded from the stocks.
Adalbert’s faded habit stood out among the vibrant blues, reds and purples of the throng’s attire. But the crowd parted respectfully before the monk dressed in gray. Rich and poor alike greeted him and asked for his blessing. He was known throughout Rome, this son of the lordly Slavnik family and bishop, a friar of his own accord, not inferior to anyone in piety or learning. Even among the Benedictines, he was distinguished by humility and kindness.
Answering their greetings with a smile, while blessing them with the sign of the cross, Adalbert slowly passed through the crowd in the square. He paused a moment before the constructed platform of a small theater.
The audience stared open-mouthed at the rogue’s tale, Querolus. Theatrical performances had been banned for five centuries and actors still risked excommunication. But happy-go-lucky Rome protected her favorites from the wrath of the Church and bribed her municipal guards to avert their eyes.
The sun was blistering, as the air filled with the dust from the hay and horse manure covering the cobblestones. The stench of human and animal sweat mingled with the pungent odor of newly tanned leather, the heavy fragrances of flowers from the Aventine slopes, and incense from the East.
In two hours, the August heat would become unbearable. The emporium and the open-air market on the banks of the Tiber would be deserted, while people and animals tried to find cooling relief in the shade of pagan temple ruins near the Church of San Nicola in Carcere and the arcades at the rotunda of San Teodoro. Some would seek shelter under the trees, and merchants would safeguard their goods under the stalls’ canvas canopies.
Bathing in the Tiber or drinking the water was impossible, because the river was full of rotting garbage and excrement. Fortunately, the authorities in Rome continued to repair the ancient aqueducts and everyone could enjoy crystal clear mountain water from the fountains.
Adalbert moved on. As he headed away from the milling crowd in the marketplace, his heavy cloud of sadness resumed. He pondered the command prying him from his monastery this morning to go to the papal palace of the Lateran.
The previous Sunday, Archbishop Willigis accepted the message of Prague’s ruler, Prince Boleslaw of the House of Przemysl. At the Synod, he had presented the Prague people’s entreaty demanding the return of their bishop. Adalbert could still hear Willigis’ angry voice ringing in his ears. “It is a sin when every other church is married, that only Prague is like a widow without her shepherd.”
The first time Adalbert fled from Prague was in 988. At the pope’s command, he had returned after four years of peaceful life in the monastery of Benedict and Alexis. At that time, he had hoped the Czechs understood their mistakes. With bitter regret, he saw how futile his dreams of quiet service to God and men were. The Czech clergy still indulged themselves in wealth and debauchery. All the powerful nobles robbed the weak and disdained the law. Even worse, the trading of Christian slaves, acquired in battle and sold in Prague to Muslim merchants with Prince Boleslaw’s consent, was common.
After three years of dealing with his priests’ disobedience and the lay lords’ insults, he left Prague for the second time. Once more, he crossed the Alps and knocked on the Aventine Hill monastery gate in the spring of 995.
Abbot Leo and all the brothers greeted him with great joy. It seemed this time Providence would allow him to spend the rest of his life in prayer and work for the Church. He also devoted himself to his passion for making herbal medicinal treatments.
The farther the monk got from the Aventine, the slower his pace became. He tried to delay the moment when he would stand before the pontiff and hear his irreversible judgment. He still hoped Gregory V would reverse his fate, exempting him from submission to the Synod. Only the pope had the authority to do it.