Before Winter: Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven: Sea-travel

Timothy found the harbor without difficulty, and his captain acquaintance was easy to spot. He handed over the balance of his passage fee, and was taken aboard the ship.

The crew seemed a rowdy bunch, with several of the hands being raw recruits, and the confusion of getting underway was even greater than usual. Timothy went straight to his own cabin and stayed there. He kept to himself for the first several days of the voyage. At mealtimes, he dined with the captain and ship officers in the big cabin, but he avoided the deck, where the sailors played their rough games and swore at one another.

They were carrying a cargo of grain to sell in Rome, where it would fetch a good price during the winter. The captain had delayed buying the shipment, waiting for the harvest season, when prices had dropped, but it meant a higher risk in transporting, as the weather changed.

For the first week of sailing, a fair wind held, speeding them along the water, and the captain was in high spirits at dinner, boasting that his gamble had paid off.

“The gods favour me, for I always give them their due honor. That’s the secret to safe sailing, lad.” He clapped Timothy on the shoulder, winking at him.

Sitting on the other side of Timothy was the sailing-master, an old seaman, who shook his head at this assertion, the corners of his mouth turned down mournfully.

“You don’t think so, Julius?” The captain demanded, fired up by this silent disapproval.

“I don’t say one way, or the other,” the seaman responded slowly, “only, we have weeks of sailing yet before we make a safe harbor.”

“And clear weather all the way! You’ll see, my cautious friend.” The captain laughed, and tossed back his glass, draining its contents. Boisterously, he called for more wine, and Timothy made use of the distraction to slip out of his place and escape from the room.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the twenty-ninth day of the ninth month.

I may as well continue the account Mark started of our journey. So many things have happened in the last three weeks, I had no time to record them, but now I am once again on board a ship, I have little to occupy myself, and it serves to pass the time.

We have been at sea for seven days now, and so far our wind has held. The crew seems unsettled, they do not like sailing so late in the year, but the captain keeps them a little drunk most of the time, and they fulfill their duties well enough. I stay out of their way as much as possible, but I have heard their talk, and it appears that the real test of our voyage will come when we change course in a few days.

Setting down his pen, Timothy glanced up from the parchment to the map that hung on the wall of his cabin. It was faded and weather-stained, a sailor’s rough approximation of the Mediterranean Sea. With his eyes, he followed the course they would be taking.

Thus far, they had been sailing down the coast of Greece, threading their way between islands, and the south wind had been to their advantage. Soon, Timothy knew, they would be turning to the west, to go around the bottom of Greece, before heading across the Mediterranean to Italy. Why this fact was of such concern, he was not sure, but the general unease made him restless all the same.

With a sigh, he continued the account, setting down all that had happened since Mark had fallen so ill, and he had been too busy to write. Night fell as he worked, and he had to get up and go up on deck to ask for a lantern. When he returned with one, after some searching, he bent to his task once more. By the flickering light he recorded how he had met the captain, the generosity of the Philippian Christians, and finally boarding the ship. There was little to relate about the voyage, and he was soon finished.

Exhausted, he leaned back, clenching and unclenching his hand to ease the tense muscles. It was a relief to have it all written down, and he felt ready to sleep at last. Leaning over, he extinguished the lantern and lay down in his bunk.