by Milinda Jay
Lucia had been afraid he would jump overboard when they first got on the boat and he had pointed to the water and asked if he could swim.
When the dolphins followed the boat, Lucia had to shorten the rope, as they proved too great a temptation to her small sailor. He rebelled, screaming and kicking, and it took Cato and Flavius together to convince him that he needed to stay in the boat with them rather than jumping overboard and swimming with the dolphins.
Right now they sat in the little coracle Marcus brought from Rome and tied to the side of the ship. They were pretending they were sailors, afloat on the high seas. They allowed Julius to sit in the tiny, round boat with them.
The coracle was of no use in Rome. The currents weren’t strong enough in the rivers. But the coracle was perfect for Britain where the currents flowed with the tides.
“I had this coracle when I was a boy in Britain,” Marcus told Annia when she asked him why he was bringing it, “and it gave me so much joy. I wanted to share that joy with the boys. I’m hoping they can find a nearby river and fish and swim as I did.”
He’d kept the little boat in perfect shape, replacing the old skins that had covered the exterior of the boat with a perfectly carved and fitted wooden exterior. The wood made the boat safer, much more difficult to puncture and sink.
“Did you ever fear drowning?” Annia asked.
“Yes,” Marcus replied. “A few times when we crossed deep rivers. We tied inflated and sealed animal bladders to our arms. I’m not sure how much they helped, but they certainly raised the morale of the men who couldn’t swim,” he said.
“Could you make some for the children?” she asked.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, and strode away, looking, she was certain, for animal bladders.
As soon as he walked away, she realized she had given him a nearly impossible task.
Where on this boat would he find animal bladders? Or skins? The only thing this boat was full of was wine and military supplies for the soldiers stationed in Britain.
On her next journey, she would be better prepared.
The tide pushed the boat out to sea on this, the first day they attempted to make landfall. They decided to try for safe harbor the next morning.
Late in the night, the wind began a ghostly howling. Rain fell, first as a delicate mist, and then in long, slashing drops.
Annia awoke when the rain began. She stabilized the portable canvas roof over the boys sleeping peacefully in the coracle. Then, she made certain there was a roof over Lucia and Julius. They all slept so peacefully. She wished she could do the same.
She heeded the sailor’s earlier advice and kept watch over her boys.
When the wind whistled over the waves and the boat began rocking, then climbing, higher and higher on waves that grew larger and larger, then falling down what felt like a valley without a bottom, Annia grew scared.
She made certain once again that all were sleeping peacefully, and went looking for Marcus.
In the rainy darkness, she found him.
“You scared me,” she said. “Why aren’t you on the men’s side?”
“I was worried,” he said. “This storm is like many others I’ve seen. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
He strode hurriedly over, looking over the sleeping passengers.
“Where are the boys?” he asked.
“Sleeping in the coracle. It’s their favorite place. I’ve put a canvas over them.”
“Good,” he said. “Stay close by.” He pulled twine from around his waist.
“Hear me,” he said. “Listen well.”
“I am,” she said, trying not to tremble at the warning he carried between his words.
“I was unable to find bladders or gourds,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I thank you for trying,” Annia said.
But he stopped her before she could continue. “You must listen to me, as we haven’t much time.”
She moved closer to him. The wind whipped his words away from her.
“This storm is serious, Annia,” he said, his hands working with the twine. “I’m going to attach the boys to the coracle by twine. If my plan works, it may save them.”
“How can I help?” Annia asked.
“Tied to the coracle, if they go overboard, they will be able to find the boat, right it and climb in. It’s light enough that you can flip it when you are in the water.
“You will have to hold it steady for them, do you understand? First, you get Maelia in. Then hold the boat steady for the boys to climb in. I’ve done it, Annia, when I was a boy. You can do it, too. Promise me?”
“I promise,” Annia said. “What of the others?”
“I’m going to look for Virginia and Titus as soon as I finish securing you and the boys. Here,” he said, tying the twine around her waist and securing her to the boat.
“Stay steady, Annia. You can do this. You are a strong swimmer and a survivor.”
He touched the bear charm at her neck, his fingers brushing her cheek.
Her voice shut down on the words she wanted to say. Before she could speak again, he was gone.
The ship gave a sickening lurch, and Lucia sat up.
Already the sailors were running across the boat, pulling down the sails and hoisting the anchor.
Lucia called for Annia. “I’m here,” Annia said.
Lucia came over to her, a wide-awake Julius in her arms.
“Water,” he said, pointing delightedly at the sheets of rain falling in torrents from the sky.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Marcus is concerned about the storm.”
Marcus worked quickly, and in just a moment the sleeping boys were secured to the coracle.
“Now you,” he said, and reached for Julius to tie him. But the child thought it was a game and darted from his hands and ran to the other side of the boat, Lucia following closely behind.
How had the boy come untied from Lucia? Annia suspected he had untied himself.
“Stay tied, Annia,” Marcus called back to her when he saw that she was going to go after the child. “I’ll get Julius.”
He ran into the pounding rain, the boat tipping from one side to the next. If the child went overboard, Lucia and Marcus would follow.
Annia cradled Maelia’s head with her hand and climbed between her two boys and held on to them.
Cato woke, but Flavius slept soundly.
“What is it, Mother?” Julius asked, his voice sleepy. He sat up and the boat lurched. Annia caught him to keep him from sliding to his doom.
“Are we going to sink?” Cato asked.
“I hope not,” Annia said, and prayed.
The ship lurched again, and this time, took on water.
The deck was awash, and all of them slid, the coracle breaking its safety rope and nearly cracking on the other side of the boat.
The wind blew harder, and it was difficult to be heard above the wind and the rain.
“Hold tight, boys,” Annia said. “We are all attached to the coracle. When we get in the water, help me keep it afloat. I am going to put your baby sister in first and then hold the boat for you to get in one at a time. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Mother,” Cato said, but his lip trembled.
“Are we going to die?” Flavius asked.
“No,” Annia said. “We are not going to die.”
She prayed for protection, and in the next moment, the merchant ship pitched high on a wave, but, instead of sliding smoothly down, it hit the bottom of the watery canyon with a heart-wrenching crash, and the ship’s hull cracked.
“Hold on, boys,” Annia said, gripping the side of the coracle with all her strength.
The boys grabbed o
n, too. The water rushed over the deck, pushing them into the storm-tossed sea. They landed in the wild surf and were tossed to and fro upon the waves. The pounding waves pulled them away from the safety of the coracle, but their ropes pulled them back.
The coracle spun madly around, pulling them with it. It turned upside down, but it did not sink.
Annia was blinded, her head beneath the water, she kicked as hard as she could, and pushed Maelia’s head above the water.
The baby coughed and sputtered.
Cato surfaced near her.
“Son,” she said to Cato, “we must flip the boat back over.”
She was struggling to right the coracle in the wild sea.
Cato did not hear her calling, but he could see what needed doing, and together they heaved the coracle on its side and then righted it.
Flavius surfaced, coughing and gagging, on the opposite side of the little boat.
“In, Flavius. Get in,” Cato ordered. He worked his way around to the side Flavius was on and boosted Flavius into the coracle just before a wave crashed over them.
The coracle righted itself, and Annia lifted the baby out of the water once again.
“I’m going to hand you the baby,” she said to Flavius. “Hold her,” Annia yelled over the raging sea.
She pulled the sling over her head with one hand while Cato steadied the coracle.
A wave rolled ever closer, and she feared she would not be able to get the baby in before it crashed.
She heaved the baby over the side of the boat with all of her strength, and she landed on the hard bottom of the coracle. Flavius grabbed the baby and she cried angrily, letting them know she was alive.
“Tie it over your neck,” Annia called to Flavius, “the sling...tie it over your neck.”
Flavius understood, and holding the baby securely, he crossed the sling over his head, then tied the baby as tight as he could against his chest.
“In,” Annia ordered Cato, who was waiting for her to get in first.
“No, Mother,” he shouted over the waves, “you first.”
“You are lighter,” she said. “Get in. Now.”
The tone of her voice allowed for no argument, and the boy slipped in while Annia fought to hold the boat steady.
“Now,” she said, “hold on tight. If I try to get in, I will tip you all over, but I will hold to the back and kick like mad until we are headed in the direction of the shore. We are going to make it to the shore. Do you hear me?” she yelled.
“Yes, Mother,” they said in unison, though their voices were weak with fear.
The waves had pitched them far away from anyone else, and they were alone in the storm.
Annia could see nothing but the waves.
She thanked God that the coracle was small enough to keep afloat in the sea’s fury.
Then, just as quickly as the storm had risen, it abated.
The rain stopped falling down, and the waves turned from raging mountains, to peaceful hills, to glass.
The sea had lost its fury.
Annia tried to see land to know where she wanted to steer the boat.
The sky grew brighter, and she was able to see far beyond the boat. Was it moonlight or dawn? She didn’t know, had lost all track of time.
Then, like a vision from God, she saw them. Rising on her left, white cliffs. The white cliffs of Porte Dubris, shining in the soft light.
She had pushed them closer to shore as she had prayed, rather than pulling them farther out to sea.
She kicked toward the shore with all her might.
“We’re going to live, Mother,” Cato said. “We are going to live.”
Soon, she felt the flinty pebbles beneath her feet.
They had made it.
When they reached the beach, she pulled the coracle up. “Jump out,” she said to the boys. “Let me get it safely wedged, and then you can snuggle up and sleep until the sun comes up and dries your clothes.”
The boys eagerly obeyed her, Flavius being careful with Maelia.
Annia and Cato pushed the little boat far from the waves’ reach and nestled it against a dune.
The boys jumped back in, and Annia, sitting with her back leaning against the boat, gave thanks.
Inside, her children slept, huddled on the floor of the coracle.
The summer night was warm enough that they would not catch their death, and she let them sleep, warming each other.
She could not sleep.
The moon’s light was bright now, and she walked back down the beach, searching the shore for her friends, for Lucia, for Julius, Titus and Virginia.
And Marcus.
Surely they had not gotten this close to freedom, to joy, only to lose it all.
The beach was deserted but for their coracle and her three children. She wandered as far as she dared, keeping the coracle in her line of vision.
Exhausted, she returned to the coracle. As soon as dawn cast its first healing light, she would renew her search.
She lay down and slept.
Chapter Sixteen
The baby woke just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Annia stood and raked the ocean with her eyes, desperate for sight of Marcus, Virginia, Titus, Lucia and little Julius. Please, Lord, she prayed, please let them be found.
She wanted Marcus to be alive so badly it hurt.
For now, she had to be practical. Annia needed water, and she prayed that there was a town close by with a public fountain.
She roused her boys. “We must go and find water.”
In the distance, beyond the pebbly dunes and over the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, she could hear the sound of pounding mallets against stone. Workmen must be in the area.
When they cleared the dunes, the boys cried, “Look! Roman soldiers building something, Mother. It looks like a fort.”
They ran over the hill as fast as their legs could carry them.
It was the first time they had been on solid ground in weeks. She was proud of her boys, how well they had done on the sea journey and their courage in the previous night’s storm.
The sight of the Roman soldiers filled her with joy. Where there was a fort, there was water, and she and her children desperately needed water.
A woman carrying a clay amphora walked beside the busy soldiers. She hurried along, and Annia followed her. She guessed her to be going to the local water supply.
Annia pulled the boys away from the exciting sights and sounds of the tower being built by Roman soldiers, and herded them along in front of her.
The woman, who looked to be in her middle years, stopped and dipped her amphora beneath something they couldn’t see. She was graceful and attractive. She looked back at them and smiled.
They had found their water, and perhaps a friend.
The woman had only filled her amphora halfway, when she turned to Annia and said, “You are very thirsty?”
Annia nodded, and Maelia wailed.
“Here,” the woman said, “you go ahead. Your baby, I believe, is thirsty, too.”
Annia looked around for something to use to get water. The boys had found bits of broken amphorae in the grass behind the fountain.
“You drink first, Mother,” Cato said. He knew that Annia had to drink so that their baby sister could eat.
She thanked him and drank greedily.
When she had finished drinking, and settled in to feed Maeila, the boys drank their fill.
“Can we go play now?” Cato asked, wiping the cool moisture from his lips.
“Yes, but stay close,” Annia said.
The boys ran behind the fountain and played on the green.
“You have good boys,” the woman said. “You’ve raised them w
ell.”
“Thank you,” Annia said. “I have been blessed, and I pray this little one will be as strong and kind as her brothers.”
The nice woman had waited patiently while Annia’s little family drank, and now she finished filling her amphora. When the jug was full, she sat beside Annia.
“You and your boys look as though you washed up on the shore in last night’s storm.”
“We did,” Annia said.
The woman was beautiful, and obviously wealthy. Her palla was a richly embroidered light wool, and it lay in graceful folds over her bright white stola.
What was she doing out in the morning sun filling her own amphora? Shouldn’t her slaves be doing that for her?
The woman smiled. “You are wondering why I—instead of my slaves—am filling my amphora,” she said.
Annia blushed. “I was,” she said, embarrassed.
“I gave them a holiday,” the woman said, and laughed.
Annia tilted her head to one side. “Really?” she asked. “Is it a holiday?”
“No, not officially,” the woman said, and gave her a pained smile.
“My husband has gone to Rome on one of his extended stays. He thinks I don’t know why he stays so long—the last time he was gone it was five years before he came back.”
“That’s horrible,” Annia said. “Is he serving?”
“No, not serving,” the woman said. “I believe that he prefers the company of the women there.”
“I’m sorry,” Annia said. She understood only too well.
“So I give the slaves one day off per week, a day of rest,” the woman said.
Annia nodded. “I like that.”
“Our scripture is very clear on this teaching,” the woman said.
“You’re Jewish, then?” Annia asked.
“Partially,” the woman said.
Annia furrowed her brow. Could she ask the woman the question she wanted to ask? She took a deep breath and plunged forward
“Are you a follower of the Master, then?” Annia asked almost too quietly to be heard.
“Why, yes, I am. And you?” she asked.