Chapter 15
I looked out across the flat, gray expanse of slow-moving water, gleaming dully in the thin early morning light. I could make out the low hills on the other side of the estuary now shrouded in silvery mist. The sun was rising into a blue, cloud-dappled sky. It would be a good day, but my heart was full of leaving. I bore the full weight of my decision now, and the burden was almost more than I could bear.
After all, Venta Silurum was where I was born and the only home I had ever known. I had never lived anywhere else, and the thought that I would not spend my life within the safe boundaries of its strong walls had rarely, if ever, crossed my mind. It had simply never occurred to me that I might one day be forced to leave my home and make my way in the world—bereft and alone.
Dressed in my travelling clothes with a thick, dark wool cloak into which I had sewed a sturdy pocket to contain my clutch of coins I had been able scrape together. Under the cloak I wore my close-woven green mantle—a hard-wearing garment I used when cleaning the courtyard and kitchen. I also wore the heavy shoes I had bought in Viroconium—yes, I still had them, but had not yet worn them. The wooden box containing clothes and my few possessions—my mother’s pins and hair things, my father’s brooch, my books, and such like—lay at my feet. Gulls wheeled overhead with their laughing call as if enjoying my agitation. My legs were jittery and the palms of my hands damp with sweat.
Augustus and Tomos had brought me to the wharf and had gone off to speak to the ship’s owner and chief, the capitaneus, to ensure my safe passage. Augustus’ cousin Drustan had appeared to introduce himself and welcome me and two other merchants, both from Isca, who had goods consigned to the cargo. The three of us had joined Drustan’s trading party.
A compact, energetic man with a head bald as an upturned bowl and heavy jowls that wobbled when he talked, our trader was all smiles and pleasantries, and gave every impression of being one of nature’s jovial souls whose principal work in life consisted of making everyone around him feel better for having seen him. Merely a moment in Drustan’s company gave me to know why he was a wealthy and successful merchant. Unassuming in appearance, he neither threatened nor daunted, and his sunny outlook and cheery demeanor were winsome. He insisted on pressing my hands and vowed that he would look after me and see my safely to my destination as it was the least he could do for the memory of his friend.
“Worry for nothing, daughter of Tullius,” he told me. “I will make this journey as comfortable for you as possible . . .,” he smiled and cast a hand toward the low-lying vessel, “at least as much as a perch atop barley sacks and oil casks will allow.”
I thanked him for his kindness and indulgence in allowing me to travel with him. “It is entirely my pleasure,” he declared, bowing his head. “Now, I must see to arrangements on board. The tide is turning and we will soon be ready to sail.”
Standing alone, the future stretching before me . . . Indeed, the future stretches out before everyone all the same, does it not? But this journey was an enormous leap—as my father used to say, “a flight across the chasm of the dark and vasty deep”—and I did not know if I would arrive safely on the other side.
Tomos returned from blessing the ship and speaking to our capitaneus, a robust, red-faced man named Gubric. The priest gripped my arm and assured me that he had every confidence all would be well. Augustus also returned from his survey of the ship’s quarters to report, “Very small, but room enough for you and a place to keep your things. There is a curtain, at least, around your sleeping place.” Tomos grew serious. “I have given both Drustan and Gubric stern admonitions and placed them under the fear of God.”
“You did?”
“I made them swear an oath before God and all the saints to look after you and protect you.” He smiled with satisfaction. “They dare not break that oath or Heaven help them—for only Heaven will!”
I accepted this and thanked him for his diligence. Augustus returned from speaking to his cousin. Meanwhile, the fellow whose wagon they had hired to bring us the few miles to the harbor was anxious to get on with his day. He called across the loading yard where he waited with his wagon and team. “You should go,” I told them. “The wagoner is growing impatient.”
“Let him wait,” Augustus said. “I promised we would see you safely away, and so we will.”
I thanked him and said, “I’ll miss you, Augustus. These last few days, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You’ll come back—”
“I will.”
“Well, then . . .” Words failed him, but gave me a sad-eyed smile, swallowed hard, and patted my shoulder.
“And I will miss you, too,” said Tomos. “But do remember to give my letter to Bishop Idnerth at Deva. He is a good man and will welcome you into his flock.” Tomos gave me a firm hug, and there came a call from the deck for everyone to come aboard. Raising his hands over us, he said, “A prayer for leaving.” Then, taking both my hands in his he bowed his head and intoned in the speech of prayer song:
“May Jesu, ever faithful, savior and healer, redeemer of souls—
Be keeping you at morning,
Be keeping you at mid-day,
Be keeping you at eventide and night,
On the rough course faring, wherever life takes you,
Ever you helping, ever safeguarding,
Your strength when tired, astray, and stumbling,
Ever shielding you from all hurt, and all harm, and every sin . . .”
It seemed he would say more, but there were tears in his voice and he said, “Amen.”
I leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then turned away, lest I, too, loose my tears yet again. Augustus, bearing my chest of belongings indicated the loading ramp. “I’ll see you settled aboard.”
So, with a prayer and a blessing to see me on my way, I waved one last time, turned, and followed Augustus up the narrow wooden ramp.
I have seen more graceful craft; no one would ever call the Epona elegant. But she was broad and sturdy. What she lacked in style, she more than made up in strength—broad of beam, with a wide flat deck and heavy rails, and a short, sturdy mast in the center. Behind the mast stood a low, hut-like structure which, I supposed, passed for shelter. The deck was stacked high with bales and bags of various kinds, and small wooden casks secured in rope netting.
“It is crowded, as I say,” Augustus repeated. “But there should be more room once they’ve made a stop or two and unloaded some goods.”
“It is only for a few days anyway,” I replied. “I won’t mind.”
Drustan appeared from the door of the hut and hurried to stow my box of belongings for me. “Say your farewells,” he told us. “Gubric says we are about to cast off.”
He disappeared into the hut, and Augustus and I stood somewhat awkwardly together. Now that the time of parting had come, neither of us knew how to act or what to say. I had known Augustus almost as long as I had been alive. He was more an uncle, or even a grandfather to me than simply my father’s assistant.
“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” I told him finally.
“No,” he shook his gray head, “but whenever it is, it will be as if you’ve never been away. Until then, I will look forward to the day.” He dug into a fold of his mantle and brought out a leather purse. “Here,” he said, pressing it into my hands. “A few coins only, but you may find them useful.”
Surprised by the weight of it, I said, “I cannot take your purse, Augustus. I—”
“It’s your purse now,” he said. “Lucanus wanted to be rid of your father’s chair and dispatch boxes, so I sold them to Olandus, the taverner. When he heard what it was for, I got a good price.” He closed his hands over mine and squeezed. “No traveler should ever be without a few coins in the purse.”
“Very kind and thoughtful of you,” I muttered, unshed tears closing my throat. I drew a shaky breath. “My good and faithful friend, thank you for . . . for everything. I could not have survived these last days without you.” I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll miss you.”
One of the sailor’s called that they were casting off. Augustus dabbed at his eye, then turned, climbed over the side and hurried down the ramp. A moment later, there came a low, hollow groan and the ship began to move.
“God with you, Aurelia!” the priest called, raising hands of benediction as the ship drifted out into the tide flow and away.
“Farewell, Tomos!” I called with a final wave. “Farewell, Augustus!”
We stood watching until each was out of sight.