The Journey: How an obscure Byzantine Saint became our Santa Claus. David Price Williams
I felt full of confidence in the future, like all young people. I could do anything, I thought and I mean anything!
I finished my wheat cake and drained the beaker of tea. I walked back to the ship and up the gangplank. I introduced myself to the three crew and a few minutes later the captain arrived with the warping gang and made ready to cast off. The ropes were untied and the gangplank taken inboard, at which point the captain gave the signal to the gang to begin pulling the ship away from the quayside wall. When we had reached the middle of the harbour, the haulage ropes were let go and the crew began to pull the cross spar up the mast until it reached the peak at which point they unfurled the rather patched sail. As Polios gave orders to brail the one side of the sail, the wind caught the other and the little ship started to make way across the harbour towards the mole. It picked up a bit of speed as the captain steered it away and it surged out beyond the harbour wall into the open sea.
As Patara began to fade away into the early morning mist, we sailed around the headland and headed towards the far horizon. My adventure was about to begin and with it, my new life. And what a life that was going to turn out to be.
THE JOURNEY
CHAPTER FOUR
SERVICE IN CYPRUS
For the first two days we sailed close-hauled along the Lycian coast, past the cities of Antiphellos and Myra then across a wide bay as far as Cape Chelidonia where the lofty mountains looked as though they rose almost vertically out of the sea. The winds were kind to us, with none of the katabatic squalls which I’d heard could rip the rigging to pieces and even sink a vessel. From Chelidonia we began to cross the open sea towards the island of Cyprus. The land gradually receded further and further astern until it finally disappeared altogether and we were alone in a vast expanse of the ocean. I would have been scared witless had I been on my own, but the deck hands seemed to know exactly what was happening and a couple were amusing themselves near the stern playing dice, while another played simple tunes on a pipe he had drawn from his pocket.
That night the sky was clear and a myriad brilliant stars illuminated the heavens until towards dawn a thin moon rose wan and watery from the horizon. The captain explained to me how he navigated by the heavenly bodies, outlining pictures of the signs of the zodiac and a variety of other mythical animals by joining stars together. He pointed out Ursa Major and the North Star, what he called his shepherd star, which enabled
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him to set a correct course to the west coast of Cyprus. The following afternoon, we could see land ahead in the far distance and the captain confirmed that it was the northwest corner of the island, near an old Phoenician port which had once been a major trading colony centuries ago.
“They were a clever people, the Phoenicians,” he said. “They had trading ports all over the Great Sea. But they were odd. They had strange gods and weird beliefs. They disappeared centuries ago after losing their North African capital Carthage to the Romans.”
As more of the island became visible, he told me that we would soon be able to see the mountains behind the port of Paphos.
“We’ll have to put in there briefly for water. We’re running a bit low. And we need some other supplies we won’t be able to get once we reach Egypt.”
The headlands of the island grew bigger as we approached, green and welcoming in the spring sunshine, until we could finally see the breakwater of the city of Paphos ahead and slightly to the port side. The captain shouted instructions and the little ship veered towards the land and to Paphos itself. It was comforting to know that the captain knew his business, as we cruised around the breakwater and into the secluded waters of the harbour. He ordered the sail to be dropped and then allowed the ship to coast towards the quayside. At the critical
THE JOURNEY
moment he directed the stern anchors be thrown over the side and with the ropes slowly paying out he brought the ship to a gentle halt prow-to along the dock wall. A crewman jumped ashore with a rope to make us fast to a bollard on the wharf.
“Did you know that Paphos is the city of Aphrodite?” asked Polios. “The story goes that she came ashore here when she was first born, riding on a wave of foam. There used to be a huge temple to her in the centre of the city. It’s gone now, but the idea of the home of the goddess of love still remains. Paphos has some of the best houses of love in the world and many seamen calling in here run off and sample the delights of the local ladies! But Paphos is very much a Christian city too. St Paul, one of the leaders of the early church, came here and is very much revered by the local people. Many pilgrims make the trip to Paphos to see where he stayed. Paul is very important to us Christians”, he said.
That was the first time I realised that the captain was an adherent of the Christian faith. I was surprised he was so open about it, but I suppose he felt he knew me and didn’t worry too much about keeping it secret.
“I have to go to a house in the middle of the city near the market place. Perhaps you’d like to come with me.”
Having nothing better to do I walked down the gangplank after him and we strode purposefully off into the crowds along the quay
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and down one of the side streets into the city. At first the people of Paphos looked no different to the various nationalities I saw in Patara, but as we walked further into the centre there were some men I’d never seen before, wearing full length dark brown robes and a finely woven head covering held in place by a black head-ring.
“Arabs!” Polios said, seeing me eyeing them with curiosity. “They come from the deserts of the south-east. We’ll see a lot more of them in Egypt when we get there.”
We turned sharply left into a small alley behind the main market, which I could make out at the end of the street. Pulling me into a doorway Polios knocked quietly on the panelling. After a minute or so the door was opened a crack and an eye appeared, viewing us suspiciously, before it was thrown wide and a huge man stood there beaming at us.
“Polios!” he shouted. “How are you old friend? Come in, come in. You are welcome in Christ’s name.”
After they had embraced, we were shown into a small shady anteroom opening at the far end onto a small courtyard full of wild flowers growing in pots.
“This is John,” said Polios. “He is a very good friend and one of the leaders of our faith here in Cyprus. We have shared many adventures together, both on the island and also in Egypt. This here is my friend Nicholas.”
THE JOURNEY
“Have you time to stay for a while?” asked John. “We have a Eucharist service at sundown and we would love you to share it with us.”
Seeing my puzzled expression, Polios described what John had meant.
“We share a meal together in our faith, Nicholas, to celebrate the death and resurrection of our Lord. You are very welcome to join us, as an observer. We wouldn’t expect you to participate in any way but you would see how sincerely we all believe.”
I said I would be pleased to be with them whatever they were doing. We were shown into a large room off the courtyard with benches around the wall and a small table in the middle. After a few minutes more people were admitted, a man and two young women.
“This is Joseph and his two daughters, Esther and Elizabeth,” said John. “They live locally and have a stall selling bales of cloth in the