greatest share of the burden alone-a very rock in the teeth of the storm; the Stone of Culnahara is not more steadfast than Fintan the pilot. My respect for that man grew with every wave that crashed over the rails.
All through the tempest-tortured night we shivered and prayed, the scream of wind and thunder of water loud in our ears. Hard pressed though we were, we kept courage keen with faith in God and hope of deliverance.
Even when the rudder pin gave way, we did not despair. Mael and Fintan hauled the broken rudder aboard and lashed it securely to the side of the boat. 'We are at the mercy of the wind now,' Mael informed us.
'Let Him who fixed the pole star guide us,' Cadoc replied. 'Lord, we are in your hand. Send us where you will.'
With or without the rudder, I observed little difference in the behaviour of the boat. We were yet thrown from one wave to the next and blasted by every gale. Sea and sky continually changed places. Seawater broke over us in freezing cascades; had we taken up residence beneath a waterfall, we could not have been more severely drenched.
Three days and nights we endured this tribulation. We could neither eat nor sleep; any such comfort was impossible. When, after three days, there came no hint or evidence of the storm ending, Bishop Cadoc raised his cambutta and stood. Then, with those nearest him clutching him about the legs and waist to keep him from being snatched overboard by the wind and waves, the Bishop of Hy called out a seun to calm the storm. The charm he spoke was this:
May the Three encircle me, May the
Three succour me, May the Three shield me,
Be thou ever saving me!
Aid thee me in my dire need, Aid thee me
in my distress, Aid thee me in every
danger, Be thou ever aiding me!
Nor water shall drown me, Nor flood
shall drown me, Nor brine shall drown me,
Be thou ever upholding me!
Away with storms! Away with gales! Away with
cruel killing waves!
In the name of the Father of Life,
and the Son Triumphant,
and the Spirit Most Holy, with peace everlasting,
Amen, Amen, Amen!
Cadoc repeated this charm three times and then sat down. We waited.
Clutching to the grain bags and to one another, the storm's savage howl loud in our ears, we waited. The ship turned around and around, rudderless, flung this way and that on the high-lifting sea swell.
Then, by some happenchance, Ciaran raised his head, looked around and sang out: 'The sun!' Up he leapt. 'Sol Invictus! The sun has conquered! Gloria Patri!'
Suddenly everyone was struggling up, pointing to the sky and shouting, 'Glory be to God!' and praising the Ever Wise and all his saints and angels for our deliverance.
I looked where Ciaran was pointing and saw a narrow crack in the solid mass of grey. Through this crevice poured golden light in a broad, many-rayed band, piercing the night-dark sky with spears of bright morning light.
The crack opened wider allowing more sunlight to spill over the tempestuous sea. And it was almost as if the honeyed light was a balm poured onto the storm to soothe the troubled waters.
We stared at the shimmering shaft, willing it to expand and increase. But the sky closed again; the storm- clouds drew together once more, shutting out the light. Our hopes flickered out as the last ray disappeared.
Cold, exhausted from our long ordeal, we gazed forlorn and unhappy at the place where we had last seen the light. The wind gusted again and we shivered to hear it. And then, even as we hunkered down to weather the reawakened gale, the heavens split above us.
'Look!' shouted Clynnog, leaping up. 'God's bow!'
I turned and saw a great arc of glowing colour shining in the air, God's promise renewed once more. Blue sky and rainbow-two of creation's most beautiful sights. We were saved. We turned our faces to the sky above, welcoming the sun's return with loud cries of joy and thanksgiving.
Fintan, the pilot, standing by the helm, called out, 'Behold! The storm has flung us across the sea.'
It was true. The clouds and mist had vanished, and away to the south I could make out the humped shape of land, floating on the horizon.
'Do you know the place, Fin?' asked Cadoc hopefully.
'I do indeed,' the steersman replied, allowing himself a wide smile of approval.
'Then,' suggested the bishop lightly, 'will you yet tell us what land it is that we see there?'
'I shall,' said Fintan. 'Brothers, it is Armorica. Though the gales have battered us, they have performed a small service. Our crossing, though wave-tossed, has been made in half the time. We are wet and cold, truly. But God is good, he has delivered us to our destination.'
'And this without a rudder?' wondered Connal.
'Yes, Con,' replied Fintan, 'the very hand of God was upon us, guiding us on our way. Now it is for us to do what remains.' With that he began calling orders.
The muir manachi jumped quickly to their tasks. The oars were unshipped and we all set ourselves to rowing; without a rudder, use of the sail-even in a rapidly calming wind-would be useless, if not hazardous, and it was easier to steer by oar. The helmsman, meanwhile, took an extra oar and lashed it to the tiller post to serve as a rudder-enough of a rudder, at least, to help correct our rowing. The sea continued to run high and rough.
I watched the backs and shoulders of the men ahead of me-bending, swaying, hunching, to the rhythm of the song. I tried my best to imitate them, throwing the oar before me and drawing it back. I soon acquired a rough proficiency in the task, and was glad to do my part.
We rowed a goodly while, and the exertion, after three days of inactivity, roused both hunger and thirst. Gwilym and Ddewi left off rowing and began preparing a meal. It was then that they learned we had lost most of our drinking water. For, when Ddewi went to the ship's vat he found it all but empty, and that which was left tainted with salt water. The cover had come off during the storm and the good water dashed out by the rough waves.
This was not a serious problem, for we had yet a cask of water and several skins, but as these were meant to serve for our land journey it meant we would have to replenish them as soon as possible. Bishop Cadoc, Brynach, and Fintan put their heads together to determine what should be done. Since I was manning the last oar, I was near enough to overhear them.
'We must make land soon to repair the tiller,' Brynach pointed out; 'let it be near a stream.'
'There may be a settlement,' suggested Cadoc.
'Aye, there may,' agreed Fintan, pursing his lips.
'Do you not recognize the coast?'
'No.' The pilot shook his head. 'Sure, I know it is Armorica,' he added quickly, 'but whether we be north or south of Nantes, I cannot say.'
That was the first I had heard mention of any stopping place-and yet, on such a long trip as this, we must have numerous destinations. I realized with some chagrin how little I actually knew about the journey I was embarked upon-not that it mattered very much for all that. Upon reaching Byzantium, I would die. That much I knew, and it was more than enough to occupy my thoughts.
Still, I wondered. Why Nantes? From the little I had heard of the Gaulish abbeys-and it was very little indeed-the monasteries of Gaul were unlike any known in Britain and Eire. It was often said that the continental monks were not Fir Manachi, that is True Monks, much less were they Cele De! Why, then, should we look to such men to aid our purpose? What interest could they have in our journey?
I thought about this as I rowed, but could make nothing of it, so contented myself with the thought that all would be revealed very soon. Bishop Cadoc and his advisors had, no doubt, good reason to hold close counsel in these matters. I determined to keep my ears open, however, to catch any stray word which might enlighten me.
