300 AD
The wind pulled at Nicholas as he hung onto the main mast of the fishing ship. He pulled himself up as it leaned with the rolling deck. At 19, his chin was starting to look shaggy. His arms had filled out with three years of heaving nets full of fish, but his height remained unimposing. A rope hung tangled in a tackle at the top of the mast. Below, his captain, a burly Cretan named Lysimachus called out, “Just cut it away and come right down. No need to tempt the fates.”
Nicholas smirked and muttered with contempt, “The fates.” The idea that three old women could weave the destinies of every man, woman and child struck him as silly. He kept climbing. The top lay over 20 feet above the water. Here the mast swung back and forth as if it was trying to throw him off. Still, he couldn’t help but pause to take in the view. The blue water stretched to the horizon with only a gray sliver of shore to the north. Up above, the clouds floated like bright white giants in the sun. He fancied them messengers of the mighty hand that made the earth and sea. Their shifting shapes beckoned to him, if only he had the time to linger with them. But he had work to do. He clung with his legs and wrestled with the knots.
They were stubborn, but he continued to pick at them, despite the calls of the crew to let it go. Many a time he’d seen them up here fixing the sail and no one had asked them to give up. He didn’t understand why he should be any different. At last the final knot slid free. As it did, the rope snapped taut and gave him a jolt.
He could hear the crew gasp, and his mind awakened to how close he was to falling to the water, or worse, the deck. His hands seized the mast and held tight. He recovered his balance, then lowered himself back to the safety of the deck.
Captain Lysimachus said, “Master Nicholas, you nearly gave us a fit there. It’s enough that we lose your father and mother. We don’t need to lose you too.”
The eyes of all the men were on him. He knew them each by name. He saw no anger in their eyes, only concern. Many worshiped Christus, some still held to their Roman gods, but they all got on well as a team. Now, looking into their eyes, he saw them as family. Nicholas said to Lysimachus, “Yes sir. I am sorry. My God watches over me, but I will try not to worry you.”
The wind pulled at Nicholas as he hung onto the main mast of the fishing ship. He pulled himself up as it leaned with the rolling deck. At 19, his chin was starting to look shaggy. His arms had filled out with three years of heaving nets full of fish, but his height remained unimposing. A rope hung tangled in a tackle at the top of the mast. Below, his captain, a burly Cretan named Lysimachus called out, “Just cut it away and come right down. No need to tempt the fates.”
Nicholas smirked and muttered with contempt, “The fates.” The idea that three old women could weave the destinies of every man, woman and child struck him as silly. He kept climbing. The top lay over 20 feet above the water. Here the mast swung back and forth as if it was trying to throw him off. Still, he couldn’t help but pause to take in the view. The blue water stretched to the horizon with only a gray sliver of shore to the north. Up above, the clouds floated like bright white giants in the sun. He fancied them messengers of the mighty hand that made the earth and sea. Their shifting shapes beckoned to him, if only he had the time to linger with them. But he had work to do. He clung with his legs and wrestled with the knots.
They were stubborn, but he continued to pick at them, despite the calls of the crew to let it go. Many a time he’d seen them up here fixing the sail and no one had asked them to give up. He didn’t understand why he should be any different. At last the final knot slid free. As it did, the rope snapped taut and gave him a jolt.
He could hear the crew gasp, and his mind awakened to how close he was to falling to the water, or worse, the deck. His hands seized the mast and held tight. He recovered his balance, then lowered himself back to the safety of the deck.
Captain Lysimachus said, “Master Nicholas, you nearly gave us a fit there. It’s enough that we lose your father and mother. We don’t need to lose you too.”
The eyes of all the men were on him. He knew them each by name. He saw no anger in their eyes, only concern. Many worshiped Christus, some still held to their Roman gods, but they all got on well as a team. Now, looking into their eyes, he saw them as family. Nicholas said to Lysimachus, “Yes sir. I am sorry. My God watches over me, but I will try not to worry you.”
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