Читать книгу The Journey: How an obscure Byzantine Saint became our Santa Claus - David Price Williams - Страница 11

works and to honour the leader who had guided them through such troubled times. He would not be forgotten.

Later that day Andreas fashioned a rough cross from odd spars on the ship, lashing the cross piece together with old rope from the hold. He dragged it up to the summit where the ship’s crew had already begun building a cairn out of the sharp limestone boulders. They carefully covered the old man where he had fallen, then piled more and more stones on top, making a high pyramid, high enough to be visible out at sea. They erected the cross in the centre of the cairn and threw more and more stones around it to make it firm. When it was finished, Andreas gave one last benediction and with an aching sadness they made their way down the hill to the ship.

By dawn the next morning the storm had blown itself out and a fresh breeze sent clouds scudding across the tops of the mountain ranges. Undoing the mooring ropes they heaved the stone anchors in-board one by one and hoisting the weather-beaten sail, they slowly edged the ship down the sound and around the edge of the island. What was it the old man had called this place, Andreas pondered? “Partridge Island,” was that it?

The wind quickened and caught the rigging. The ropes stretched, the patched sail filled and pushed the vessel forward, water foaming at its prow, its old timbers creaking with the movement. The ship

DAVID PRICE WILLIAMS