Читать книгу The Journey: How an obscure Byzantine Saint became our Santa Claus - David Price Williams - Страница 22

most salubrious at the best of times it has to be said, where they would slake their thirst after their days at sea.

You should have seen the great variety of smaller craft that weaved in and out of our bay too, the small ships carrying barrels of pitch from half way down the Euphrates to be used in ship repairs. The crew always looked as though they’d just been climbing a sooty chimney, their hands, arms and faces covered in the black oily tar. They never seemed to be able to get clean again and most of the shopkeepers in the city wouldn’t allow them to enter their premises in case they blackened the doors or counters. I always felt sorry for these poor malodourous souls whom no-one seemed to like. But I’m sure they wouldn’t have felt the same if they were in a ship sinking for want of a few denarius-worth of waterproofing.

And there were the wine ships, elegant craft from Greece which were laden with hundreds of amphorae, full of sweet red wine from the Island of Samos up near Ephesus or the deep ruby wines from Cnidus, much appreciated by our wealthier citizens. You could always tell where the wine came from because all the wine jars were different shapes, depending on where they were made. There were always hotly contested arguments about which of the wines we imported in Patara was the best, although I always wondered if maybe it was the source of the water with which they diluted their wines that made the difference. There were those who would swear this spring water would bring out

THE JOURNEY