Читать книгу The Journey: How an obscure Byzantine Saint became our Santa Claus - David Price Williams - Страница 47

CHAPTER THREE

GOING TO SEA

My father made a habit of going down to the council meetings at whatever time of day they were held and in whatever weather. He took his civic responsibilities very seriously and hated missing the debates, even though he rarely actually contributed much to the discussion. It was one winter a year or two later that the boulé convened in the afternoon and their session continued until after dark. It was cold that season and a heavy snow had fallen early on the highlands either side of the Xanthos Valley. The winter wind whistled off the mountain peaks gripping Patara with a chilly and lashing rain which made everyone who didn’t need to go out to stay huddled indoors over their fires.

My father was hurrying back after the meeting through the sleet which was driving across the agora, our city market place, when he lost his footing on the slippery paving stones and fell heavily on his side. He must have cracked his head too because when the night watchmen found him he was barely conscious. They recognised him and managed to get a stretcher party to bring him back to our house where we put him straight to bed. He was shivering uncontrollably and uttering low groans indicating he was in pain. We piled sheep skins on the bed in

DAVID PRICE WILLIAMS