Free Patrick by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

there. Many other smaller vessels lined the pebbled shingle, and we soon joined them.
    As the boat touched the shore, the foremost fisherman called out to a group of men standing on the wharf. These, I reckoned, belonged to one of the ships, and as they took an interest in me, I addressed them politely and asked if anyone spoke Latin. “ Latinum loquamini? ” I asked several times. They made no reply, so I pointed out to sea. “ Britannia, ” I said, repeating the word until the light of understanding dawned on them.
    They regarded me closely, talking among themselves the while. They seemed to come to a favorable conclusion, and two of the men ran off toward one of the larger houses, where, at their summons, a white-haired man emerged. He looked out to where we were standing and beckoned us to attend him.
    That this old rogue was head man of the town I had no doubt. He looked at me, nodding with satisfaction at what he saw. “Pax vobiscum,” I said, offering him a bow of deference. “I give you good greeting.”
    He grunted and, lifting a hand, pointed out to sea. “ Prytani? ” he said.
    I smiled and nodded. “Yes, Brittania. My home. I wish to go there.”
    He smiled and nodded in return. “Prytani.” He spoke to the fisherman and the others, who replied, and, dismissing them, beckoned me to join him in his house. I supposed it was to observe some formality of hospitality, so I agreed, hoping we would soon come to terms regarding my passage.
    The house stank of dogs and rotting fish, but I followed him in; a table and chair stood next to an open hearth in the center of the single room. He bade me sit in the chair and poured out a drink of sour beer. He drank and passed the wooden bowl to me. Not wishing to offend him, I held my breath and took a drink, quickly relinquishing the bowl when I had finished. He pointed to my waterskin, so I unslung the strap from around my shoulder and offered it to him. He examined it approvingly and tried a drink, grinning as he returned it.
    An old woman came in, and he sent her scurrying away; she returned a short time later with a small round loaf of bread, which she put on the table, and hurried off again. The man indicated that I should eat, which I reluctantly did, for although I did not like to make myself beholden to these barbarians, I was hungry and I could not risk offending them in any way.
    I ate, tearing off pieces of bread, chewing slowly, smiling, and drinking from the beer bowl. Meanwhile, the old man busied himself at the hearth and soon had a fire kindled. The old woman reappeared with a dish containing three cleaned and gutted fish. With practiced efficiency the old man spitted them and set them to cook over the fire. Fearing to interrupt their meal—and not wishing to stay in any event—I stood, thanked my host, and started for the door. The old man jumped up and, with smiles and nods of reassurance, led me back to my place at the table.
    He sat me down, pointed to the bread, and made eating motions. He poured more beer and placed the bowl in my hands. I drank, and he went back to tending the fish on the fire. In a little while the food was cooked, and he brought the plate to the table. He selected a fish and offered one to me.We sat down together then—he on a stone by the hearth, I in his chair—and ate our simple meal.
    The fish was a change from mutton; it tasted good and, with the bread and beer, made a passable meal. Indeed, I would have welcomed another morsel or two but for a commotion that commenced outside just then. There came a shout and then the sound of voices and people running. The next thing I knew, there appeared in the doorway a huge, black-haired warrior with a sword in his hand.
    Two strides carried him into the room, where he stood over me looking down impassively. Before I could think what to do, he took hold of the ring at the back of my torc and pulled me to my feet. The old man