The capitan`s fears were not groundless. They had gone far in their navigation when all of a sudden came a terrible wind that creeping between the rocks lifted a mighty breaker and was pushing it quickly in the opposite direction of their rout. It was not possible to fight against the wind.
The Captain gave order to lower the sail and let the ship go by the stormy sea. The wind changed their direcion toward Orient.
As soon as the wind calmed the Captain tried to turn the bow towards the Spanish bank. But once again the wind diverted the ship out of the rout.
At a certain point a strong vortex, similar to the hit of an enormous fist, broke the main mast and it almost overturned the ship. Luckily the sailors were able to stop it.
Anthony was sitting between the buggages. He was holding himself with all his strength to the ropes that held them tight. The billows swept the deck, the water flooded everywhere. He didn’t know much about the sea, but from the behaviour of the sailors he guessed that the ship ran into danger.
The billows flooded more and more the deck. They dragged first a box, then another, tearing them from the ropes that were holding them, and made them disappear in the sea. The captain shouted something indicating Anthony. Two sailors leaped towards him, they took him and dragged him below the deck.
He was enveloped by the obscurity. He was led towards the lower part of the ship. He found himself on the floor of the stowage. Here there were invisible cases, bundles and benches. All this was moving because of the rolling from one wall to another. Anthony wanted to stand up, but he lost the equilibrium and he started to roll along with the other things on the floor.
He was tossed a few times from one wall to the other. Finally he was able to grab a bench fixed to a wall. Persuaded that under the bench there would be a corner relatively tranquil, he slipped under it. Wedging himself in there with all his body he was able to regain breath.
Below deck he felt even worse than on the deck. From time to time from the hatch squirted some water. It flowed along the objects that rolled from one side to the other.
"Just here, one day, on this sea" thought Anthony "the storm had pushed the boat that transported Saint Paul." He read so many times that description. He thought that there was some similitude between those two events. To say the truth, he was not a prisoner, all the same, similarly to Paul he was living a moment of standstill of his life. Paul didn`t perish in that occasion. In fact he lived for quite a while longer. But would he be able to save himself? What was God`s will in this circumstance?
"May be all this happens so that I can understand his will..." He had the sensation that up to now he had committed so many errors…
He thought then about Francis. That man aroused in him aversion but at the same time he was attactracted by his was of living.
"We are both far away the one another" he thought "just as were Peter and Paul. They however met. Francis and I will never meet... If I will save myself, I will remain Friars minor in Coimbra..."
The wind kept on raging. It howled and blew with impressive strength. The light boat by now didn’t navigate any longer. It seemed that was flying over the foamy waves. Only thanks to the manageability of the boat and the Captain`s ability and concern the crew had not yet sank.
At night fell he could see every thing silvered by the light of the moon. The ship with the crew kept on going dragged by the waves. Even the moon seemed to hasten with them, ogling between the clouds similar to a coin that falling from a money bag rolls between the muslin`s draperies.
Nobody came down below deck. Anthony lay in his corner, exhausted and half-fainted. He had pains in his intestine, from which he had nothing else to expel. On the floor there flouds of water. It flowed with every oscillation of the boat. Anthony too was flouded. He was laying down beating his teeth in the soaking wet habit. He had a headache. His thoughts were tangling one another. He had the sensation that someone was hammering his skull with the same rhythm a musician beat his drums.
Someone stooped above him. He lifted his head that was heavy as a ball of iron. He wasn’t able to raise himself up. He had such a headache that he could hardly open his eyes. They gave him something to drink. He swallowed it greedidly. The hatch mush have been wide open that he had to half-close his eyes. They placed between his lips a jug with a drink. He swallowed greedily. The hatch must nave beenj wide open because below deck flowed the grey light of the day. The ship continued to roll on the waves, the sea roared and one could hear the puff of the wind.
"What is happening?" he asked. The sailor that had brought him to drink was kneeling holding himself to the bench.
"Not good, Priest, not good. We are drifting. I had never seen a similar wind till now. The Captain wants to know if you want something to eat."
"Thank the Captain... I could not eat anything..."
The stomach had a start just to mention food, as if it had been a living creature.
"We can’t do anything for you..."
"I understand. May God bless you for your good intention."
The sailor went away. Anthony remained once again alone. He wanted to sleep, but he could not sleep. The head kept rigid was beating on the bench. The water at every rolling of the boat lapped against impetuously, it flooded his mouth. He lost his breathing. He remained in a semi-conscious state.
When he awoke from his fainting state, he was submerged by the obscurity. It could have been night time, or perhaps the hatch has been closed with more care. Nothing was changed: the water continued to flow, the floor now came up, now came down. He was so weak that he seemed not to be able to even an arm. The body had become numb. He was certain that he was going to die.
"God... God..." he murmored. He had been rejected... How would he present himself to Him? Perhaps he had not served God at all, perhaps he only served himself. May be he had wanted to acquire knowledge only for himself... And he had looked for death, only for his glory... To achieve holiness... He wanted to become a saint. He didn’t want to serve. Would God be so merciful to forgive him?
Five days had already passed, when the crew of the small ship saw dry land.
The wind and the seastorm calmed down. They hadn’t changed rout, they continued to navigate in the direction in which the storm had sent them. Before leaving they had to re-order the boat. The Captain observed with sadness, the mainmast broken, the sail lacerated, the deck empty, from which the billows had dragged the boxes with their precious load.
As soon as they drew near the dry land, on the face of the captain there was a major preoccupation. He had no idea where the sea had taken them. Generally people would help the shipwrecked, all the same the Christians could have treated not so good the Muslim ship in search of help.
They were approaching the shore slowly, with trepidation. The captain understood that having a Priest on board could have been of help to him.
To say the truth, Anthony was in a state of extreme prostration. When he sea calmed down a little, the sailors took him on the bridge and they made him lay on a bedspread. He was in the state of half-asleep. He was washed. Now the captain kneeled close to him and said:
"Can you hear me Priest? We are approaching a port. It must be certainly a Christian port. I hope that you will say to your people that we have treated you well and that we didn’t want any money from you..."
Anthony didn’t answer. From the shallow look of his face it was difficult to guess if he comprehended what was said to him. The captain raised himself up still worried.
The small ship was now entering the port. From a distance they could see a group of people were curiously looking the shipwreckers approching their island. The Captain recognised even some soldiers with their shining helmets. To his full amazement he placed one hand on his forehead protecting in such a way the sight of the flashing light of the sun. These people had on their head characteristics Muslim turbans, to the side the bent Arabic scimitar. He exclaimed incredulous:
"Where am I?"
"In Palermo." resounded the answer.
"Is it a country of believers?"
"The reign belongs to the Emperor Frederick."
From the small emergenty escalator approached an official.
"The believers enjoy here all the rights. The emperor treats people from other faith even with more clemency of the Christians. Nobody will be hurt here. "
Chapter 12
When he awoke from his fainting state, he was submerged by the obscurity. It could have been night time, or perhaps the hatch has been closed with more care. Nothing was changed: the water continued to flow, the floor now came up, now came down. He was so weak that he seemed not to be able to even an arm. The body had become numb. He was certain that he was going to die.
The capitan`s fears were not groundless. They had gone far in their navigation when all of a sudden came a terrible wind that creeping between the rocks lifted a mighty breaker and was pushing it quickly in the opposite direction of their rout. It was not possible to fight against the wind.
The Captain gave order to lower the sail and let the ship go by the stormy sea. The wind changed their direcion toward Orient.
As soon as the wind calmed the Captain tried to turn the bow towards the Spanish bank. But once again the wind diverted the ship out of the rout.
At a certain point a strong vortex, similar to the hit of an enormous fist, broke the main mast and it almost overturned the ship. Luckily the sailors were able to stop it.
Anthony was sitting between the buggages. He was holding himself with all his strength to the ropes that held them tight. The billows swept the deck, the water flooded everywhere. He didn’t know much about the sea, but from the behaviour of the sailors he guessed that the ship ran into danger.
The billows flooded more and more the deck. They dragged first a box, then another, tearing them from the ropes that were holding them, and made them disappear in the sea. The captain shouted something indicating Anthony. Two sailors leaped towards him, they took him and dragged him below the deck.
He was enveloped by the obscurity. He was led towards the lower part of the ship. He found himself on the floor of the stowage. Here there were invisible cases, bundles and benches. All this was moving because of the rolling from one wall to another. Anthony wanted to stand up, but he lost the equilibrium and he started to roll along with the other things on the floor.
He was tossed a few times from one wall to the other. Finally he was able to grab a bench fixed to a wall. Persuaded that under the bench there would be a corner relatively tranquil, he slipped under it. Wedging himself in there with all his body he was able to regain breath.
Below deck he felt even worse than on the deck. From time to time from the hatch squirted some water. It flowed along the objects that rolled from one side to the other.
"Just here, one day, on this sea" thought Anthony "the storm had pushed the boat that transported Saint Paul." He read so many times that description. He thought that there was some similitude between those two events. To say the truth, he was not a prisoner, all the same, similarly to Paul he was living a moment of standstill of his life. Paul didn`t perish in that occasion. In fact he lived for quite a while longer. But would he be able to save himself? What was God`s will in this circumstance?
"May be all this happens so that I can understand his will..." He had the sensation that up to now he had committed so many errors…
He thought then about Francis. That man aroused in him aversion but at the same time he was attactracted by his was of living.
"We are both far away the one another" he thought "just as were Peter and Paul. They however met. Francis and I will never meet... If I will save myself, I will remain Friars minor in Coimbra..."
The wind kept on raging. It howled and blew with impressive strength. The light boat by now didn’t navigate any longer. It seemed that was flying over the foamy waves. Only thanks to the manageability of the boat and the Captain`s ability and concern the crew had not yet sank.
At night fell he could see every thing silvered by the light of the moon. The ship with the crew kept on going dragged by the waves. Even the moon seemed to hasten with them, ogling between the clouds similar to a coin that falling from a money bag rolls between the muslin`s draperies.
Nobody came down below deck. Anthony lay in his corner, exhausted and half-fainted. He had pains in his intestine, from which he had nothing else to expel. On the floor there flouds of water. It flowed with every oscillation of the boat. Anthony too was flouded. He was laying down beating his teeth in the soaking wet habit. He had a headache. His thoughts were tangling one another. He had the sensation that someone was hammering his skull with the same rhythm a musician beat his drums.
Someone stooped above him. He lifted his head that was heavy as a ball of iron. He wasn’t able to raise himself up. He had such a headache that he could hardly open his eyes. They gave him something to drink. He swallowed it greedidly. The hatch mush have been wide open that he had to half-close his eyes. They placed between his lips a jug with a drink. He swallowed greedily. The hatch must nave beenj wide open because below deck flowed the grey light of the day. The ship continued to roll on the waves, the sea roared and one could hear the puff of the wind.
"What is happening?" he asked. The sailor that had brought him to drink was kneeling holding himself to the bench.
"Not good, Priest, not good. We are drifting. I had never seen a similar wind till now. The Captain wants to know if you want something to eat."
"Thank the Captain... I could not eat anything..."
The stomach had a start just to mention food, as if it had been a living creature.
"We can’t do anything for you..."
"I understand. May God bless you for your good intention."
The sailor went away. Anthony remained once again alone. He wanted to sleep, but he could not sleep. The head kept rigid was beating on the bench. The water at every rolling of the boat lapped against impetuously, it flooded his mouth. He lost his breathing. He remained in a semi-conscious state.
"God... God..." he murmored. He had been rejected... How would he present himself to Him? Perhaps he had not served God at all, perhaps he only served himself. May be he had wanted to acquire knowledge only for himself... And he had looked for death, only for his glory... To achieve holiness... He wanted to become a saint. He didn’t want to serve. Would God be so merciful to forgive him?
Five days had already passed, when the crew of the small ship saw dry land.
The wind and the seastorm calmed down. They hadn’t changed rout, they continued to navigate in the direction in which the storm had sent them. Before leaving they had to re-order the boat. The Captain observed with sadness, the mainmast broken, the sail lacerated, the deck empty, from which the billows had dragged the boxes with their precious load.
As soon as they drew near the dry land, on the face of the captain there was a major preoccupation. He had no idea where the sea had taken them. Generally people would help the shipwrecked, all the same the Christians could have treated not so good the Muslim ship in search of help.
They were approaching the shore slowly, with trepidation. The captain understood that having a Priest on board could have been of help to him.
To say the truth, Anthony was in a state of extreme prostration. When he sea calmed down a little, the sailors took him on the bridge and they made him lay on a bedspread. He was in the state of half-asleep. He was washed. Now the captain kneeled close to him and said:
"Can you hear me Priest? We are approaching a port. It must be certainly a Christian port. I hope that you will say to your people that we have treated you well and that we didn’t want any money from you..."
Anthony didn’t answer. From the shallow look of his face it was difficult to guess if he comprehended what was said to him. The captain raised himself up still worried.
The small ship was now entering the port. From a distance they could see a group of people were curiously looking the shipwreckers approching their island. The Captain recognised even some soldiers with their shining helmets. To his full amazement he placed one hand on his forehead protecting in such a way the sight of the flashing light of the sun. These people had on their head characteristics Muslim turbans, to the side the bent Arabic scimitar. He exclaimed incredulous:
"Where am I?"
"In Palermo." resounded the answer.
"Is it a country of believers?"
"The reign belongs to the Emperor Frederick."
From the small emergenty escalator approached an official.
"The believers enjoy here all the rights. The emperor treats people from other faith even with more clemency of the Christians. Nobody will be hurt here. "
