Antipas, traveling nobleman and citizen;
To Luke, scholar and friend, and to Calpurnius, nobleman of Ephesus;
Greetings.
I am writing to you from Antioch in Syria, on the Orontes River, where our travels have brought us through an unfortunate turn of events. Simon and I benefited greatly from your hospitality. We were refreshed by your resources and enormously enjoyed our conversations together. The opportunity to meet you both in person only increased my affections for you. Your efforts to place us on board the ship Isis were greatly appreciated, and we left the port of Ephesus in high spirits, bound for Caesarea Maritima. We had expected that, upon arriving in Caesarea, Simon would stay in my household for a few days before journeying with one of my servants to discover the whereabouts of his family members in Galilee (with his letter of recommendation from Antonius standing him in good stead). But the gods had other plans, evidently, and disaster struck, with Simon becoming the victim of Fate’s cruel hand. He is currently being attended to by Christians here in Antioch, the second time that Christian hospitality has been offered to him in desperate times. But whereas Antonius was able to nurse him back to health in Pergamum, I fear that this time might be different for him. He is desperately ill. You will want to offer prayers for his health, as I am. He has become a trusted friend in our brief time together, and our mutual travels have reinforced our bond of friendship. Although not a nobleman by birth or stature, he has a noble spirit, along with a giving heart and an enthusiastic zeal. Perhaps the gods will look kindly on him, especially the god of Jesus Christ, who gave his life for the sake of others.
The situation arose in this way. We departed from Ephesus in favorable conditions, with bright sunshine, blustery winds, and high hopes of arriving in Caesarea within five or six days. The wind was behind us, and all looked set for a steady progress. The master of the ship had sacrificed to the gods in the morning, and during the previous night neither he nor his ship hands had had any dreams that could be interpreted as bad omens. The ship was a cargo ship, but alongside our small entourage were others who had also acquired passage on the ship. Most were noblemen who could afford to pay for the voyage, but there were also a few couriers delivering messages or goods to their masters’ associates elsewhere in the empire. Also on board was a young woman, calling herself Galatia, poorly clothed, with few resources, and having to care for a baby girl. She had probably spent most of her resources simply to pay for their passage. The food she had brought on board was barely enough to keep them for three days. Galatia seemed content to stay by herself with her baby and never explained her circumstances. Simon suggested to me that she was probably a slave fleeing from a harsh master. She seemed uncertain as to where she was traveling but was clearly eager to move on.
The first two days of our travel passed without event. By the evening of the second day, however, things were soon to change. We erected our canvas shelters and bedded down for the night. Galatia and a few others who did not have the means to purchase a shelter settled into their bedding at various points around the deck. The evening seas were tranquil. After only two or three hours of sleep, however, the sea became noticeably rough. The wind picked up, and the moon was covered by a thick blanket of cloud. Soon the strong winds gave way to a howling gale that threw the waves upon us and spit down a fierce rain. The ship hands, having been lulled into a false sense of security by the calm conditions at the start of the evening, had drunk themselves into a stupor and were ill prepared to adjust the sails with the onslaught of the elements. They had lashed the ropes of the mainsail to the blocks. Time after time we tried to release the ropes but to no avail, for they had been swollen by the rain and stubbornly refused to be adjusted. If we attempted to cut the ropes, we would risk dropping the sails into the sea like an anchor, causing the ship to capsize. Unable to shorten the sails, we charged along under full canvas at a fearful speed. We had a double fear: fear of being engulfed by the sea, and fear of being dashed upon the rocks, for we had no idea of our course or location. We were all terrified and called upon the gods to remember us or, if we died, to remember our dear ones. One passenger handed out pieces of string, urging us to tie our jewelry and gold around our necks so that, were our bodies found, the finders could profit from the find and would not be adverse to disposing of our corpses in an honorable fashion. These conditions continued throughout the next day and well into the next night. We were exhausted, and what energy we did have was consumed by the shivering of our bodies as they tried to offset the cold of the driving winds and waves that had soaked our clothes to the skin. Then, in the dead of the night, the storm seemed to end almost as quickly as it had come upon us.
As day broke, we met the sun’s first rays with the greatest of relief. The heat of the sun caused the ropes to dry and shrink just enough to enable us to adjust and control the sails. The master of the ship was uncertain of our location, but two hours after sunrise we spotted land. As we sailed closer to it, the master recognized it as the northeastern tip of the island of Cyprus. The storm had pushed us northeastward, between Pamphylia and Cyprus. The master decided to abandon Caesarea as a destination and headed instead for Antioch, only a day’s journey away, where necessary repairs could be made to the ship.
During the day, many of us slept to regain something of our strength. By the afternoon, Simon looked feeble and pallid. I expressed concern for his health, but he brushed the matter aside in an attempt to appear animated. One or two others were also showing signs of exhaustion. Galatia’s baby cried most of the day. Simon and I gave the mother some of the bread we had brought along that had not been soaked by the storm. At one point in the afternoon I felt the girl’s forehead, and it was very hot. When the coolness of the evening came upon us, the baby settled down into a restless sleep. I said good night to my friends and servants and went to sleep. I awoke in the morning to find that Simon had not slept in his shelter, having insisted that Galatia and her baby make use of it while he slept elsewhere on deck. Galatia awoke refreshed, and her baby’s fever had broken in the night, suggesting that she would recover. Simon, on the other hand, was noticeably worse after being exposed to the night in a weakened condition. He struggled to put a brave face on his condition but was clearly drained of all his strength. I instructed Stachys to do nothing else but care for Simon.
By noon, we had arrived at Antioch, and I immediately dispatched Herminos to search for a Christian household. Simon was in great need of attention, and I imagined that fellowship with other Christians might assist him in his recovery. Herminos returned to the ship an hour later and led us to the house of Leochares, a Christian householder. Leochares has a guest wing attached to his house and was pleased to let us impose on him, especially since Simon is a Christian brother.
We have now been in residence here for two days, and I felt compelled to write to inform you of our troubles. Perhaps you could ensure that news of Simon’s condition is reported to the Christians who gather in the house of Antonius in Pergamum. They will want to pray for his health. Leochares knows of a ship sailing for Ephesus in two days’ time, and I have instructed Herminos to do whatever he can to establish a contact on the ship who will deliver this letter to you.
I will write again soon, if possible. For now, my concern is for Simon alone, and I pray to his god, hoping that he will look graciously upon us all.