Lucius swam towards the strand, timing his approach so that he rode in on a large wave. He sprinted the short distance to the clutch of rocks and pulled out the boat and oars, working as quickly as he could to clear off the tangle of seaweed and drag it back into the surf. Once in the water, he towed the curach past the line of breakers, hauled himself inside, and rowed furiously out to sea.

As he plied the oars, he reflected on his escape from the Romani. He had in the last few weeks met Pagani who were good and loving and others who were a complete mystery. He had been raised at Inissi Leuca by monks and brothers who were kind, and he had also seen the horrible violence wrought by Martinus and his followers. The only conclusion possible was that people were people, wherever you found them and whatever faith they professed.

He had also learned that women liked how he looked and that his body responded to their interest. With Aurelia he had even felt love, he knew that now. He would make a poor monk, he thought. Chastity would never be his vocation.

Then he remembered the couples who came to Inissi Leuca to have their unions blessed. The image pleased him. But if he never found a woman who could join his soul as well as his body, perhaps he would go without. Flavia had offered her body only, and that had not attracted him at all. She had called him a philosopher. Maybe it was true.

But philosophy was not going to help him now. He knew that his situation was becoming desperate. According to the laws of the tribes, he would be a stranger and an outcast on whichever shore he landed, with no rights of protection. To be found by the Romani would be even worse; he could end up as a slave in Hispania.

He was utterly alone, adrift on the huge ocean. Or was he? Some god had protected him thus far. He would have to trust in that. And maybe his own people lived somewhere along the shore. If he prayed hard enough, perhaps God, or Ísu, or some Pagan deity would take pity on him. Maybe by some miracle he would be delivered to his very own tribe. Somehow it seemed worth the risk.

He would not, could not return to the circumscribed security of his childhood home with the monks and brothers. He had seen too many ways of life; he had tasted the wide world; he wanted to find out who he was, where he came from, and where he truly belonged. To go back to Inissi Leuca now would mean defeat; he would surely regret it for the rest of his life. He had simply come too far to turn back.

In the grey pre-dawn light, he saw gannets asleep on the water, bobbling by on the waves, hardly disturbed by his passing. The sight made him realize that he too was very tired and hungry, having eaten only bread and water the day before.

When he was well away from shore, he finally stopped rowing and let the wind and currents do the work, carrying him ever northward. He stowed the oars and pulled out an oiled leather tarp that had been folded into the ribbing to be used as protection against rain and to prevent swamping. He covered the boat with it, making a dark cocoon, and nodded, drifting into sleep. And then he slept.

He woke to the sound of gulls and terns screaming; the birds were massed overhead, driving off a marauding skua. Fulmars circled above in spiral loops, and he knew he must be close to shore. But which shore? Then he looked to the west and saw a dark storm line approaching. Suddenly the birds fled, and instantly all visibility was gone.

He fought panic, convincing himself that the storm was a blessing. The little curach would ride it out like a gull floating upon the waves. He quickly arranged the oiled tarp to collect rainwater by making a well, and when the tempest hit, he was under the tarp while sweet water collected in the small depression.

“Deo gratias!” he shouted to the wind and the wild sea, and to any spirit or deity that might be listening, knowing he would now have plenty to drink. He was no stranger to hunger; he had fasted for days on Inissi Leuca. He would survive.