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.Fintan and his crew, instead of coming ashore, had put out fishing lines from the side of the ship, and with very little effort had soon caught enough mackerel to feed us all.While Connal and Faolan gutted the fish, Dugal and I made the fire.The fish were spitted and the spits quickly set around the perimeter ofthe fire to cook.Presently, silvery smoke drifted into the dusky sky, thick with the aroma of roasting fish.I listened to the talk around me while idly turning the spit and watching the sinking sun stain the blue-green water with molten gold.The fish sizzled and the sky faded to pale yellow, and I listened to the gulls chatter on the rock cliffs above as they gathered for the night.When at last the mackerel was cooked, I raised the spit, peeled off a strip of flesh with my fingers, blew on it a little and tucked it into my mouth.Truly, I believed I had never tasted anything so good in all my life.I also realized I had not eaten anything since breaking fast early that morning.Was it only this morning that we left? I wondered, turning the spitbefore the flames.Already, it seemed the Aidan who had set off with a heart full of woe was not the same Aidan eating fish from a spit and licking his fingers.After our meal, Bishop Cadoc led prayers.A monk on pilgrimage is excused from the daily round; the journey itself is accounted a form of prayer.Even so, we did not neglect any opportunity to refresh ourselves in this way.We sang psalms as the stars came out, our voices ringing from the rocks all around and out over the glimmering water.With the last notes soaring into the night, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and slept on the shingle under the stars.We awakened at first light to mist and low cloud.The wind had changedduring the night, and now came out of the east in a low gusting breeze.The pilot and Mael stood at the water's edge, wavelets lapping at their feet, scanning the sky and talking.Cadoc joined them, exchanged a word, and then called out: "Rise, brothers!" he called."The day is before us!"While Clynnog and Ciran--either side of the coracle guided the bishop, the rest of us broke camp and waded back to the ship.Once aboard, Fintan took the tiller and signalled Connal to raise the anchor.The others plied the long oars and began turning the ship."let us help them," suggested Dugal."It will do us good to learn the seaman's craft."He took up an oar and put it in my hands, then found one forhimself.Dugal stood on one side of the ship, and I on the other.Clynnog showed me how to work the long-handled blade back and forth in the water."More like sawing wood," he told me, "and less like stirring porridge, Aidan.Long, easy strokes.Do not turn your wrists so."Slowly, the boat turned in the water and we began moving back out of the little cove and into the open sea once more.Once well beyond the rocks, Fintan called for the sail to be raised; the heavy fabric shook itself once, twice, caught the wind and filled.The ship slipped smoothly into deeper water, and we were away.The pilot steered a course parallel to the land, moving south along the coast.The morning passed in a damp haze of mist and fog which clung to the cliffs and obscured the hills, leaving little to see.We broke fast on barley bread and fish left over from the previous meal.I carried some back to Fintan at the stern, who put me to work holding the tiller while he ate."We will make a seafarer of you yet, Aidan," he chuckled."Just hold fast and keep an eye on the sail""Gwilym said we were to put in at Ty Gwyn," I said."Aye," answered the pilot, breaking bread."Supplies." "Is it far?"He chewed thoughtfully."No great distance."Fintan seemed content with this answer and disinclined to improve on it, so I asked, "How far then?"The pilot ate his bread as if contemplating the deep complexity of my question.Finally, he squinted up his eyes and said, "You will see."Fintan's prediction proved faulty, however: I never did see the abbey called Ty Gwyn.9The wind sharpened, backing to the southeast and blowing steadily harder throughout the morning, churning the slate-grey water into stiff, jagged peaks that slammed against the prow and sides as if to drive us ashore.Consequently, our squint-eyed pilot was forced to put the ship further out, away from the coast, to avoid coming too near the land and being blown onto the rocks.The' sea swelled, lifting the ship high and holding it, before pitching it sideways into the next furrow.I found this rising-swaying-falling motion more than I could endure, and retreated to the back of the boat where I might grit my teeth and moan.By midday, the wind had become a howling gale, piling the black waves high and spraying white foam over everything.I sat hunched in my nest among the grain sacks, clutching my stomach and desperately wishing I had not eaten the fish.Dugal, seeing my misery, fetched a stoup of water from the vat lashed to the mast."Here, Aidan," he cried."Drink this.You will feel better." He shouted above the wind and wave-roar, for even as far from land as we were, we could still hear the terrible thunder of the water tearing itself upon the rocks.Placing the stoup in my hands, he watched me raise the wooden vessel to my lips, spilling most of the contents over myself due to the violent motion of the ship.The water tasted like iron on my tongue.I shivered at the taste; the shiver became a shudder and I felt my stomach churn inside me.I made it to the rail just in time to spew the ill-favoured fish back into the sea whence it came."Fret not, Aidan," Fintan advised."It is for the best.You will feel better now."This promise seemed especially remote, however, as I fell back onto the grain bags, drooling and gasping.Dugal sat with me until he was called away to help the sea monks strike the sail.This, I understood, would make the ship less easy to steer.But, as Mael explained, "It is take down the sail, or lose the mast.""Is it that bad?" I wondered, feeling innocent and helpless."Nay," replied Mael, frowning, "not so bad that it cannot yet get worse.""You mean it can get worse?" I wondered, apprehension stealing over me."Aye, it can always get worse.Sure, this is no more than a summer's breeze compared to some of the storms I have braved," he told me proudly."I tell you the truth, Aidan, I have been shipwrecked four times."This seemed to me a dubious boast for a seafaring man, but Mael appeared most pleased with it.The pilot called him to take the tiller just then, and I watched as Fintan grappled his way along the rail to join Brynach and the bishop at the mast.The three conferred briefly, whereupon the pilot returned to the helm
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