I’m really going to have to think about what all of this means.  Just a few weeks ago, I was quite satisfied with my religion: I felt at ease with how I worshipped the gods and was comfortable enough with what it all meant – but it’s been a strange few weeks.

As it does each year, winter has come to Melita, and with it the terrible storms that take so many lives at sea.  Nothing unusual about that.  The boats people sail on seem so big and safe when the sea is calm, but they don’t do so well when the nor’easter starts blowing.  When all is said and done, they’re just cockleshells.  When the wind whips up the waves and black clouds go scudding across the sea for weeks on end, the place to be is on land, in a nice dry house.

You would think that people would learn that winter storms are best watched from land.  Surely it’s better to wait until spring than to take the risk?  But instead, every year people try to push the envelope, cut things fine, walk the tightrope and go to extremes, travelling too late in the year.  Later than is safe.

And it often ends in disaster.

Then we pick up the pieces.  Literally.  When really bad storms lash the area, all sorts of things wash up on the shore, from storage containers to pieces of masts or even empty boats.  Many of us comb the beaches after big storms in search of any items that we can use, or that can earn us money.

The Romans like to call the sea “Our Sea”, because they govern all of the land around the coast, but the number of shipwrecks that occur every year should make it very clear that they don’t control the sea!

Anyway, recently there was a big storm that continued for about two weeks.  It was good to watch from the shore – I have always revelled in the raw power of the massive waves as they roll across the bay and climb the beach or crash against the cliffs that flank it.

One day as it was starting to ease a little, I went down to the shore in the early morning.  It was crazy going out into such weather: the wind was still gale force, and the cold rain cut into my face as I leaned into the wind, making my way along the track that skirts the bay.  Often at that time of morning there would be many on the road, bringing back their catches from the sea, but on that wild morning I was alone on the road as I crested the rise and looked down on the surging grey waters.   Daylight was coming slowly and the monstrous waves were climbing high up the beach, striving to reach the boats that had been dragged up almost onto the track.

The noise of wind and wave was thunderous and the grand beauty of the scene tugged at my heart as it always does.

Storms are lovely to look at from dry land, but I never go out to sea.  The maelstrom that covers the reef near the middle of the bay claimed the life of a dear uncle some years ago, and I am content to admire the pitiless, writhing water from a safe distance.

I quickly scanned the beach for any obvious flotsam but there was none, so I crouched on a sand hill in the biting rain and watched the storm.  Visibility was poor and I could only catch occasional glimpses of the entrance to the bay where the surging waters were even wilder.

Crouching down protected me little from the elements but though I enjoyed watching the majestic progress of the storm, I was gradually getting colder.  It was well beyond time to go – my hands felt as if they were frozen solid – when the rain eased for a few moments and the wind seemed to pause to take a breath.  Briefly, in the distance, just beyond where the headlands curved together and almost met, I saw a shadowy, grey shape.

In the few moments before the wind resumed its full force, I made out the shape of a large ship, rolling sluggishly in the surging waves; then once more the wind whipped up the spray and reduced visibility almost to nothing.

When people see something they don’t expect, they sometimes say that they can’t believe their eyes, but I have never felt like that.  I saw that ship, and I knew immediately that a disaster was unfolding out there, beyond the headlands.

I had to get help.

There are a few huts near the beach and I know the people there a little, so I ran quickly to the closest one.

“There’s a shipwreck coming,” I said, banging on the door and shouting to make myself heard over the keening of the wind.

It was only a few moments before the man of the house opened the door, wrapping a heavy coat around himself as he stepped out into the icy rain to meet me.

“What do you mean?” he asked.  “Where?”

“Out there, just outside the bay,” I bellowed, pointing.  “Tell the others who live around here.  I’m going up to the town to get more helpers.  It looks like a big ship, and it’ll never land safely – not with the reef there.”

Thankfully, he was willing to trust me, despite the appalling conditions which completely hid the ship from sight.  I left in a hurry and ran along the track, over the rise and down into the town.  The wind was less fierce in the hollow, but it was still not the day for a summer picnic.

I’m related to most of the people in the town, so I planned to knock on the doors of some of the best seafarers and the biggest, strongest men we have.  As an afterthought, I also included Thanatos, my cousin: he is an undertaker.

By the time I had told the few details I knew about 20 times, I had worked out the wording pretty well.  It didn’t take long to tell all that I knew in a convincing and urgent manner.  I was already worried about what I would find when I made my way back to the beach, so I didn’t bother with the last few names on my mental list. Last of all, though, I did go to my cousin – I was sure he would be needed.

Thanatos and I made our way to the beach, and it was immediately clear that I had been right to be worried.  The rain had stopped and the ship was now in plain sight.  With her foresail bellied out in the wind, she was making her way swiftly across the bay, making for the beach.  Anyone who knew the bay would have warned the pilot about the reef, and men on the beach were trying to do so, but it was too late.

There was no sudden shock or loud noise, the ship just stopped.  One moment it was cutting smoothly through the heaving waters, running eagerly ahead of them towards the safety of the beach, and the next the bow seemed to shiver a little and many of the figures crowded on the deck stumbled and fell as the ship came to a sudden stop, the bow immovably caught on that terrible reef.

Within moments, the water was seething around the ship as it lay stationary and the waves rushed past it towards the shore.  The wind was still blowing in my face, and I shivered with cold and fear as the ship was repeatedly lifted up by the waves, only to crash down onto the reef again as each wave passed.  No sound reached us above the roar of the wind and the waves, but I was sure that the planks of the ship must be taking a terrible pounding.  It wouldn’t be long before the ship broke up.

How many would die in this disaster?  A ship that size could have hundreds on board and we would be powerless to help them.

Ships are much tougher than people; in the end it was about five hours before the ship finally broke up.  As the end approached, we began to see people jumping into the sea.  Obviously they could all swim and we saw bobbing heads miraculously swimming towards us.  I don’t think I could have stayed afloat in that seething mass of water, but gradually we saw more and more people standing up in the shallows and making their way up the beach.  I was amazed by the numbers successfully reaching safety.

“It’s amazing how many people are escaping from the wreck,” I said to Thanatos.

“Yes,” he said, dourly, “but just wait until we get to the ones who can’t swim.  It’ll be a catastrophe.”

I thought that he was probably right, but when the ship finally started breaking apart, everyone left aboard seemed to be able to grab a plank or something else that would float.  Holding on tightly, they jumped or fell into the raging sea, and I was sure that we were watching an utter disaster unfolding.

But I was wrong.

For the next few minutes, we saw plenty of heads bobbing about in the waves, arms clinging desperately to whatever was keeping them afloat.  No-one dared to take a boat out into that storm to help anyone – it would merely have meant the deaths of more helpless victims.

Amazingly enough, though, after a while, some of the planks and bobbing heads started to reach the shore, then more and more, until eventually there were crowds of bedraggled, shivering refugees being welcomed to Melita.

Some of the first to arrive were Roman soldiers who were able to swim, but they weren’t the imperious, overbearing soldiers that we often see on Melita.  Instead, they were unarmed and unarmored fugitives from the waves, their red tunics alone making it clear that they were soldiers.  They huddled and shivered like the rest of the passengers.  Before long, they had told us that some of the ship’s cargo – yes, that’s what they called them, “cargo” – were criminals who were being transported to Rome.  That didn’t make us feel any too happy, but still, we had to do what we could to help them all.

We couldn’t make an exact count immediately, but I was sure that there were well over a hundred people on the beach, and more were still coming.

Thanatos seemed almost a little disappointed by the amazing number of people who were escaping from the sea, but I have to admit he came up with a good idea then.

“Why don’t we light a fire?”  he asked.  “You know, dry these people out.  Warm them up.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, and we started collecting some wood.  We recruited some others to help, then I went to my home and got some dry wood to get the fire started.  As I returned, the rain started resumed, so it wasn’t easy to get the fire going.  A few of the locals brought some more dry wood, and some of the passengers from the ship began collecting sticks to help too.

One of these was a man called Paul.  He was a prisoner being taken to Rome and I didn’t know what he had done wrong – but he seemed a nice enough sort of man and he was certainly quick to help us feed the fire.  He didn’t stop when the fire was burning nicely either, but kept bringing more despite the freezing rain.  Then, as he threw one of his bundles of sticks on the blazing fire, a viper came out of the bundle and bit him.

Now, these vipers can be deadly – although it depends on how much of a grip they get on their victim.  Well, this one got a good grip, I can tell you!  There Paul stood with the snake dangling from his hand, and when the men standing near him saw it, they began to shout and quickly stepped back, away from the creature.

I have to say that Paul was remarkably casual about it.  Too casual, I thought.  He gave the impression that he didn’t care, and that’s not normal.  For a few moments he just stood there, the snake on his hand wriggling around frantically, trying to escape from the heat.  Then Paul just shook the beast off and it fell into the hottest part of the fire, where it could be seen writhing and squirming for a little while, although it was already beginning to turn black from the heat.

Thanatos has a dry sort of voice; it always sounds serious and becomes rather dismal when unpleasant things happen.  We had both been standing near Paul when the serpent struck, although we were considerably further away by the time he said in his dullest voice, “He must be a murderer, don’t you see?  He escaped from the sea, but Justice won’t let him live.”

He was expressing one of the things that a few of us had been worried about: who wanted to have criminals – maybe thugs and murderers – on our peaceful island?

Even so, it was sad to see someone who had been so helpful get bitten by one of those killer snakes.  I tried to get Paul to sit down and rest, since that seems to help sometimes with snakebites, but he wouldn’t have any of it.    He just looked at me and smiled, then went back to collecting more sticks for the fire!  Thanatos and I watched him carefully, wondering how long he would last before the snake poison got him….