The Ancient Witnesses

Chapter 1: A Journey to Nicaea • 29

We came to a recess in the wall just above the water line. This must be where my rescuer had come from, I reasoned. He pulled on a weather-beaten board and a hatch in the wall opened. A light flickered from inside, and he used his clasped hands as a step to boost me through the hatch and into a tunnel. Pulling himself up after me, he closed the hatch as the wind and rain beat against it. Dipping wet and shaking from the cold, I collapsed on the hard floor of the little haven which was lit by the stump of a torch wedged into a crack in the wall. “Where are we?” I asked, when I had caught my breath. He made no reply, but reached into his sack and pulled out a small loaf of bread and a full wineskin. He broke off a piece of bread and offered it to me along with the wineskin. I tried the bread, which was stale and tasteless, and I choked on the crumbs. Without thinking, I took the wineskin from him and drank down a gulp. Whatever it was, it was delicious and it warmed my throat and stomach. “What is this place?” I asked, when my throat had cleared. He answered, but not in any words I could understand; I shook my head. Then he pulled a thick scrap of paper from his bag and began drawing something on it with a piece of charcoal. Whatever he was drawing, he took his time. Exhausted from my ordeal, I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes and fell asleep, thinking about Joseph’s invitation, “Ready for an adventure?” When I awoke, my rescuer was gone. Only the stump of a torch, now extinguished, and the scrap of paper— his drawing—remained. Whether I had slept for a few minutes or an hour, I could not say. Faint light seeped in around the hatch, illumining the way into the tunnel. I held the paper up to the light, hoping it was a map to