A Prayer Before The Sea

His blue-gray eyes stared out at the equally blue-gray sea which, though the waves rose and fell with a roaring might only the gods could manifest, still created a sense of peace within him.

A peace that will soon end, Tutomaros thought as the anxiety, fear, and rage that had been consuming him for years flared to life once more. It had been worse these last few months as news of the Roman build up on the northern shores of Gaul flew across the sea and echoed in every Cantiaci hall and was whispered about by every hearth with a mixture of fear and excitement.

This had not been the first time that such news had filled the ears of the Cantiaci. During the reign of the Roman High King Caesar –or was it Gaius? Germanicus? The Roman had many names– there had been news of southern legions preparing an invasion, only for the people of the Cantiaci and all of Albion to be spared by the high king’s madness.

At that time, Tutomaros had been sure the gods were on the side of the tribes of Albion. That they had inflicted the madness upon the Roman high king in honor of the great piety of the Cantiaci, the Catuvellauni, the Trinovantes, and even enemy tribes like the Iceni and Brigantes. Even they were more honorable, more pious, more…good than the Romans.

Though there are many who will happily side with the Romans for gold or to settle old rivalries, he thought bitterly, as his mind once more turned to the stories his grandfather had told him about how the Romans had treated the Gauls.

“They butchered without restraint, boy. No mercy was shown, even to children and dogs! Gold and land stolen and given to their warriors. Fathers and brothers slain both on and off the battlefield in the most dishonorable ways! Wives and daughters raped then slain as well or sold off to be used more. Whole villages burned, even the most sacred places of the gods! The gods, boy! Even the gods they injure and insult! They are beasts with human faces, boy, never forget that! If you have a chance to shake a Roman’s hand and receive your weight in gold or to strike him down and receive death, then you strike him down, for you are dead anyway. No Roman ever willingly parts with gold and he shall stab you in the back the moment you turn in order to reclaim it. At least with the latter option, you may rid the world of one Roman and maintain your honor before your ancestors and the gods!”

That memory had burned its way into Tutomaros’s memory and even now, after years of seeing Roman and Romanized Gallic traders in their ports and markets, he still felt that same animosity and fear his grandfather had instilled in him. A fear that could no longer be silenced by the whisper of wind through the trees nor the laughter of his children nor the kisses of his wife. No, the only thing that eased his fear, even a little, was to look out at the great sea that separated his homeland from the accused realm of Rome. To see it, in all its powerful, tumultuous splendor and see that there were still no Roman ships on the horizon.

And let there never be even a single one, he prayed before falling to his knees and turning his eyes to the sky.

“Oh gods of this land, gods of my father, and his father, and his father’s father’s father, hear my prayer. Grant us your protection once again. Fill this new high king with madness. Cripple him in his bed. Turn his bowels to water. Poison his blood and the blood of his kin. Let them never come. Let no Roman ever set foot upon your sacred soil. Let their fires be extinguished. Let their ships smash upon rocks or be dragged down beneath the waves. Let this land remain free and pure and good. I beseech this of you and offer my blood as payment. Take it and grant us your protection,” he prayed before taking the dagger from his belt and slicing his palm. “Take it all if you must, just keep these lands and its people safe,” he begged as he held up his wounded hand to the sky.

No grand sign was given that the gods had answered his prayer, but in its own way, that was a comfort. Quiet was good. Quiet meant fields peacefully sown. Quiet meant fathers and sons returning home every day from their work. Quiet meant halls were left unburnt and filled with cheer. Quiet meant no wives or daughters were being ravished by cruel lust. Quiet meant no children wept as they were taken from their homes in chains, never to return.

Quiet is good, he whispered in his mind, afraid of breaking this great and wonderful quiet, even with his thoughts.

At last, he arose from his knees, wrapped his hand with a rag he had brought for that very purpose and strode away from the sea back towards his village.

The walk was as peacefully quiet as the aftermath of his prayer until he was only a few paces outside his village; only then did the playful cries of children, the loving calls of their mothers, and the booming voices of men at work at last reached his ears.

Tutomaros entered his village, dodging the children as they ran past, smiling with understanding at their weary mothers, and greeting his neighbors until, at last, he reached his home.

He eyed the small building for a moment. It stood only a pace or two taller than himself and was made of stones, thatch, wood and mud. It wasn’t grand in comparison to the great halls of the nobles, let alone the towers of the Romans which, he had been told, touched the clouds. Yet, the more he looked at it and remembered the dear memories he had within its halls, the more he knew he would never exchange it; not for a hall bigger than his whole village, even if it was made of purest gold and silver, had great iron doors, and hearthfires so powerful that it could banish winter snows from all of Albion. No, he would not exchange the modest, yet delicious meals his wife made, the evenings spent telling stories to his children, or the nights spent passionately making more children under the blankets for anything.

One day, the Romans will come, I know that. For all my prayers and all my hopes, I know, in my bones and blood, one day I will spot southern sails on the vast blue sea. But not today. Today the sea was wonderfully empty once more. Today I can return home with a smile knowing all is well. Today I can play with my children and tell them more stories. Today I can lay with my love and whisper sweet things into her ear. Today I can fall asleep in the familial warmth of my home and rest in utter silence.

Knowing that his prayer had been answered, if only for the day, he entered his home with a bright smile, hungry belly, and peaceful mind.