Fragmented Visions

Stars in Their Courses

It was the start of the third week of our voyage when the monsignor was killed. He and his party had joined us at Bristol, seeking passage to the New World. It was not unusual for the Church to send expeditions across the great ocean; after all, there were colonists whose spiritual needs had to be attended to, and the pagan aboriginals to be brought into the fold by the holy shepherds. In my innocence I did not question why our vessel had been chosen - that is until the first mate revealed what he knew.

"Ha! No wonder our captain has been minding his tongue since the start of the voyage!"
I looked up from rent in the sail that we were repairing. The first mate gestured towards the monsignor who was standing by the taff rail, gazing across the grey waters.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

The first mate bent once more to his task, and in doing so took the opportunity to answer me in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Did you not see, lad? Our black crows have sharp beaks. They are part of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and him there is the master of this particular flock."

I was none the wiser, and I told the first mate so. He shook his head.

"The Inquisition, lad. That's who they are."

I was only a boy of fifteen years at the time, and I was still very much a pious prig. My mother had sent me to sea, my soul protected by as many religious charms as she could drape around my neck. As a consequence of my upbringing, and the captain keeping me somewhat apart from the roughness of the below-decks mess, I was still something of an innocent in the ways of the world. So, I did not understand the first mate's caution, and I told him so: "But they guard our souls and protect us from heresy!"

The first mate laughed, then glanced over his shoulder as if making sure we would not be overheard. "I suppose they do, but at what cost?"

"What does a man gain by profit if he loses his soul?"

The first mate looked strangely at me, then sent me on an errand that took me most of the rest of the watch. By the time I returned, the sail had been mended and the first mate was reluctant to continue our conversation.

After this incident I found that I had been reassigned as mess boy to the monsignor and his party. I was pleased with this, as it took me away from some of the more tedious of my duties; however, the crew made fun of me and my devotions. Some of the more worldly men even went so far as to suggest that they would make sure I would be cured of my religious fever when we next made landfall, but they were careful never to do it in the hearing of the captain or his passengers.

I remember the night the monsignor was killed. The sea was calm and the wind was steady. For some reason I was finding it difficult to sleep, and so I lay in my hammock listening to the noises of the ship as it carried us westwards to the Virgin Territories. My reverie was interrupted by a commotion on deck - raised voices; footsteps; a scuffle. For a minute there was silence, then I heard a voice cry out, "Man overboard!"

Quickly I rolled out of my hammock and scrambled up the ladder and onto the deck. I stood in the moonlight, shivering in the night air as it played around my bare legs, and looked to see what the trouble was. There, by the port-side rail, a figure was standing and pointing out to sea. Again came the cry of distress: "Man overboard!"

I rushed to the rail. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that the lookout was none other than our navigator. He barely glanced at me. "Can you see him, boy?"

I strained my eyes, but I could barely make out the phosphorescent tops of the waves. "Who?"

There were more footsteps from behind, and I was jostled as more of the crew ran to the side of the ship.