Work in Progress - Alex & Susannah Picnic on the Beach

Light Reading

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I spent many hours writing two versions of a newsletter for today and have decided to let them simmer. So, instead, let's check in on Alex. 

If you're new here, fifteen-year-old Alex is the lead character in my Work in Progress—a historical novel set in Late Roman/Early Byzantine Syria and Sassanid Persia.

I've been providing excerpts to give you a taste without giving too much away. You can find the others here.

This scene takes place roughly half way through the story. That morning, Alex left a fishing village where he'd spent the last seven weeks. We join him in a transitional moment, on the coastal road of Lebanon with his new acquaintance, Susannah, a wealthy pilgrim traveling in the same direction. 

Let's see what they're up to.

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Before Byblos, the terrain flattened, the foothills receding once more from the coast. Nearing the bay, a mule and donkey caravan blocked their passage as it carried goods from the mountain villages down to the harbor. Alex knew from his studies that Byblos had been the staging terminal for linen and cedar exports since the beginning of time. They said Kronos himself founded the city. But time had taken his toll. Earthquake damage scattered the ground. Broken masonry emerged from under every vine and stone pine as far as the highway.

Other travelers dropped their loads. Sitting on fragments of masonry, they watched their children climb the debris, and waited for the pack animals to pass.

Below the road, a narrow beach flashed through a gap in the brush. Alex pulled the muleteer’s sleeve and drew their company to the verge.

“Let’s break for a rest down there.” Alex pointed to a goat path and led the little party through the scrub. The muleteer tied Susannah’s beast to a sapling. Alex helped her dismount. While the others dug into the packs and the lady found a place to relieve herself, Alex walked to the waterline where the familiar surf gently washed. The sun was past its zenith. He’d only left the village that morning, but it already seemed a dream that he would never recapture. He would never see Sara and her dog again. Her life would go on, as would his, as if they’d never met. And what more could he have done for her?

“You're too serious for one so young.”

With the wind in his ears, he had not heard Susannah’s approach. She’d removed her headdress, it remained in her hand. Her copper hair was still pinned, but the breeze worked to undo it. She toyed with him, but what did she know? Of sieges? Dying fathers? Missing sisters? Floggings? Or hungry fisherman diving into the hostile sea day after day?

Susannah dropped her headdress, pulled off her cloak and her red-leather boots. Small white feet wiggled toes in the sand. She stepped closer to the surf, drawn into the afternoon sun that dazzled the waves. The wind blew her tunics, outlining her form against the blue expanse. Her shoulders rose as she took in the salt air. As if she' felt his eyes upon her, she spoke.

"As wave is driven by wave

And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,

So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,"

Alex finished her recitation of Ovid.

"Always, for ever and new. What was before

Is left behind; what never was is now;

And every passing moment is renewed.”¹

She looked back at him. He could not see her face in the glare. Stepping past, she tapped his arm. "Well, whatever it is, we've first got to get you to Antioch. Come, have some food with us. It’s not a proper feast for Bright Week, but it will keep us going."

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As you can see, I can’t get the poetry formatting to work even using the “Poetry Block” command. When I do that, the spacing with the following lines is fouled up. Without it, there’s extra-large spacing in the text. Oh well, early days here.

I hope you’ve had a great week and are looking forward to the one ahead. I’ll give you a break from me next week while I wrangle my bishop into his storyline.

Meanwhile, I’d love to know what you’re working on or what you are reading.

1. Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XV, trans. A.D. Melville (Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2009