She had always suffered from sea-sickness in rough weather, but even today’s moderate swell was turning Mary’s stomach, and Joseph was keen to get her ashore as quickly as possible. They had set out late, but still with thoughts of reaching safety before Mary went into labour.
It had not been as easy as they had hoped.
Already, they had sought refuge in several ports. But every call for safe haven had been met with the same reply: “no, no, no”. Finally, outside a town on an estuary guarded by a castle on either bank, they were directed under cover of darkness past the guards to an anchorage deep inside the river.
It wasn’t much, but it meant a safe maternity bed for Mary, and shelter from the storm that was already beginning to boil in open water just a finger-count of miles away.
With the anchor set, Joseph went below to tend to Mary, easing the passage of life from the watery depths to the surface. On the eastern shore, three skippers saw their anchor light – a hurriedly-rigged hurricane lamp – and set out to bring supplies of fresh water, lamp oil and warm clothes. A messenger was sent higher up the river, whence small craft of the fishing fleet departed to deliver a portion of the day’s catch to the couple.
In that manner, a child was born. Merry Christmas.