Day 15, 3rd Month of Autumn, 314 AD
City of Myra, on the Azure Coast of present-day Turkey
As a bishop who guided people every day, Nicholas was not a stranger to human emotions. But you didn’t always see grown men breaking down into huge, heaving sobs right in the middle of the High Street of Myra. Other men might have simply passed by, but not Nicholas, in whom the instinct to help ran deep. He ignored the dust and filth lining the busy market-stalls, and walked up to the weeping bearded man, who was now speaking to someone who looked furious.
“I beg of you — grant me some time,” pleaded Oarion, tears still running down his weathered cheeks. “I shall repay your money…”
Ah, a moneylender. That explained a lot.
“Cease your endless lies, Oarion,” barked the moneylender. “You swore to me that I would be paid my interest once your ships landed — but they didn’t, did they? Rumours have been floating around that three of them have floundered off the coast — now, you’re neck-deep in debt, an…”
Nicholas cut him short. “You’ve tortured him enough, don’t you think?” he asked, in a voice that was characteristic of him, both calm and firm. The moneylender stalked away with an angry whisk of his clothes.
“It isn’t even the loss of my ships that I worry the most, good bishop,” murmured Oarion. “My daughters — my good, pretty daughters who deserve the best in life, what is to become of them?”
Nicholas looked startled. “What of them? I know you’ve already arranged their marriages…”
“…but without a dowry, that will come to a grinding halt,” Oarion stammered. “Who will marry a girl without money?”
“A decent man should look for a girl of worth, not wealth,” Nicholas was stern.
“Unfortunately, that is not what happens in the real world,” Oarion looked defeated. “Either I find money soon or Zosarion, my eldest girl, will be sold into slavery to provide for the rest.”
Nicholas stared at the old man who walked away with dragging steps. Slavery. The worst fate to befall anyone. But there was nothing he could do. Or was there?
A sad night!
Oarion and his daughters finished their meagre supper that night, consumed by worry and sorrow. Zosarion washed out their stockings and laid them out by the fire-place, tears blurring her sight. This time tomorrow, she would be a slave. Beaten and tortured, so her sisters Valeria and Gaia might have the chance of a better life. But she?
Whump!
Zosarion jumped at the sound from the fireplace, and bumped into the drying stockings as she tried to peer into the dying embers for a better look.
A shriek awoke her drowsy father and sisters, who sat up startled.
“Father!” Zosarion screamed. “There’s a…there’s a bag of gold coins inside my stocking!”
Instant pandemonium broke out. How had the gold come in?
Valeria, cleverest of her sisters, provided the answer. “Probably through the chimney,” she deduced. “And it fell into the stockings Zosarion hung out to dry.”
“But who dropped it?” Oarion demanded.
“Something’s written on the bag,” Gaia said, suddenly. “Use this gold for your daughter’s marriage, Oarion,” she read out. “Tell everyone that your ships managed to survive.”
The family fell to its knees at once, prayers dissolving into tearful gratitude. A gratitude that only increased when another bag of gold followed, the next day — this time, into Valeria’s stockings.
Even as Oarion spread around the joyful word that his daughters were now to be married, doubt wracked him: he had sense enough to know that this might be god’s grace, but the hands that dropped the gold bags into his home were human.
That night, as his daughters slept, Oarion climbed the roof laboriously, and sat by the chimney in wait. At midnight, just as he expected, a figure, covered in a long tunic and hood, crept along the tiles, a small sack on his back. Once at the chimney, it peered in.
Oarion darted forward and clutched its hand. Startled, the figure dropped the bag into the chimney. The hood slipped off his face.
“Nicholas!” breathed Oarion, as he sat down abruptly on the roof.
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas looked apologetic. “I knew you wouldn’t accept charity — but there was no other way I could think of, to get you this gold. Slavery is not to be thought of, Oarion.”
“I shall let the whole world know of your generosity,” Oarion announced, at once. “Because of you, my daughters are safe. I shall…”
“ …do nothing of the sort,” Nicholas said, firmly. “The greatest way to give a gift is to do it in secret. True nobility lies in not going around shouting about generosity from the roof-tops. If you value my friendship, Oarion, say nothing about this to anyone.”
Oarion kept his tongue, but decided that he would follow his benefactor’s generous example. You may not want your name spread around, he thought, as he secretly left gold coins in the shoes of the needy — something he knew Nicholas did. But the world will know you always.
“Mamma!” The voice of the child whose shoes he had filled reached him. “Look, there’s a small pouch of coins in here! The note says … that it’s from Santa Claus!”
Historical fact: The famous legend of Santa Claus we know and love today, is based on a real man, Saint Nicholas, whose name means, “People’s Victor”. Born circa 270 AD in Patara, part of the ancient province of Lycia, on Turkey’s azure coast, Nicholas was the son of Epiphaneas and Nona, and became the bishop of Myra at a very young age. He is the patron saint of practically everyone from children, to sailors and pawn-brokers, but what he’s most famous for is giving gifts to the needy — in secret. Even today, December 6 is celebrated as the Feast Day of St Nicholas. |
