All of the converts to Christianity, who had changed their faith on the instructions of the sultan, were killed before they could escape. Constance herself was immediately dragged to the port, where she was put on a boat without sail or rudder. They told her that it was her chance to learn how to sail, and bid her to go back to Italy.

She had managed to take some of her possessions with her. The Syrians had also given her food and drink, as well as a change of clothing. So off she floated on to the salt sea. Oh dear Constance, dearest of the dear, young daughter of the emperor, may Christ the Saviour be your pilot!

So Constance blessed herself and, holding the crucifix before her, she wept and prayed. ‘Oh sacred altar, holy cross, red with the blood of the Holy Lamb spilled in pity for this world of sin, keep me safe from the claws of the devil. Safeguard my soul when I drown in the deep.

‘Tree of victory, holy rood, cross of truth, preserve me. Oh tree that bore the sweet weight of our wounded Saviour, guard me. Oh white Lamb, pierced by the spear, who drives away the evil spirits, cast your grace around me. Help me to amend my life and do penance for my sins.’

Her fortune carried her across the eastern Mediterranean, and into the Strait of Gibraltar. She ate only meagre meals as she drifted onward. The days became months, and the months became years. There were many occasions when she prepared herself for death. She did not know if the wild waves would take her to a shore or harbour.

Why was she not killed at the feast in Damascus? Who could have saved her? I will answer that question with another. Who saved Daniel in the lion’s den? How did Daniel survive when every other man had been killed and eaten by the creature? God saved him. God was in his heart.

In the same way God has shown His wonderful providence in the life of Constance; in her survival we see the miracle of His power. Christ is the cure for every ill. The scholars know that He works by mysterious means, and that His intentions cannot be understood by us. Our wit is too weak.

Who saved Constance from drowning in the sea? Who saved Jonah in the belly of the whale? We know well enough that he was spewed out at Nineveh unharmed. Who saved the Israelites from the waves of the Red Sea, when they passed through the raging waters on a path of dry land? God saved them.

Who commanded the four angels of the tempest? They were given the power to direct the winds of the world from north and south, from east and west. But God said to them, ‘Trouble not the smallest leaf that trembles. Trouble neither the land nor the sea.’ The Lord protected Constance from the tempest, too, and the mantle of His care covered her by night and by day.

How can it be that Constance had meat and drink enough for three long years of voyaging? Who saved the holy hermit, Saint Mary of Egypt, when she dwelled in the wilderness? It was no one else but Christ the Saviour. It was a great miracle when the crowd of five thousand were fed by five loaves and two fishes. A greater miracle still is God’s love. He sent His succour to Constance at her time of need.

So she floated across the wide world, until she came to our own ocean and our own fierce northern seas. She was washed ashore on the coast of Northumberland, beneath the walls of a castle; when her ship was run aground, it stuck so fast in the sands that the rise and fall of the tide could not move it. It was Christ’s wish that she should stay here.

The governor of the castle came down to the shore to view the wreckage; he searched the ship, and of course found the poor weary woman. He also found the treasure Constance had brought with her. Then in her own tongue she beseeched him for deliverance. ‘Take my life from me,’ she begged him. ‘Release me from the misery I am suffering.’

She spoke a corrupt form of Latin, but it was good enough for the governor to understand her. When he saw that there was nothing else to find on the vessel, he conducted her on to dry land. She kneeled down and kissed the ground, thanking God for His mercy to her. But she would not tell anyone who she was or where she had come from. Nothing, good or ill, would make her speak.

She said that she was so bewildered by the wild waves that she had, in truth, lost her memory. The governor of the castle and his wife, Hermengyld, took pity on her. They wept at her condition. Constance herself was so gracious and courteous – she was so willing to please all the people about her – that she became universally loved.

The governor and his wife were both pagans, in this dark age of our country, but Hermengyld still loved her. Constance stayed so long in the castle, praying and weeping, that, through the grace of Christ, Hermengyld was converted to the true faith.

In this period, the Christians of Britain could not assemble in public places. Most of them had fled, menaced by pagan invasions from the north by land and sea. They had gone to Wales, which had become a haven for the old Britons and old Christianity. That was their refuge for the time being. I am talking about the sixth century of our era.

Some Britons had remained, however, and practised their religion in secret. They venerated Christ far from the gaze of their pagan rulers. There were in fact three such Christians living near the castle. One of these was blind. He could see only by the light of his mind, now that his eyes were closed for ever.

It so happened that on one bright summer morning the governor and his wife, together with Constance, decided to ride out to the shore where they could refresh themselves with the bracing sea air. It was only a short journey. In the course of it, however, they met the blind man. He was old and bent, leaning heavily upon his staff.

But then he straightened up when they passed him, and turned his face towards the governor’s wife. ‘In the name of Christ,’ he shouted out, ‘Dame Hermengyld! Give me back my sight!’ Now Hermengyld was astonished by this outburst. She was terrified, too, that her husband would kill her for renouncing the pagan faith. Constance, however, was calm and resolute. She urged Hermengyld, as a true daughter of the Church, to work the will of Christ.

The governor was inwardly troubled and amazed. He asked the two women, ‘What does this mean? What is going on?’ ‘It is the power of Christ,’ Constance replied. ‘He is the Saviour who rescues us from Satan.’ Thereupon she explained to him the doctrines of the true faith with such sweetness and grace that, before evening, the governor was converted.

He was not himself the ruler of this territory, but he kept it by force of arms in the name of Aella, king of Northumberland. He was a wise king who had proved himself stern in battle against the Scots. You probably know all about this. So let me return to the story.

The arch-enemy Satan, always ready to deceive us, had observed the goodness of Constance. He could not endure it. He determined to harm her in any way he could. So he cast his net upon a young knight who lived in the neighbourhood of the castle, and filled his heart with foul lust for Constance. If he could not lie with her and have her, he was willing to die.

He wooed her earnestly, but without success. She would not commit sin. There was no more to say. So, out of revenge and humiliation, he decided to ensure that she suffered a shameful death. He waited until the governor was absent from the castle, and then secretly found his way to the chamber of Dame Hermengyld.

Here Constance also slept. Both women had spent much of the night in prayer, and were very weary. The young knight, under the influence of the demon, crept up to the bed and cut the throat of Hermengyld. He placed the bloody knife beside Constance, and then left the castle. May God curse him!

Shortly afterwards the governor, in company with the king, Aella, returned to the castle. What greeted him there, but the sight of his wife with her throat cut? You can imagine his horror and grief. He also found the bloody knife lying in Constance ’s bed. What could she say? She was nearly out of her mind with the horror of it.