e found men, broad-faced dusky men, with gentle
souls, and saw such miracles as have never been vouchsafed to mortals.
'Twas not Cipango or Cathay' for there were no Emperors or cities, but
a peaceful race dwelling in innocence. The land was like Eden, bringing
forth five harvests in the year, and vines and all manner of fruits grew
without tillage. Tortorel was the man's name, and some thought him mad,
but I judged differently. I have talked with him and I have copied his
charts. I go to find those Fortunate Islands."

"Alone?"

"I have friends. There is a man of my own city--Cristoforo Colombo, they
call him. He is a hard man and a bitter, but a master seaman, and there
is a fire in him that will not be put out. And there may be others."

His steadfast burning eyes held Philip's.

"And you--what do you seek?" he asked.

Philip was aware that he had come to a cross roads in life. The easy
path he had planned for himself was barred by his own nature. Something
of his grandmother's blood clamoured within him for a sharper air
than the well-warmed chamber of the scholar. This man, chance met in a
tavern, had revealed to him his own heart.

"I am looking for the Wood of Life," he said simply and was amazed at
his words.

Battista stared at him with open mouth, and then plucked feverishly at
his doublet. From an inner pocket he produced a packet rolled in fine
leather, and shook papers on the table. One of these was a soiled and
worn slip of parchment, covered with an odd design. "Look," he said
hoarsely. "Tortorel's map!"

It showed a stretch of country, apparently a broad valley running east
to a seashore. Through it twined a river and on both sides were hills
dotted with trees. The centre seemed to be meadows, sown with villages
and gardens. In one crook of the stream lay a little coppice on which
many roads converged, and above it was written the words "Sylva Vitae."

"It is the finger of God," said Battista. "Will you join me and search
out this Wood of Life?"

At that moment there was a bustle at the door giving on the main room
of the tavern. Lights were being brought in and a new company were
entering. They talked in high-pitched affected voices and giggled like
bona-robas. There were young men with them, dressed in the height of the
fashion; a woman or two, and a man who from the richness of his dress
seemed to be one of the princely merchants who played Maecenas to the
New Learning. But what caught Phi