"Nay, not Cipango.On this side Cipango.Of Cipango the Venetians have told us much, but the land I seek is not Cipango."He drew closer to Philip and spoke low."There was a Frenchman, a Rochellois he is dead these ten years--but I have spoken with him.He was whirled west by storms far beyond Antillia, and was gripped by a great ocean stream and carried to land.What think you it was? No less than Hy-Brasil.There he 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 Ijudged differently.I have talked with him and I have copied his charts.Igo 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 Philip's sight was a little group of Byzantines who were the guests of honour.They wore fantastic headdresses and long female robes, above which their flowing dyed beards and their painted eyebrows looked like masks of Carnival time.After Battista's gravity their vain eyes and simpering tones seemed an indecent folly.These were the folk he had called friends, this the life he had once cherished.Assuredly he was well rid of it.
He grasped Battista's hand.
"I will go with you," he said, "over the edge of the world.".....................
As it happened Philip de Laval did not sail with Columbus in that first voyage which brought him to San Salvador in the Bahamas.But he and Battista were in the second expedition, when the ship under the command of the latter was separated by a storm from her consorts, and driven on a westerly course when the others had turned south.It was believed to be lost, and for two years nothing was heard of its fate.At the end of that time a tattered little vessel reached Bordeaux, and Philip landed on the soil of Franc.He had a strange story to tell.The ship had been caught up by a current which had borne it north for the space of fifteen days till landfall was made on the coast of what we now call South Carolina.There it had been beached in an estuary, while the crew adventured inland.The land was rich enough, but the tribes were not the gentle race of Battista's imagining.There had been a savage struggle for mastery, till the strangers made alliances and were granted territory between the mountains and the sea.But they were only a handful and Philip was sent back for further colonists and for a cargo of arms and seeds and implements.
The French court was in no humour for his tale, being much involved in its own wars.It may be that he was not believed; anyhow he got no help from his king.At his own cost and with the aid of friends he fitted out his ship for the return.After that the curtain falls.It would appear that the colony did not prosper, for it is on record that Philip in the year 1521was living at his house at Eaucourt, a married man, occupied with books and the affairs of his little seigneury.A portrait of him still extant by an Italian artist shows a deeply furrowed face and stern brows, as of one who had endured much, but the eyes are happy.It is believed that in his last years he was one of the first of the gentlemen of Picardy to adhere to the Reformed faith.
