Opening Atlantis by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page B

people, sir, you’d be a sorry soul, sir, and that’s the truth,” Edward said. A couple of his escorts scowled; one of them dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. Then Sir Thomas grunted laughter, and his retainers relaxed. Radcliffe went on, “Rumor always outruns fact. And any man who wishes me ill would work to make it outrun fact the more.”
    â€œIt could be,” the castellan said. “I don’t say it is, but it could be. Well, then, what do you intend?”
    â€œA small settlement on the new shore,” Radcliffe answered. “The fishing grounds there are finer than any in the North Sea. That I saw for myself. Would we want to let the Bretons and Basques and other foreigners seize the advantage over Englishmen in using them?”
    â€œFish. Cod.” Sir Thomas made them into words of scorn, if not into swear words. He glowered at Edward from under shaggy, gray-streaked eyebrows. “You want to get away from peasants in rebellion against their rightful lords and from French sea dogs.”
    I should say I do, Edward thought. The French had almost burnt Hastings to the ground not long before. But he couldn’t admit what he wanted. Without the least hesitation, he shook his head. “How could we leave our homeland behind for good?” he said. “Where would we sell the fish we caught if we did?” That was a legitimate question; he couldn’t imagine cutting all ties with England even if he and his kin spent most of their time in Atlantis and off its shores.
    â€œHow many folk would fare with you on this madcap venture?” Sir Thomas asked.
    â€œA couple of dozen families, sir, and we’d need to bring the seed grain and livestock to let us make a go of it in the new land,” Edward answered. “Does not the Good Book speak of casting your bread upon the waters? This is England’s bread, and she shall find it again after many days.”
    â€œYou’ve been talking with Father John.” Sir Thomas turned that to an accusation.
    â€œI have, sir. He will vouch for me.” Edward Radcliffe hoped he would.
    â€œHe’s ambitious, too.” The castellan scowled once more. “Well, go, then, and I know not whether to wish you Godspeed or say be damned to you. Atlantis? Nonsense!” He hawked and spat and turned away.

III
    G etting animals aboard the St. George vexed Edward, to put it mildly. “I never worried about Noah before,” he growled to Nell. “Now I feel sorry for the poor devil.”
    â€œ I feel sorry for his wife,” Nell said. “Chances are he made her do all the work.”
    â€œIf you think I’m going to sleep from here to Atlantis, you’re bloody well out of your mind,” Edward said. “The cog won’t sail herself, and the fish won’t catch themselves, either.” The hold, which still stank of fish, was full of hay and grain instead. They had to get the sheep and hogs and chickens and ducks across the sea before they ran out of fodder and water for them. Could they do it? He thought so, but feared it might be close.
    He had no cattle or horses on the St. George . The boats that carried the bigger beasts had fewer of the smaller ones. He hoped things would work out. He didn’t know they would, but he hoped so. What else can I do? he thought.
    Richard said something hot as a smithy’s forge when he stepped in sheep shit. “Get used to it, son,” Edward advised. “It won’t be the last time.” Richard said something even hotter. Henry laughed at him, which only proved he hadn’t stuck his foot in it…yet.
    On another cog not far away, Father John’s tonsured head gleamed under the bright sun of early spring. Two other priests were also coming along on this leap into the unknown. Edward Radcliffe smiled to himself. The other two were pliable, tractable fellows, men without ambition for themselves. If any of them was made a