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.
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