Harry Turtledove - Opening Atlantis

Now, all at once, he understood what had pushed his brother ever deeper into the forests of Atlantis. You wanted to find something like this, to be the first one ever to set eyes on it, to think it was all yours, if only for a little while. He looked east toward the shore there, half expecting to see Richard coming out from the trees-not that he could have seen a man at such a distance. But Richard hadn't even crossed the mountains yet…or, if he had, he hadn't admitted it.

"Somewhere here, there'll be a river coming in," Henry said. "We can fill the butts at its mouth. And after that, after we clear the inlet again, I think it's time to head home. We won't find anything finer than this."

"What'll we call this place?" Sam asked.

"Paradise Bay," Bartholomew Smith suggested.

"I'm not sure God would like that," Henry said.

The mate went on plumping for his favorite, but Henry's point carried the day. "Well, what do we call it, then?" Smith grumped, scowling at his shipmates.

Henry had a name on the tip of his tongue, but it didn't want to come off. "What's the name of the land that was supposed to lie off the coast of England, the one where Morgan Le Fay took Arthur?"

"Avalon!" three fishermen called out at the same time.

"Avalon! Thank you." Henry nodded. "That was supposed to be a wonderful country. It should do for this place, eh?"

Nobody said no. Even Bartholomew Smith unbent enough to allow, "Well, you could have done worse, and I thought you were going to."

"Avalon it is, then. We'll get water and meat before we sail out again," Henry said. "We won't find a finer place to do it, that's sure."

A river did run into the bay. They named it the Arthur. They filled the water butts there, then spent some time skylarking in the pure, cool water. Henry Radcliffe fought shy of that; the water was too cool for him. Avalon Bay seemed locked in an eternal April. Farther south along this coast, perhaps some other anchorage basked in an eternal July. That would suit him better for splashing and snorting and ducking.

Skylarking…His smile went wistful. His grandchildren wouldn't know what a skylark was. He hadn't seen one, or heard its explosion of song from on high, since coming to Atlantis. Horned larks hunted bugs here, but their more musical cousins hadn't crossed the ocean.

Honkers came down to the river to drink. Knocking them over the head was as easy as it usually was. You had to be careful to do the job right, that was all; if you didn't, a wounded bird would kick your guts out through your back. But as long as you killed clean, you could go through a whole flock and knock one bird after another over the head. The honkers would stare in surprise, but what was going on didn't register as danger to them.

When they saw the wide-winged shape of a red-crested eagle in the sky, though, they would scramble for the closest trees, honking and gabbling in alarm. They knew the eagles meant to kill them. And fleeing, gabbling honkers meant the fishermen had to beware. Maybe the eagles thought they were honkers, too. Maybe the fierce-beaked birds didn't care. But they would strike at men without hesitating-like the honkers, they didn't know enough to be afraid.

To Henry's way of thinking, the eagles were only thorns on the rose. (Nostalgia again. No wild roses here-only the few brought from England, and the ones sprung from their seed.) "If we had our women with us, I'd start a town here today," he told the mate. "As is, next summer will have to do."

"It will likely do well enough, too," Smith replied. "We're the only ones who've ever seen this place."

"And I praise God for that, too. Anyone who did see it would want it," Henry said.

"Well, skipper, I won't quarrel about that," Smith said.

Getting out of Avalon Bay wasn't quite so easy as getting in had been-another thorn on the rose. The Rose herself had to wait till a warm breeze blew off the land and wafted her out through the opening and into the rougher waters of the Atlantic once more.

A few of the fishermen needed to run for the lee rail when the cog started behaving like a restive horse once more. "Damned if I didn't lose my sea legs there," one of them said sheepishly, spitting into the drink to get the last of the puke out of his mouth.

"You'll have plenty of chances to get them back," Henry said. He steered the Rose straight west, out into the ocean. If the wind suddenly shifted, he wanted to put some distance between the cog and the land behind her; clawing off a lee shore in a storm was every sailor's blackest nightmare.

And then he got his biggest surprise since he watched his father agree to pay Francois Kersauzon a third of his catch for the secret of the Breton's fine new fishing ground. "Sail ho!" the man in the crow's nest cried. "Sail ho off the starboard bow!"

Henry's first thought when the shout went up was outrage pure and simple. How dared anyone but he come into these waters? Then fresh wonder filled him. The other ship was coming out of the northwest? Did legendary Cathay lie beyond Atlantis? Was the Great Khan's fleet stumbling onto this new land at the same time as he was? Wouldn't that be a marvel wild beyond belief?

Before long, he could see the other ship from the Rose's deck. A wry smile spread across his face. How likely was it that the Great Khan built his ships to look just like the cogs the men of Western Europe had known for generations? Not very, not unless Henry missed his guess.

Then he made out the oak-tree flag, and a slow smile spread across his face. Whatever else that ship held, it wasn't fearsome warriors from Cathay. Bartholomew Smith realized the same thing at the same time. "Bugger me blind if they aren't a bunch of bloody Basques!" he said.

And the men on the other cog would be able to see England's red St. George's cross on white. Would they be wondering about the Rose the same way Henry was wondering about them? Better not to take chances. "Load the guns," Henry said quietly. "Don't make a fancy show of it, but do it. You never can tell what foreigners have in mind."

To the Basques, Englishmen were foreigners. Henry squinted across the narrowing gap of sea. Yes, they carried guns, too. Yes, they were also loading them. Henry swore under his breath. He didn't want to fight, dammit. But he didn't want that other cog to be able to rake the Rose with impunity, either.

One of the Basques pointed toward Henry's ship. Like most of the men from that corner of the world, he was dark-haired and heavy-bearded. He wore linen and wool, not quite in the same cuts as an Englishman would have, but not so very different, either.

All the Basques on the other cog were dressed that way. All the Basques were, yes, but not all the people were. Beside Henry, the mate pointed. "Who are those funny-looking bastards up near the bow?"

"I don't know. I've never seen folk like them." Henry stared. Like the Basques, the strangers had black hair. But their chins were smooth and their skins weren't just tanned-they were coppery. Their clothes were in shades of buff and brown. Made from hides? Henry wondered. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth. "Ahoy, the Basque ship! Parlez-vous francais?" Surely somebody over there would know a language you didn't have to be born a Basque to speak.

And somebody did. "Hello, Englishmen!" one of the men on the Basque cog yelled back. "Yes, we understand you."

"Who are your friends? Are they from Cathay?" Henry asked.

All the Basques who spoke French thought that was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. "No, by God," their spokesman answered. "They say they are Pattawatomi."

"They say they're what?" Henry wondered if the last was a word in Basque.

But evidently not, for the man in the other cog repeated it: "Pattawatomi. It's the name of their clan or tribe."