Free New Found Land by John Christopher Page A

bearing.
    â€œWhy?” Simon asked. “Because of California? What’s wrong with Florida? That’s meant to be an earthly paradise, too, isn’t it? Don’t those golden fruits as big as a man’s head you were telling Lundiga about grow there, too? And it’s a whole lot nearer.”
    Brad said: “When you have a plan, it’s important to stick to it. Otherwise you’re likely to end up aimlessly wandering.” He spoke almost peevishly.
    Lundiga immediately lent him her support, at the same time patting him indulgently. She called him “little Bradus” again, which made him wince. Ordinarily that would have amused Simon, but he was too incensed by Brad’s stubbornness.
    He said: “Look, we’ve covered about six miles from the coast. That leaves two thousand nine hundred and ninety-four to go, give or take a few hundred. The whole business is crazy.”
    Unexpectedly, Bos clapped a hand on Brad’s shoulder. “It is proper to love the land of one’s birth.” His face was briefly gloomy again. “My own is lost beyond recovery, but it is right for Bradus to seek his. We will go west with him.”
    Simon said in English: “He’s got that a bit wrong, hasn’t he? We were a lot nearer the land of your birth among the Algonquians.”
    Brad did not bother to reply, and Simon decided to let it go. Basically it didn’t matter a lot which way they went. He would have preferred staying dry, but sooner or later they were going to have rivers to cross: they would find neither bridges nor ferryman in these parts.
    The river was generally less than waist-high, evenin the middle, but Simon managed to find a hole which submerged him up to his neck. The wet skins clung heavily as they continued their trek, reviving his annoyance with Brad. It was a point, though, which lost its importance within the hour when the sky, which had been rapidly clouding from the west, opened to soak them all.
    They settled for the night under a broad-branched evergreen which promised a degree of protection against the persisting rain. It fell some way short of providing a complete shield, and they were heavily dripped on as they chewed dried fish and stale cornbread. But at least it was rain, not snow, and the temperature was well above freezing. Tired from the day’s trudging, they slept heavily.
    On the third day they came out of woodland into a patch of what had plainly been cultivated land, though it was in the process of reverting to wilderness. That indicated an Indian village nearby, and they reached it soon after. Food was beginning to run short and they had not found anything edible since coming ashore: presumably there were fish in the rivers, but they had no means of catching them. They decided to take a chance on their reception from the Indians.
    The village consisted of about a score of small huts, which differed from the Algonquian tepees in being rectangular in shape. They were supported by poles at the corners and thatched with large dried leaves. A stream ran close by and small children, two girls and a boy, were playing by it; they looked at the newcomers with curiosity but without alarm. Adults appeared from the huts. The men wore coats of some kind of cloth, and the women dresses, or rather lengths of cloth with holes cut for the head and arms. Simon was more concerned with the expression on their faces, and he was relieved to see they looked amiable.
    They proved to be not just amiable, but actively hospitable. Food was offered before they asked—tortillas with spicy fillings and a sweet maize gruel served in small gourds. The Indians chattered round them while they ate, showing particular interest in Bos’s beard. These men, like the northern Indians, were facially practically hairless. The small dogs that sniffed around their feet were hairless, too.
    They were housed for the night in a hut which showed signs of recent use; Simon