Swords From the Sea
and so-fare you well."
    But Stratford was voiceless, beholding in the eyes of his imagination the chains that were to be put upon him, no less binding for that they were of gold.
    D'Alaber shrugged and whispered to Durforth.
    "Our islander hath served his turn, but for you senor we have a worthy commission."
    "And a mort of danger."
    "Ah, true. Have you put upon your ship the globe prepared by us?"
    "That I have, and a fine piece it is, bearing a mappamundi of all the known world."
    "Use it. You know the course you are to sail, and what is to befall in the Ice Sea?"
    Durforth nodded and smiled.
    "'Twill be a merry company gathered at our setting forth. Nay, how will you keep this lad of Edward's from spying upon us? Had you forgotten him?"
    Passing by the long mirror, D'Alaber paused to adjust the clasp of his cloak. "Memory is a good servant but a poor mistress. 'Tis my part to remember this unfortunate youth, yours to forget him. Study your part, Durforth, and remember that many an actor hath fallen foul of the pit by mistaking his cue."
    Chapter III
    A Hawk Is Slain
    Ralph Thorne had been born, his comrades said, with a lucky hood on his head. Which was indeed only another way of saying that the boy managed to accomplish what he set out to do. His father, a merchant, was too wrapped up in the mystery of cosmography to thrive at barter and trade. The goods of the Thornes and then the ships and finally the manor in Suffolk had gone into the hands of those who had sharper wits.
    Left to his own devices by a father who pored over globe and chart, for years young Thorne kept apart from other boys, who, after the fashion of children, made mock of him for his father's oddities, calling him the brat of the "Mad Cosmographer." He trained hawks, built bird houses in the oaks behind the Orfordnesse cottage, and ran with his dogs when the nights were clear.
    Something of woodcraft he learned; he could keep still by a stream for half a day to watch the deer that came down to drink; he could bring down a charging boar with a spear; he could follow the trace of a stag and read, when the snow was on the ground, the stories told by the tracks.
    Robert Thorne, after the way of parents, bade him follow the new pursuit of gentlemen, that of mariner adventurer. It irked the cosmographer that his son cared little for his maps and naught for his talk of ships and unknown seas, and bitter words passed between them.
    But when a kinsman of his mother, wounded in a northern feud, abode at the cottage until his hurt mended and taught Ralph how to use a sword, the boy went to court with his relative and became an armiger, a squireat-arms.
    There he became devoted to swordplay, but remained what his early years had made him-a boy silent and grave beyond his years, with few friends and his full share of quarrels, because of a passionate temper, the heritage of the northern Thornes.
    Having lacked parents and comrades and patrons, he liked best to be left to himself, but there was in him a burning loyalty to those who won his esteem.
    And now, on a misty morning, he rode from the stables of the Strat- fords in high spirits, though his eyes and lips were somber. He had been given a charge by his king.
    To do what lies in me to aid Sir Hugh," he repeated under his breath, "to win to Cathay. For his majesty hath this venture much at heart."
    That this was a large command did not trouble him; a youth of eighteen is nothing loath to tilt against windmills or seek, in his thoughts, the stronghold of legendary Prester John. And it often happens that good comes of high thoughts.
    At the gate opening upon the northern highway he trotted into a group of men-at-arms who carried halberds though they did not seem to be on duty. They were lean and dark-skinned; they wore finely wrought and polished armor, with thigh pieces and crested morions, inlaid with silver and gold. Thorne knew them for Spaniards.
    One of them rose and took his rein as he would have

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