Read At the Edge of the World for Free Online Page B

that … you may be right,” he said. “While I would have preferred to wait and regain all my strength, I suppose we should leave soon.”
    “Where could we go?”
    “Do you remember that road we were on?”
    I nodded.
    “I think it would have delivered us toward Scotland.”
    “Is that a good place?”
    “For all I care,” he said, “that road could take us to the land of the Great Chan. What matters is that we keep our liberty.”
    “Bear, lead us wherever you want. You’ve been everywhere.”
    “I assure you,” he returned, “my everywhere is not God’s everyplace!’ With a stubby finger he drew crude lines in the bower’s mud.
    “Here,” he said with a jab, “sits the realm of Edward’s England. For walking, there’s Wales to the west. That’s closest of all. Alas, the love of English is rather meager there, and they speak a language I don’t know.
    “As for Scotland, where we can also walk, that’s to the far north, here. The pity is they speak a knapped warp of English tongue. More importantly, they have been our enemies for endless years in useless wars. Thank old Edward Long Shanks for that. Now, then,” he went on, “England is an island.”
    “It is?”
    “In the name of Saint Augustine!” cried Bear, “there are times I forget the depth of your ignorance. Yes, England is an island. And the world beyond is very large. Well, then,” he continued, “all round England sits deep sea.”
    “Bear …”
    “What?”
    “What is … sea?”
    Bear looked at me with astonishment. Next moment he broke into boisterous laughter, his first great laugh since being ill. “Oh, God!” he cried looking heavenward, “who hath all wisdom, I pray You lend—You need not give —just lend one eyelash of Your wisdom to this most ignorant of boys.”
    “Bear!” I cried, quite abashed.
    “Forgive me, Crispin. It’s not your fault. I mock no man’s ignorance, but his ignorance of his ignorance.
    “The sea, Crispin, is water—also called ocean —which covers the world in greater magnitude than land.”
    “You mock me,” I said, scoffing at such an absurdity.
    He lifted up his good right hand. “I swear it’s true,” he said. “Someday, perhaps, you’ll go to the sea and measure its depth with your own toes. And Crispin, this ocean is not just vast, but second only to God in power, so that in winter it hurls mighty storms one day in three. In summer, one in ten. As Heaven knows, many a man sails to sea in a leaky cog and never touches dry land again.”
    I sighed. The more I came to know of the world, the more I knew I knew it not.
    “Now, Crispin,” Bear went on, returning to his mud sketch, “sail your fat cog upon the sea this way—east—and there’s France. All we’ll find there is war and devastation. Satan’s playing fields. May good Jesus keep us from that.
    “Now, there’s Flanders, here, east as well, but I don’t put trust in such a mercantile people.
    “Further north and west is a land—some say—that’s all but beyond the world. A land of ice, it’s called Iceland. But so cold no kings or lords will rule there. They live without government. Or war. But that seems too fantastical.
    “Go south, here, and back across the ocean. You’ll find the Kingdoms of Navarre and Castile. Alas for the overreaching folk of Babel, they too speak a language I don’t know.
    “Cross the sea this way—westerly beyond Wales—there’s Ireland. Some say it’s a savage place, but I’ve heard honest men say otherwise. That attracts me.”
    “Is the world so truly vast?” I asked, amazed by what he had drawn.
    “Aye,” he said, “and much more still unknown to me. And Crispin,” he said, leaning into my ear and whispering, “some say it’s all guarded by dragons.”
    “Dragons!” I said, staring at his grinning face. “Bear, I’ve never even heard of these places. Have they … Christian peoples?”
    “Some, I suppose, have infidels.”
    “Bear, we need to go