The Year 1488, Epiphany Celebrations

The sea wind blew vast and strong, the moonlight cold and dim. Clouds gathered in the sky, leaving only pinpricks of starlight. A few petrels circled in the night, looking down over the boundless sea, wheeling around the three anchored sailing ships like some mysterious omen.

The flagship São Cristóvão flew the banner of the Kingdom of Portugal, anchored between the other two ships. According to Captain Dias's orders, for the sake of safety, the expedition fleet generally did not sail at night. The night was still and deep. Dozens of crewmen aboard were packed into the foul-smelling hold, most of them already asleep. On the damp deck, only a few sailors on watch remained, along with the chief navigator, Pêro de Alenquer.

Pêro was lean and capable, his face stiff and old-fashioned. He stood beneath the long mast, holding an iron pair of long dividers and a wooden protractor. He raised his head, gazing at the stars, and waited patiently for a long while. Only when the clouds thinned a little, revealing the four shining stars of the Southern Cross, did he move swiftly, climbing the mast with agile speed.

Before long, Pêro was standing steadily on the lookout platform. He wrapped one of the mast's ropes around his arm and carefully observed the bright Gamma and Alpha stars of the Southern Cross. Then he imagined drawing a line through Gamma and Alpha of the Southern Cross, continuing it southward until its length was roughly 4.5 times the distance between the two stars, and only then left an imaginary point in the night sky. That point was the estimated position of the South Celestial Pole!

Next, Pêro widened his eyes, tilted his head up, and held perfectly still, not daring to move the slightest bit. He took out the