"Lord Dunsany - Don Rodriguez - Chronicles of Shadow Valley" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dunsany Lord)

Rodriguez descended and found mine host rubbing his hands by his good table, with a look on his face that
seemed to welcome the day and to find good auguries concerning it. But Morano looked as one that, having fallen
from some far better place, is ill-content with earth and the mundane way.
He had scorned breakfast; but Rodriguez breakfasted. And soon the two were bidding mine host farewell.
They found their horses saddled, they mounted at once, and rode off slowly in the early day. The horses were
tired and, slowly trotting and walking, and sometimes dismounting and dragging the horses on, it was nearly two
hours before they had done ten miles and come to the house of the smith in a rocky village: the street was
cobbled and the houses were all of stone.
The early sparkle had gone from the dew, but it was still morning, and many a man but now sat down to his
breakfast, as they arrived and beat on the door.
Gonzalez the smith opened it, a round and ruddy man past fifty, a citizen following a reputable trade, but
once, ah once, a bowman.
"Senor," said Rodriguez, "our horses are weary. We have been told you will change them for us."
"Who told you that?" said Gonzalez.
"The green bowmen in Shadow Valley," the young man answered.
As a meteor at night lights up with its greenish glare flowers and blades of grass, twisting long shadows behind
them, lights up lawns and bushes and the deep places of woods, scattering quiet night for a moment, so the
unexpected answer of Rodriguez lit memories in the mind of the smith all down the long years; and a twinkle and
a sparkle of those memories dancing in woods long forsaken flashed from his eyes.
"The green bowmen, senor," said Gonzalez. "Ah, Shadow Valley!"
"We left it yesterday," said Rodriguez.
When Gonzalez heard this he poured forth questions. "The forest, senor; how is it now with the forest? Do
the boars still drink at Heather Pool? Do the geese go still to Greatmarsh? They should have come early this year.
How is it with Larios, Raphael, Migada? Who shoots woodcock now?"
The questions flowed on past answering, past remembering: he had not spoken of the forest for years. And
Rodriguez answered as such questions are always answered, saying that all was well, and giving Gonzalez some
little detail of some trifling affair of the forest, which he treasured as small shells are treasured in inland places
when travellers bring them from the sea; but all that he heard of the forest seemed to the smith like something
gathered on a far shore of time. Yes, he had been a bowman once.
But he had no horses. One horse that drew a cart, but no horses for riding at all. And Rodriguez thought of
the immense miles lying between him and the foreign land, keeping him back from his ambition; they all pressed
on his mind at once. The smith was sorry, but he could not make horses.
"Show him your coin, master," said Morano.
"Ah, a small token," said Rodriguez, drawing it forth still on its green ribbon under his clothing. "The bowman's
badge, is it not?"
Gonzalez looked at it, then looked at Rodriguez.
"Master," he said, "you shall have your horses. Give me time: you shall have them. Enter, master." And he
bowed and widely opened the door. "If you will breakfast in my house while I go to the neighbours you shall have
some horses, master."
So they entered the house, and the smith with many bows gave the travellers over to the care of his wife,
who saw from her husband's manner that these were persons of importance and as such she treated them both,
and as such entertained them to their second breakfast. And this meant they ate heartily, as travellers can, who
can go without a breakfast or eat two; and those who dwell in cities can do neither.
And while the plump dame did them honour they spoke no word of the forest, for they knew not what place
her husband's early years had in her imagination.
They had barely finished their meal when the sound of hooves on cobbles was heard and Gonzalez beat on
the door. They all went to the door and found him there with two horses. The horses were saddled and bridled.
They fixed the stirrups to please them, then the travellers mounted at once. Rodriguez made his grateful farewell
to the wife of the smith: then, turning to Gonzalez, he pointed to the two tired horses which had waited all the
while with their reins thrown over a hook on the wall.