"Stephen Lawhead - Pendragon Cycle 05 - Grail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

the end, I swear it.
I loathed the task set before me, and prayed for a way to evade what must
be done. Day after day, as we moved the Vandal host northward, I prayed
to God for a miracle.
Behold! My prayer was answered, not with a miracle, but with a resolution
almost as good. One night, the sixth or seventh since leaving our
encampment near the battlefield at Caer Gloiu, Mercia and his priest
approached Bedwyr's tent. Bedwyr had brought Arthur's camp chair and
tent as the sole, scant consolation of a miserable journey. We were
enjoying a moment's rest after another arduous day.
'What do they want now?' growled Bedwyr.
Like Bedwyr, I desired nothing more than to end this day of heat and dust
in good company. 'I will deal with them,' I said, thinking to send them
away; I stood to call out.
'Stay, brother.' Bedwyr sighed, changing his mind. 'As we have not had
more than a dusty glimpse of them for a day or two, we had better allow
him his say.'
Swarthy Mercia, dark hair and eyes - darker still in the fading twilight -
hailed us with his customary salute, striking his heart with his fist. The
once-captive priest, Hergest, spoke when Mercia spoke, saying,
'Greetings, friends.'
'Greetings,' Bedwyr replied bleakly. After days of herding Vandali, he was
finding it hard to muster any enthusiasm for their concerns.
'Sit down if you will,' I said, making a gesture towards courtesy. 'We
would offer you a cup to wet your throats on such a sultry day, but we
have nothing to put in it.' I said this last to discourage the appeal I knew
was coming. Every day since the beginning of this journey, one or another
of the barbarian chieftains had come before us to demand a greater water
ration - sometimes two or three on the same day. What little water we had
was shared out to all in equal measure, as I told them - each and every day.
'It is hot, yes,' said Mercia. His speech, though broken, was rapidly
improving. No doubt Hergest was a good teacher.
'Yes,' Bedwyr answered, leaning back in his chair. 'We need rain - the land
needs rain.'
'My people thirst,' Mercia said bluntly.
Bedwyr reacted irritably. 'Am I a fountain? I just said we need rain. It is a
drought, you know. Everyone is thirsty.'
Mercia gazed mildly back, undisturbed by this outburst. He glanced at
Hergest, who uttered a few harsh-sounding words in his own tongue. The
Vandal merely nodded and loosed a lengthy torrent of barbarian jabber.
When he finished, he nodded again, this time to the priest, who said, 'Lord
Mercia wants you both to know that he would be less than noble if he did
not ask for water when his people are thirsty. He intended no disrespect.'
'Very well,' Bedwyr muttered, somewhat chastened by his reply.
'Mercia also says that he is unhappy,' continued Hergest. Before Bedwyr
or I could frame a reply, the priest said, 'The source of his unhappiness is
this: rooting Britons from their homes sits ill with him. To be the cause of
such hardship does make him seem small in his own eyes.'
'I understand,' Bedwyr told him, 'but there is nothing to be done. The
hardship to the Britons has come about by the willful action of their lords