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

there were streams in the surrounding hills. Finding water had become the
chief task of each and every day; we did not neglect any possible means of
filling the waterskins and jars. As we moved farther up the vale, the
streams narrowed and thinned, and the search became more difficult. We
had not located any drinking water this day, so Rhys had undertaken to
continue looking.
The rest of the Cymbrogi were nearby, having established camp at a
second place on the hillside. We did this by way of guarding the Vandal
host, yet allowing ourselves a ready retreat. For though they were no
longer armed - their spears alone filled three wagons! - there were so
many of them that we could easily be overrun. Thus, we always made two
camps a short distance apart and kept watch through the night.
'He will soon return,' Bedwyr assured me when I pointed out that it was
well past dark and still no sign of Rhys and his company. 'Why uneasy,
brother?'
'How much water remains?' The Cymbrogi also stood guard over the water
wagons, lest anyone try to steal another share.
'One day at full rations,' he replied; he had already reckoned the amount.
'We could go on half rations, but I would rather wait until Rhys returns to
make that decision.'
I left him to his rest, and returned to the campfire feeling uneasy and
troubled - though I could not think why. Perhaps I was merely tired. It
seemed like years since I had slept more than two nights in the same
place... years since I had slept without a weapon in my hand. Once Mercia
and his folk were settled, I thought, we will begin to enjoy the peace we
have all fought so long to achieve.
A pale phantom moon rose and soared like a silent spectre over the narrow
valley. I supped on something tough and tasteless - stewed saddle, perhaps
- and finished the last of my day's ration of water. I retreated to the tent
and lay down, but found the closeness inside stifling; so I took up the
oxhide and stretched out on the ground a short distance away - whereupon
I found I could not sleep for the barking of the camp dogs. I lay on my
back with my arms folded over my chest, gazing up at the heavens,
marking the slow progression of the moon, and wondering if the mutts
were always so loud.
I lay a long time before realizing that I was listening for Rhys' return. I
identified all the night sounds of the camp -horses whickering and jittery
at their pickets, the tight voices of the sentries as they moved along the
boundary, the far-off call of a night bird in a distant tree - all familiar, yet
made peculiar by my listening. Or perhaps it was something else -
something in the air making them seem that way.
I must have dozed without knowing it, for when I looked again, the moon
was well down. I heard the short, sharp challenge of a sentry, and the
expected reply. I rose at once and made my way to the picket line to see
Rhys and his band dismounting. Some of the men swayed on their feet,
exhausted by their long search.
'Good hunting?' I called, hurrying to join them.
Rhys turned when he heard me. The look on his face halted me in my
steps. 'Rhys?'
He tossed a quick command over his shoulder and then stepped near. 'We