"Mary Renault - Greece 4 - The Last Of The Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

think of a slender bird with bright eyes. As I stood beside her I saw I had been growing again; for
whereas our eyes had been level, now mine looked upon her brows.

I told her all the rumours that were going about. When she was in thought, her eyebrows lifted at the
inner ends, making a hollow between them in her forehead, which was very white. Who do you think did
it, Mother? I asked. She said, The gods will reveal it, perhaps. But, Alexias, who will command the
Army now, instead of Alkibiades?

Instead? I said, staring. But he must command. It's his own war. — A man charged with sacrilege? How
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




can they put the Army under a curse? — I suppose not. Perhaps they won't go to Sicily, then, at all. My
face fell, thinking of the ships, and all the great victories we had looked forward to. My mother looked at
me and, nodding her head, said, Oh, yes, they will go. Men are like children who must wear their new
clothes today. She wove a couple of lines and said, Your father says Lamachos is a good general. — He
has been laughed at rather too much, I said. He can't help being so poor; but when he indented for his
own shoe-leather last time, Aristophanes got hold of it, you know, and started all these jokes about him.
But Nikias will consult him, I suppose.

She stopped weaving and turned round, the shuttle in her hand. Nikias? she said.— Of course, Mother.
It stands to reason. He has been one of the first of the Athenians ever since I remember. And indeed, a
citizen of my father's age could still have said this.

But he is an old sick man, she said. He ought to be taking soup in bed, not crossing the sea. And he had
no stomach for the war from the very first. I saw she knew something of events already; no doubt every
woman who had the use of her legs had been running from house to house, under excuse of borrowing a
little flour or a measure of oil. Still, I said, he would be a good man if the gods are angry. They've never
lost him a battle all his life. No one has paid them more attention than he has. Why, he has even given
them whole shrines and temples. She looked up. What is it worth to the gods, she said, to be feared by a
man who fears everything? How should he lose battles? He never took a risk.

I looked round anxiously. Luckily my father was out.

I myself have seen him in the street, she said, when a cat crossed his path, waiting for someone else to
pass to take off the bad luck. What kind of man is that for a soldier? — No one doubts, Mother, I said
laughing, that you'd make a better one. She blushed, and turning to the loom said, I can't waste any more
time in talking. Your father's club is coming tonight.

The club was called the Sunhorses. It was, in those days, moderate in politics, but though it served the
usual purposes of that kind, good talk was its chief function, and they never let the number get above
eight, to keep the conversation general. All the foundation members, of whom my father was one, had
been knights of moderate wealth; but the war had brought a good many changes of fortune. They tried
nowadays, as between gentlemen, to overlook the fact that they had become a mixture of rich and poor;
the dinner subscriptions had always been moderate, with no costly additions expected from the host. But
lately things had reached a point where some men could not afford the extra lamp-oil and condiments for
a club supper, and, ashamed to charge them to the common account, had dropped out on some excuse.
One man, who was easy in matters of pride but well liked, had more than once had his share paid by a