"Mary Renault - Greece 6 - Fire From Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

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Mary Renault - Fire from Heaven

Copyright Mary Renault, 1970

When Perdikkas asked him at what times he
wished divine honours paid to him, he answered that
he wished it done when they themselves were happy.
These were the last words of the King.
Quintus Curtius.

1

The child was wakened by the knotting of the snake's coils about his waist. For a moment he was
frightened; it had squeezed his breathing, and given him a bad dream. But as soon as he was awake, he
knew what it was, and pushed his two hands inside the coil. It shifted; the strong band under his back
bunched tightly, then grew thin. The head slid up his shoulder along his neck, and he felt close to his ear
the flickering tongue.

The old-fashioned nursery lamp, painted with boys bowling hoops and watching cock-fights, burned low
on its stand. The dusk had died in which he had fallen asleep; only a cold, sharp moonlight struck down
through the tall window, patching the yellow marble floor with blue. He pushed down his blanket to see
the snake, and make sure it was the right one. His mother had told him that the patterned ones, with
backs like woven border-work, must always be let alone. But all was well; it was the pale brown one
with the grey belly, smooth as polished enamel.

When he turned four, nearly a year ago, he had been given a boy's bed five feet long; but the legs were
short in case he fell, and the snake had not had far to climb. Everyone else in the room was fast asleep;
his sister Kleopatra in her cradle beside the Spartan nurse; nearer, in a better bed of carved pearwood,
his own nurse Hellanike. It must be the middle of the night; but he could still hear the men in Hall, singing
together. The sound was loud and discordant, slurring the ends of the lines. He had learned already to
understand the cause.

The snake was a secret, his alone in the night. Even Lanike, so near by, had not discerned their silent
greetings. She was safely snoring. He had been slapped for likening the sound to a mason's saw. Lanike
was not a common nurse, but a lady of the royal kindred, who reminded him twice a day that she would
not be doing this for anyone less than his father's son.

The snores, the distant singing, were sounds of solitude. The only waking presences were himself and the
snake, and the sentry pacing the passage, the click of his armour-buckles just heard as he passed the
door.

The child turned on his side, stroking the snake, feeling its polished strength slide through his fingers over
his naked skin. It had laid its flat head upon his heart, as if to listen. It had been cold at first, which had
helped to wake him. Now it was taking warmth from him, and growing lazy. It was going to sleep, and
might stay till morning. What would Lanike say when she found it? He stifled his laughter, lest it should be