"Mary Stewart - The Arthurian Saga 02 - The Hollow Hills2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stewart Mary)

Of his star.

MS.
NORTHERN -JANGLES



BOOK I

THE WAITING



1

There was a lark singing somewhere high above. Light fell dazzling against
my closed eyelids, and with it the song, like a distant dance of water. I o
pened my eyes. Above me arched the sky, with its invisible singer lost some
where in the light and floating blue of a spring day. Everywhere was a swee
t, nutty smell which made me think of gold, and candle flames, and young lo
vers. Something, smelling not so sweet, stirred beside me, and a rough youn
g voice said: "Sir?"

I turned my head. I was lying on turf, in a hollow among furze bushes.
These were full of blossom, golden, sweet-smelling flames called out by the
spring sun. Beside me a boy knelt. He was perhaps twelve years old, dirty,
 with a matted shag of hair, and clad in some coarse brown cloth; his cloak
, made of skins roughly -stitched together, showed rents in a dozen places.
He had a stick in one hand. Even without the way he smelled I could have g
uessed his calling, for all around us his herd of goats grazed among the fu
rze bushes, cropping the young green prickles.

At rny movement he got quickly to his feet and backed off a little, peer
ing, half wary and half hopeful, through the filthy tangle of hair. So he ha
d not robbed me yet. I eyed the heavy stick in his hand, vaguely wondering t
hrough the mists of pain whether I could help myself even against this young
ster. But it seemed that his hopes were only for a reward. He was pointing a
t something out of sight beyond the bushes. "I caught your horse for you. He
's tied over there. I thought you were dead."

I raised myself to an elbow. Round me the day seemed to swing and dazz
le. The furze blossom smoked like incense in the sun. Pain seeped back slo
wly, and with it, on the same tide, memory.
"Are you hurt bad?"

"Nothing to matter, except my hand. Give me time, I'll be all right. You
caught my horse, you say? Did you see me fall?"
"Aye. I was over yonder." He pointed again. Beyond the mounds of yellow
blossom the land rose, smooth and bare, to a rounded upland broken by grey
rock seamed with winter thorn. Behind the shoulder of the land the sky had