"Steve White - The Disinherited 02 - Legacy" - читать интересную книгу автора (White Steve)

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Legacy by Steve White
PROLOGUE - 469 A.D.
"It is, of course, premature to congratulate you, my dear Sidonius. We
must observe the proprieties and wait until your election has become
official." Bishop Faustus of Riez chuckled patronizingly. "Nevertheless, we
all know that the final decision is a mere formality. I have absolutely no
doubt that I will soon—perhaps before the year is out—be able to greet you
as a colleague in Christ, our new Bishop of Clermont!"

Sidonius Apollinaris inclined his head graciously and wrapped his cloak
more tightly around his shoulders against the unseasonably raw wind
blowing in from the Bay of Biscay on this overcast spring afternoon.
Amazing that it's so chilly, given the amount of hot air Faustus pumps
out! He immediately regretted the thought—the old man had been a
staunch supporter in his own maneuverings for the Bishopric of Clermont.
Not that Sidonius' lack of clerical background had been any handicap—he
wouldn't be the first bishop to start that way. And being the son-in-law of
Avitus, who had briefly been Emperor of the West, certainly didn't hurt.
Still, Faustus deserved his gratitude. And as one of the most distinguished
churchmen in Gaul he certainly merited courtesy, especially in light of his
parentage— the parentage that no one ever mentioned in his hearing.

"Thank you, Excellency," Sidonius said in his courtier's voice. "I have
looked forward to this opportunity to personally convey my belated best
wishes upon your birthday." Maybe that was part of the problem; Faustus
had never been one to use ten words where twenty would do, but now that
he had attained the exceptional age of sixty he was getting positively
garrulous. A man of his years had no business out here shivering with the
rest of the welcoming committee. But of course it was incumbent upon
him to be here. And he was hardly in a position to be fulfilling his duties
in Riez just now.
 Sidonius, on the other hand, had more or less invited himself. No one
had really tried to discourage him. As a distinguished landowner of the
Auvergne, litterateur of some note, city prefect of Rome until recently, and
the likely Bishop of Clermont, he carried too much weight for anyone to
openly object to his presence. And, despite the hazards and hardships of
traveling, he was not about to miss this chance to meet the man who, he
suspected, was the most remarkable of the many with whom he had
corresponded. The man who had set in motion the scene before them here
in the Loire estuary.

The fleet of ships had sailed as far inland as the Loire was navigable,