"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Olivia 2 - Crusader's Torch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

"This is impossible," Rainaut declared, though no one heard him. As the mob
surged, trying to break the confines of the street, Rainaut searched for an opening.
"How near is the closest alley?" he demanded of the sarjeant.
"It's useless, sir," shouted the sarjeant. "We can't make it."
"Of course we can," said Rainaut, and started to move backward, prodding for the
smallest openings between the tightly packed bodies, and sliding through them,
dragging the sarjeant after him. For the first time he was grateful that most of his
goods were still on the ship that had brought him, along with his two horses, his bard,
and battle harness.
A yowl went up from somewhere behind him; Rainaut turned and had to resist the
urge to stop and look for the cause of it. He held his two-bladed dagger against his
leg and continued his slow withdrawal. "Do not be frightened, sarjeant. We will do."
"If you'll pardon me, Bonsier, I think we're for it now." He was able to make a
grimace that was intended for a battle-smile. "There are too many here, and the way
is blocked now."
"There are some means to win free," said Rainaut. "How far will this take us out of
our way?" he asked the sarjeant.
 "Not far, I hope," the sarjeant muttered, repeating his words as loudly as possible
when Rainaut demanded it.
"There are stalls set up for craftsmen, I remember seeing them." He had to lean
almost into the sarjeant's face to hear the response. The noise and the press was
alarming, but he had been warned that the streets in Tyre could be volatile.
"They'll have got out of the way by now, sir," the sarjeant said. His face was
beaded and his mouth was white "There'll be blood shortly, sir."
"That's no concern of ours, sarjeant, if we are not stopped or harmed. We may pray
for them later." Rainaut had eased them a few steps farther away from the riot. "Is
there a house or a church where we can take shelter if this gets worse?"
The sarjeant shook his head vigorously. "No, sir. They're shut up, the churches,
like the houses. Here, that's what they do." This last ended on a sharp hiss as
someone stepped on his toes.
"The churches as well?" Rainaut asked, not expecting an answer. There were
elbows and knees pummeling him, and as he tried to ease them further back in the
crowd, he found more resistance than before. From one of the close-packed men a
sudden punch came that left Rainaut with a bloody bruise under his eye. "For the
Saints!"
"Are you hurt, sir?" asked the sarjeant automatically; in fact, at the moment he did
not care. The battle around him was troublesome and he sensed that it would worsen
quickly.
"You say the churches are closed to us?" Rainaut de-manded, hoping that there
would be some respite to this melee.
"Most especially," said the sarjeant. "I don't like to tell you what happens in
churches when the streets go mad this way. The monks and the priests all do what
they can to save their treasures and guard those within their gates."
Rainaut had drawn them into the slight protection of a doorway, pressing himself
and the sarjeant back against the iron-hasped door. It was the only cover he could
find the length of the street. "Stay still; I am looking for a way out."
A square-bodied man in Byzantine clothes, a bruise forming on his chin and his
hand pressed to his bleeding nose, stumbled against them, cursed them as he gasped,
then was pulled away by a lurching Islamite.
"Damnation to them all," the sarjeant burst out, provoked beyond all resistance.