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

making a living presence in the air.
"You were right to seek aid," said the Cistercian monk who knelt on the stone floor
beside Olivia. "A woman of quality, a Roman woman, must not undertake so arduous
a journey without proper escort."
"But I have none," Olivia said, wishing for an excuse to rise; it felt to her that she
was demonstrating simple letters to a wayward child. "I explained that when I
arrived."
"Pray you, tell me again. I do not entirely understand."
Inwardly Olivia reminded herself that she needed the monk's good will and
assistance if she were to arrange passage for Roma. She kept her tone quiet and
stilled the sharp retort that she longed to utter. "My husband's family has been
important in Roma, but I do not think that I, as his widow, could request help from
his relatives at this time." She had chosen her most restrained and Norman clothes—
for this occasion, none of the wide embroidered sleeves of Antioch and Damascus
silks; her bliaud was of saffron-rinsed linen, dyed the color of sand. Her fawn-brown
hair was braided and covered with a tied veil of cotton, all of which was held in place
with a widow's black wreath.
"There is always an obligation—" the Cistercian monk began.
"Pardon me, but I doubt any of my husband's relatives would be able to make a
voyage to escort me," she said, her head lowered. She stared at the seashell embedded
in a splendor of gold that hung from a flat gold chain around her neck. "Not many of
them are inclined to be pilgrims on my behalf."
"There is estrangement?" the monk asked neutrally.
Olivia nodded. "I have not been in Roma for many, many years. There was never
such closeness that their duty could survive so long a separation." She did not add
that the separation could be counted in centuries, or that her husband had met his end
while the elder Titus Flavius Vespasianus wore the purple.
"These developments are always lamentable," said the monk. "I can petition my
Order for—"
Once more Olivia held up her hand to stop him. "Again, your pardon, Fraire
Herchambaut. Do forgive me for this second interruption." She saw the monk nod
acceptance. "My travels are not as simple as for some pilgrims. I have many
household goods which must also be sent to Roma. Because I know how little
concern religious men have for such concerns, I would rather not burden them with
such responsibilities. Also, if I were to be set upon because of the goods I carry, I
would never feel at peace if any harm came to any monk of any Order because of my
possessions." She joined her slender hands.
"A very pious thought," said Fraire Herchambaut with approval.
"There is another factor as well," added Olivia thoughtfully. "I do… poorly… in
the sun. I am one of those who cannot endure its rays. And worse"—she managed a
faint, self-deprecatory smile—"I am ill when sailing."
"Many well-born women are similarly delicate," Fraire Herchambaut said as if
impressed. "All the more to your credit that you undertook the pilgrimage you have
made."
"I did not feel that I had much choice in the matter. For many widows, the loss of
their husbands entails special burdens beyond their grief. Circumstances being what
they were, I realized I must come here." She did not add that she had arrived in Tyre
not from Roma but from Alexandria.
 "You have lived here for some time, or so I am informed." He was clearly curious
about her, but had learned to treat all but the poorest pilgrims with circumspection.