"Yarbro,.Chelsea.Quinn.-.Olivia.02.-.Crusader's.Torch.(V1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

"As you wish," said Dar, his manner more subdued than it had been, for he distrusted the Austrians.
The herald spoke to the esquires. "See that this bondama reaches her house without further incident. Then go to the Hospitalers and bring me word of her slave." He bowed formally to Olivia. "When I have word, I will send a message to you."
"My thanks," said Olivia, and set out in the midst of the esquires, Ithuriel Dar bringing up the rear. As the little group reached Alfaze and the wreckage of the palinquin, Olivia saw that her injured slave was shivering though his face and arms were slick with sweat; his swarthy face was gray. I must leave this place, she thought. I must leave. I must leave.
 
* * *
Text of a letter from the Venetian Giozzetto Camarmarr to the Benedictine scholar Ulrico Fionder.
My very dear and learned cousin, I have succeeded in leaving Cyprus and have arrived safely at Rhodes. I am making arrangements to take ship home, but now that Barbarossa has his army on the march, it is difficult for a mere merchant to find passage.
Let me offer prayers of thanks for all of the family who gathered the monies to pay my ransom. The pirates who held me would truly have sold me into slavery to some Islamite, which might well have meant they would have made a eunuch of me. To my wife and children, that would be as great a loss as if I had died and been buried. I lament the cost, and I am grieved that my misfortune could impose so great a burden on all who share my name and heritage. In these dire times, who among us can think himself safe? I have learned to my cost and my pain that we may know nothing certain but the Mercy of God.
Now that I am back among Christians again, I realize that what I had feared has come to pass. Everywhere the knights prepare to do battle with the devils of Islam, and everywhere stores are being laid up against the day that these forces meet. I trust that you communicated to our family the sense of purchasing transport ships, for I have seen with my own eyes the tremendous need for them, and the prices that are being paid for their use. If all the Kings under the Pope come here to fight, our fortunes could be made for the next four generations. Such an event might in part compensate for the great expense I have occasioned our family. From the dreadful developments of the last year, I pray we will salvage our name and our riches.
It may be that you do not concern yourself with such matters, but without doubt there are others of us who do, and they are eager to add to the coffers of Camarmarr and Fionder. Your Abbot would welcome a generous donation, and if one of his monks is part of a family contributing to the success of the Crusade, he will not begrudge us the profits we reap in so worthy a venture. I, for one, would be pleased if we recoup our losses in this way, for it would aid and protect the holiest place in Christendom as well as assist in bringing down the Islamites, who are the direct cause of the losses we have suffered through my capture.
I long for the day that I will see your face again, for the day I will sit with my wife and children in our own house. My captivity, though it was not long, has left me with the most profound devotion to my family, and has given me staunch purpose in my determination to exact full measure from the Islamites for the great torment they visited upon me.
Once I have reached Ragusa, I will send word to you. Look to see me before the summer is over. I fear you will find me much changed, but that cannot be helped. God has imposed His burden on me and I pray for the grace to bear the burden.
Your loving cousin Giozzetto Camarmarr
By my own hand on the feast of Saint Hippolytus the Martyr of Roma in the 1189th year of Our Lord.
 
• 5 •
On the far wall the plaster was broken or missing; the doorframe was warped so that Niklos had to lean on it to close it. All the furniture had been removed years ago.
"The rumor is," said the scribe who accompanied him, "that the building is haunted."
"Haunted?" Niklos repeated in disbelief. "What pagan nonsense is that?"
The scribe looked embarrassed. "Pagan, certainly. What good Christian can believe such gossip?" He glanced over his shoulder toward the window. "The talk has given the estate an evil name. My master has said he wants to be rid of the place. His wife will not come here. His brother will not dare to set foot inside these walls." The scribe suppressed a shudder. "I confess," he went on nervously, "that I would not like to be here after sundown."
"Trust in God," Niklos recommended. "Tell me about this haunting. What is thought to be the cause?" As he listened, he paced the room, assessing the size as he listened.
"It is… ridiculous, most ridiculous," the scribe began uneasily. "It seems that the son of the master of the house was going to join with the First Crusaders, with the men Tancred led. But once he reached the Holy Land, he was seized with a passion for an Islamite woman, and for her sake he abandoned Tancred and fled with his siren into the desert." He moved over toward the window so that he could look out into the overgrown garden.
"Such things have happened," Niklos said, amused at the scribe's discomfort.
"Well," the scribe went on after taking a deep breath, "it was said that she was an enchantress who used sorcery to overcome his faith so that he forgot his knightly oath."
Niklos touched the wall where a little of the plaster remained. He rubbed the residue between his fingers and sniffed at it. "Knights have forgot their oaths for less," he observed to tell the scribe that he was still listening.
"But he was sworn to restore the Holy Sepulcher," protested the scribe. "However it was done, the knight fled with the woman, and when she tired of him, she cursed him with flux and with failing bowels. In despair, he became a beggar, shamed and damned. Only at the end of his days did he return here, hoping that he might find succor in the bosom of his family. It is said that he haunts this place still, that his ghost drove out his own family, for they knew him and it brought his shame upon them."
"How does the ghost make itself known?" Niklos asked, wiping his brow with the back of his hand; the afternoon heat was intense as a lover's embrace,
"They say—I have not heard it for myself—that he can be heard crying for alms and begging forgiveness for his sins." He licked his lips. "My master has permitted the house to fall into disrepair, somewhat."
Niklos' smile was ironic, but the scribe was not looking at him and did not see it. "That's apparent. At least there is no trace of rot so far."
"There are cellars, if you must look there. I will show you where they are." The scribe blessed himself automatically. "This is not a place I want to live."
"But you are not going to have to," Niklos pointed out. "It is my mistress who may have to live here. If I find the place suitable."
"What would your mistress think of this place, if it is haunted?" His voice had risen a little.
"Has a priest been called to exorcise the ghost?" asked Niklos. "Have prayers been said for the knight's repose? Have Masses been offered for his salvation?"
The scribe had nodded to each of these questions. "All that and more. My master offered this house to a company of knights, but they would not come here for fear that the spirit of the knight would cause them to turn from their vows. Nothing has calmed the ghost."
"Show me the rest of the house," said Niklos, doing his best to sound bored. "I will want to inspect the stables and barns as well, and to see what condition the vinyards are in. My mistress will require a full report from me." Although he did his best to sound indifferent, Niklos was inwardly pleased. The house was good-sized, with quarters for eighteen slaves as well as extra rooms for household. He had already inspected the chapel built a little distance from the house, which the scribe had told him was dedicated to Santo Telesphorus. All of the place needed repair, but did not appear to be beyond restoration.
"There are ovens in the kitchen, and possibly they are sound, but it would be a foolish chance to use them unless they are remortared," said the scribe.
"Most of the house will need that, I think," said Niklos, in hope that would be the extent of the work needed.
"Some of the timbers in the cellars are… not sturdy," the scribe went on, determined to be forthright.
"Not surprising," said Niklos. "Tell me, is there a church near?"
"There are two not far. Roma itself is—"
"Quite near," Niklos agreed, knowing that the crumbling walls were visible to the south on the western side of the house. "My mistress is determined to find a house where she will not be far from priests."
The scribe opened another door with difficulty. "Some of the doors will need replacement," he explained unnecessarily.
"She will tend to it," said Niklos, "if she decides that this is the house she wants."
"My master has slaves skilled at such work," the scribe said, as he had been told to do.
"That can be determined later if my mistress purchases this house. My mistress has tastes of her own, and she will decide how they can be best served." Niklos nodded as he looked around, imagining the walls freshly plastered and painted, furniture in place.
"It is a pleasant room," the scribe ventured uneasily.
This room was larger and opened on the far side to a private garden. The plants had gone wild and given way to weeds, but Niklos could see there was an empty stone fountain at the center. Five other doors gave onto the garden, and above the garden there ran a gallery to the upper floor.
"How are the stairs?" Niklos asked.
"Most are safe," the scribe admitted.
"I will want to check them shortly." He forced the garden door and stepped into the tangle of creepers and dry thistles. He looked up at the gallery from this vantage point, and called over his shoulder. "How many rooms on the floor above?"