"Alexander, Lloyd - Chronicles Of Prydain 4 - Taran Wanderer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Alexander Lloyd)

At this, Gast and Goryon both roared in furious protest; and Taran could no longer hold his tongue. He strode to the King's side.
"Sire, even a lifetime in your dungeon will not raise one grain of wheat on a ruined field. Aeddan has lost all he hoped to gain, one harvest to keep himself and his wife alive. You offered me a favor," Taran went on. "I refused it then; will you let me claim it now?"
"Ask what you please my lad," replied Smoit. "It is already given."
Taran hesitated a moment as he stepped forward and stood facing the cantrev lords. Then he turned to Smoit. "I ask you this," he said. "Set Gast and Goryon free."
While Smoit blinked in astonishment, Goryon, glimpsing Taran for the first time, exclaimed, "It's the pig-keeper who cozened me out of my horse! I took him for a lout, but he asks a noble favor. Grant it, Smoit. He speaks wisdom!"
"Set them free," Taran continued, "to labor beside Aeddan and strive to mend what they have destroyed."
"What?" cried Gast. "I took him for a hero, but he's no more than a lout! How dare he ask Gast the Generous to delve the ground like a mole and for no reward!"
"Impudence! Impertinence! Insolence!" shouted Goryon. "I'll not have a pig-keeper pass judgment on Goryon the Valorous!"
"Nor on Gast the Generous!" exclaimed Gast.
"Pass judgment on yourselves, then," Taran answered, picking up two handfuls of earth and torn shoots and holding them before the furious, cantrev lords. "This is what remains of Aeddan's livelihood. As well take a sword and slay him. Look on this, Lord Goryon, for there is more truth here than in your tales of giants and monsters. And this he treasured, Lord Gast, more than you treasure any of your possessions--- and it was more truly his own, for he toiled to make it so."
Gast and Goryon had fallen silent; the two rough cantrev lords stared at the ground like sheepish boys.
Aeddan and his wife looked on without speaking.
"The lad has a better head on his shoulders than I do," exclaimed Smoit, "and his judgment is wiser. Kinder, too, for my choice would have been the dungeon, not the delving!"
The cantrev lords reluctantly nodded agreement.
Taran turned to Smoit. "The rest of my favor is this: Grant most where need is greatest. Do you claim Cornillo for your own? Sire, give her to Aeddan."
"Give up Cornillo?" Smoit began, sputtering and choking. "My prize of war..." He finally nodded his head. "So be it, lad."
"Aeddan shall keep her," Taran went on, "and Gast and Goryon shall have her next calves."
"What of my herd?" cried Goryon.
"And mine!"cried Gast. "They're so mixed together no man can tell his own from another's."
"Lord Goryon shall divide the herds in equal portions," Taran said.
"He shall not!" Lord Gast broke in. "He'll give me all the scrawny ones and keep the fat for himself. It's I who'll divide them!"
"Not so!" shouted Goryon. "You'll fob off none of your rawboned creatures on me!"
"Lord Goryon shall divide the herds," Taran repeated. "But Lord Gast shall be first to choose his half."
"Well said!" Smoit burst out, roaring with laughter. "My breath and blood, you have them there! Goryon divides and Gast chooses! Ho, oho! It takes two thieves to strike an honest bargain!"
Aeddan and Alarca had come to stand before Taran and King Smoit. "Who you may truly be, I do not know," the farmer said to Taran. "But you befriended me far better than I befriended you."
"Oh, wisdom of kindly master!" cried Gurgi, as the cantrev lords set about dividing their herds and Smoit's warriors made ready to return to Caer Cadarn. "Gurgi finds cows, but only wise master knows what to do with them!"
"If indeed I did rightly," Taran replied, "Gast and Goryon will be waiting for Cornillo's calves. Gast said they were always twins. I only hope," he added with a grin, "that she doesn't disappoint us."


IT WAS LONG AFTER NIGHTFALL when the companions at last reached Caer Cadarn. Fflewddur and Gurgi were too exhausted to do more than fling themselves onto their couches. Taran would gladly have followed them, but Smoit took his arm and drew him to the Great Hall.
"Count your day well spent, my lad," cried Smoit. "You've spared the cantrev from a war and me from being drubbed into jelly. As for Gast and Goryon, how long they'll stay at peace with each other I'll not guess. But you've taught me one thing: My dungeons are useless. My body and bones, I'll have them walled up directly. From this day I'll try my hand at speaking instead of smiting!
"And yet, lad," Smoit went on, furrowing his brow, "my wits are slow. I need no man to tell me that, and I am easier in my mind when I have a blade in my hand. Will you return favor for favor? Stay with me in Cantrev Cadiffor."
"Sire," Taran answered, "I seek to learn who my kinsmen are. I cannot..."
"Kinsmen!" shouted Smoit, slapping his great girth. "There's enough of me to make all the kinsmen you could want! Hear me well," he added, his voice quieter now, "a widower am I, and childless. Do you yearn for parents? No less do I yearn for a son. When the horn of Gwyn the Hunter sounds for me, there shall be none to take my place, and none would I choose but you. Stay, lad, and you shall one day be King of Cadiffor."
"King of Cadiffor?" Taran cried. His heart leaped. What need to seek the Mirror when he could offer Eilonwy a royal throne, the proudest gift he could ever lay at her feet? Taran King of Cadiffor. The words rang more sweetly in his ears than Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper. Yet suddenly his joy turned cold. While Eilonwy might honor his rank, could she respect him for abandoning his quest even before it had begun? Could he respect himself? For a long while Taran did not answer, then with fond admiration he turned his eyes to Smoit.
"The honor you would give me," Taran began, "there is nothing I would value more highly. Yes--- I long to accept it." His voice faltered. "Yet I would rather hold kingship by right of noble birth, not as a gift! It may be," he went on slowly, "that in truth I am nobly born. If it should prove thus, then gladly would I rule Cadiffor."
"How then!" cried Smoit. "My body and bones, I'd rather see a wise pig-keeper on my throne than a blood prince who's a fool!"
"But there is this, as well," Taran answered. "It is in my heart to learn the truth about myself. I will not stop short of it. Were I to do so, who I truly am would forever be unknown and through all my life I would feel a part of me lacking."
At these words Smoit's battle-scarred face fell with sadness and regretfully he bowed his head. But after a moment he clapped Taran heartily on the back. "My breath, blood, and beard!" he cried. "You've a will to chase the wild goose, will-o'-the-wisp, looking-glass, or whatever it may be; and I'll say no more to keep you from it. Seek it out, lad! Whether or not you find it, come back and Cadiffor will welcome you. But hasten, for if Gast and Goryon are ever at loggerheads again, I'll not vouch for how much of the cantrev will be left!"
Thus Taran, with Gurgi and Fflewddur Fflam, set off once more. In his secret heart Taran cherished the hope he might return to Smoit's realm with proud tidings of his parentage. Yet he did not foresee how long it would be until he set foot in Cantrev Cadiffor again.



Chapter 6
A Frog

FROM CAER CADARN the companions made good progress and within a few days crossed the Ystrad River, where Fflewddur led them for a time along the farther bank before turning northeastward through the Hill Cantrevs. Unlike the Valley Cantrevs, these lands were grayish and flinty. What might once have been fair pastureland Taran saw to be overlaid with brush, and the long reaches of forest were close-grown and darkly tangled.
Fflewddur admitted his roving seldom brought him to these parts. "The cantrev nobles are as glum as their domains. Play your merriest tune and the best you can hope for is a sour smile. Yet, if the old lore is true, these realms were as rich as any in Prydain. The sheep of the Hill Cantrevs--- Great Belin, it's said they had fleece so thick you could sink your arm in it up to the elbow! Nowadays, alas, they tend to be a little scruffy."
"Aeddan told me Arawn Death-Lord stole many secrets from the farmers of the valley," Taran replied. "Surely he robbed the shepherds of the Hill Cantrevs as well."
Fflewddur nodded. "Few treasures he hasn't spoiled or stolen save those of the Fair Folk, and even Arawn might think twice before trifling with them. Be that as it may," he went on, "I'd not change the Northern Realms, where my own kingdom is, for any of these. There, my boy, we raise no sheep, but famous bards and warriors! Naturally, the House of Fflam has held its throne there for--- well, for a remarkably long time. In the veins of a Fflam," declared the bard, "flows royal blood of the Sons of Don! Prince Gwydion himself is my kinsman. Distant ---distant, it's true," he added hastily, "but a kinsman nonetheless."