"L. Warren Douglas - The Veil of Years 2 - Veil of Tears" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglas L Warren)

Calvinus stared, at a loss for words. The veledaтАФthe druid seeressтАФwas a girl. Her glossy black hair
was piled atop her head in curls that a rich senator's wife would have envied. Her pale blue garment was
draped Greek fashion, but was belted with pale leather encrusted in gold.

Despite his goose bumps and the indignity of his blanketed legs, Calvinus was all too aware of his

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-...l%20Of%20Tears%20(chunky%20HTML)/0671319973___0.htm (2 of 4)2-1-2007 14:13:08
 - Prologue

maleness. This was no big, gruff Celtic camp follower, and no starved old woman. Blue eyes the color
of summer skies appraised him dispassionately. Small, well-formed breasts pushed against soft blue
fabric, their nipples as proud as if just fondledтАФbut that was chill, not arousal.

Aware that he had lost not only his dignity, but all of the initiative in this unfortunate meeting, the
Roman gestured at the cloak-draped chest. "Will you sit?"

A smile dimpled her prettyтАФno, lovelyтАФface. She slid gracefully to the impromptu seat, her legs turned
slightly to the side, accenting the smooth curvature of thighs and hips.

"Centurion Varro said you have a message from the Gauls' chief. What is it?" No degree of gruffness, he
discovered, could regain him his lost poise.

"Your centurion misunderstood. King Teutomalos has nothing to say to you. He intends to outwait you,
then send your headless body to Roma. Your head he'll hold for ransomтАФits weight in gold. Or he'll
drive a bronze spike through it, from ear to ear, to hold it in a niche by his door."

Had anyone else said thatтАФunder any other circumstancesтАФCalvinus would have had him flogged, or
he would have leaped up, groping for his short sword. As it was, he merely crumpled his goose-quill.
The woman's tone had been matter-of-fact, even regretful, not challenging or insulting. He was clear on
that, because her command of Latin was as good as his own, despite the sweet lilt of her unfamiliar
accent.

"Then whom do you speak for?" he grated.

"For myselfтАФand for a hundred Roman generations to come, whose fate hinges upon the outcome of
this siege. You must not wait. Attack now, before it's too late."

"Another legion is on its way. And the Massalian Greeks are levying more troops. By summer
Teutomalos will be starving, and I'll overwhelm his pitiful fort."

"By springtime his power will be so great that all the legions that ever were, led by the Scipios
themselves, could not prevail. Your reinforcements are not coming, and Massilia is a city of merchants,
not soldiers. You are alone. Attack now, and prevail. Wait . . . and Roma itself will crumble, and be
forgotten in a hundred years."

The womanтАФthe girlтАФhad gone too far. "Who are you? What filthy druid magic is this? What mad
Gaulish god whispers in your ear?"

"If I tell you, will you really listen? It's a long story, and a strange one. You may think me madтАФand