"Michael Flynn - Eifelheim" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

it might bite him once again. тАЬYou are a froward rooster,тАЭ he told the pitcher, тАЬto peck me like

that.тАЭ The rooster, unmoved by the admonition, was returned to his place.
When he wiped his hands on a towel he noticed that his hairs stood away, as a dogтАЩs fur might

bristle before a fight. Curiosity wrestled with dread. He pulled the sleeve of his cassock back and

saw how his arm hairs rose also. It reminded him of something, long ago, but the memory
wouldnтАЩt come clear.

Recalling his duties, he dismissed the puzzle and crossed to the predieu, where the dying

candle sputtered. He knelt, crossed himself and, pressing his hands together, gazed at the iron
cross upon the wall. Lorenz, that very smith who prowled at the base of the hill, had fashioned

the sacramental from an assortment of nails and spikes and, although it did not look much like a

man upon a cross, it seemed as if it might, if only one looked deeply enough. Retrieving his
breviary from the shelf of the predieu, he opened it to where he had marked his morning office

with a ribbon the day before.

тАЬThe hairs of your head are all numbered,тАЭ he read from the prayer for Matins. тАЬDo not be
afraid. You are of more value than many sparrowsтАжтАЭ And why that prayer on this particular

day? It was too appropriate by far. He glanced again at the hairs on the back of his hand. A
sign? But if so, of what? тАЬThe saints will exult in glory,тАЭ he continued. тАЬThey will rejoice upon

their couches. Give us the joy of communion with Sixtus and his companions in eternal beatitude.

This we ask of Thee through our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.тАЭ
Flynn: Eifelheim Page 5 of 467



Of course. Today was the feast-day of Pope Sixtus II, and so the prayer for martyrs was
called for. He knelt in silent meditation upon the steadfastness of that man, even in the face of

death. A man so good as to be remembered eleven centuries after his murder тАУ beheaded at the

very celebration of the Mass. Above the tomb of Sixtus, which Dietrich himself had seen in the
cemetery of Callistus, Pope Damasus had later inscribed a poem; and while the verses were not so

good a poem as Sixtus had been a man, they told his story well enough.

We had better popes in those days, Dietrich thought and then immediately chastised himself.
Who was he to judge another? The Church today, if not overtly persecuted by kings themselves

nominally Christian, had become a plaything of the French crown. Subordination was a more