"David Gemmel - Troy 02 - Shield of Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)Brought to you by Winterborn
Sheild of Thunder (Troy Book @) By David Gemmel PROLOGUE A cold wind blew down from the snow-covered mountains, hissing through the narrow streets of Thebe Under Plakos. Snow was falling in icy flurries from the dark clouds massing over the city. Few citizens were on the streets that night, and even the guards at the palace huddled close to the gate, their heavy woolen cloaks drawn tightly around them. Inside the palace there was an air of increasing panic as the pain-filled day drifted into a night of screams and anguish. People gathered, silent and fearful, in the cold corridors. Every now and again there came a flurry of activity as servants ran from the queenтАЩs bedchamber to fetch bowls of water or fresh cloths. Close to midnight the hooting of an owl could be heard, and the waiting courtiers glanced at one another. Owls were birds of ill omen. All knew that. The cries of pain began to fade to soft moans, the queenтАЩs strength all but gone. The end was close. There would be no joyous birth, only death and mourning. The Trojan ambassador, Heraklitos, tried to maintain an air of heavy concern. It was not easy, for he had not met Queen Olektra and cared nothing if she lived or died. And despite his ambassadorтАЩs robes of white wool and the long sheepskin cloak, he was cold, his feet numb. He closed his eyes and tried to warm himself with thoughts of the riches he would earn from this journey. His mission in Thebe Under Plakos had been twofold: to secure the trade routes and to deliver gifts from TroyтАЩs young king, Priam, thus establishing a treaty of friendship between the neighboring cities. Troy was growing fast under PriamтАЩs inspirational leadership, and HeraklitosтАФlike many othersтАФwas growing wealthier by the day. However, many of the most valuable trade goodsтАФperfumes, spices, ravaged by roving bands of brigands or deserters. Outlaw chiefs held the high passes and demanded taxes from caravans traveling through. PriamтАЩs soldiers had cleared many of the routes close to Troy, but to the south, in Thebe, beneath the shadow of mighty Mount Ida, it was King Ektion who ruled. Heraklitos had been sent to encourage the king to gather more troops and campaign against the brigands. The mission had been succesful. Even now Ektion was raiding deep into the mountains, destroying bandit towns and clearing the trade routes. All that remained was for Heraklitos to offer congratulations on the birth of the new babe, and then he could journey back to his palace in Troy. He had been away too long already, and there were many pressing matters awaiting him. The queen had gone into labor late the previous day, and Heraklitos had ordered his servants to be ready to depart early this morning. Yet here he was, at midnight on the second day, standing in a drafty corridor. Not only had the promised babe failed to arrive, Heraklitos could tell from the fearful looks on the faces of the people around him that a tragedy was looming. Priests of Asklepios, the god of healing, had been called for, and they had scurried into the royal apartments to aid the three midwives already in attendance. A bull was being sacrificed in the courtyard below. Heraklitos had no choice but to stand and wait. To leave would be seen as a sign of disrespect. It was most annoying, for when the unfortunate woman died, the city would go into mourning, and Heraklitos would be obliged to wait days for the funeral. He saw a hawk-faced old woman staring at him. тАЬA sad, sad day,тАЭ he said solemnly, trying to muster a tone of infinite sorrow. He had not seen her arrive, but she was standing now, leaning on a carved staff, her expression set, her eyes dark and fierce, her white hair uncombed and framing her head like a lionтАЩs mane. She was wearing a long gray robe, an owl embroidered upon the breast with silver thread. A priestess of Athene, then, he thought. тАЬThe child will not die,тАЭ she said, тАЬfor she has been blessed by the goddess. Though the queen will if these fools do not call upon me.тАЭ |
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