"David Gemmell - The Complete Chronicles of the Jerusalem Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

A rabbit leapt from the brush, startling the gelding. Shannow saw the creature vanish into the
undergrowth and then uncocked the long-barrelled pistol, sliding it back into the scabbard at his hip.
He could not recall drawing it clear. Such was the legacy of the years of peril - fast hands, a sure eye
and a body that reacted independently of the conscious mind.
Not always a good thing . . . Shannow would never forget the look of blank incomprehension in the
child's eyes as the lead ball clove his heart. Nor the way his frail body had crumpled lifeless to the
earth. There had been three Brigands that day and one had shot Shannow's horse out from under him,
while the other two ran forward with knife and axe. He had destroyed them all in scant seconds, but a
movement behind caused him to swivel and fire. The child had died without a sound.
Would God ever forgive him?
Why should he, when Shannow could not forgive himself?
'You were better off losing, Goliath,' said Shannow.
The wind changed and a stomach-knotting aroma of frying bacon drifted to him from the east.
Shannow tugged the reins to the right. After a quarter of a mile the trail rose and fell and a narrow
path opened on to a meadow and a stone-fronted farmhouse. Before the building was a vegetable
garden and beyond it a paddock where several horses were penned.
There were no defence walls and the windows of the house were wide and open. To the left of the
building the trees had been allowed to grow to within twenty yards of the wall, allowing no field of
fire to repel Brigands. Shannow sat and stared for some time at this impossible dwelling. Then he saw
a child carrying a bucket emerge from the barn beyond the paddock. A woman walked out to meet
him and ruffled his blond hair.

10
 THE COMPLETE CHRONICLES OF THE JERUSALEM MAN

Shannow scanned the fields and meadows for sign of a man. At last, satisfied that they were alone, he
edged the gelding out on to open ground and approached the building. The boy saw him first and ran
inside the house.


Donna Taybard's heart sank as she saw the rider and she fought down panic as she lifted the heavy
crossbow from the wall. Placing her foot in the bronze stirrup she dragged back on the string, but
could not notch it.
'Help me, Eric.' The boy joined her and together they cocked the weapon. She slid a bolt into place
and stepped on to the porch. The rider had halted some thirty feet from the house and Donna's fear
swelled as she took in the gaunt face and deep-set eyes, shadowed under the wide-brimmed hat. She
had never seen a Brigand, but had anyone asked her to imagine one this man would have leapt from
her nightmares. She lifted the crossbow, resting the heavy butt against her hip.
'Ride on,' she said. 'I have told Fletcher we shall not leave, and I will not be forced.'
The rider sat very still, then he removed his hat. His hair was shoulder-length and black, streaked
with silver, and his beard showed a white fork at the chin.
'I am a stranger, Lady, and I do not know this Fletcher. I do not seek to harm you - I merely smelt the
bacon and would trade for a little. I have Barta coin and . . .'
'Leave us alone,' she shouted. The crossbow slipped in her grip, dropping the trigger bar against her
palm. The bolt flashed into the air, sailing over the rider and dropping by the paddock fence.
Shannow walked his horse to the paddock and dismounted, retrieving the bolt. Leaving the gelding,
he strolled back to the house.
Donna dropped the bow and pulled Eric into her side. The boy was trembling, but in his hand he held
a long kitchen knife; she took it from him and waited as the man approached. As he walked he
removed his heavy leather top-coat and draped it over his arm. It was then that she saw the heavy