"Paul Kearney - Monarchies of God 4 - The Second Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kearney Paul)

тАЬWe should throw him overboard.тАЭ

тАЬYou do, and you can pilot this damned ship yourself, and see how far you get with her.тАЭ

The two glared at one another with naked hatred, before Hawkwood turned and leaned his weight
against the trembling tiller with the others once more, keeping the carrack on her easterly course. Pointing
her towards home.

And in the hold below their feet, the beast howled in chorus with the storm.



26th Day of Miderialon, Year of the Saint 552.

Wind NNW, backing. Heavy gale. Course SSE under reefed mainsail, running before the wind.
Three feet of water in the well, pumps barely keeping pace with it.



Hawkwood paused. He had his knees braced against the heavy fixed table in the middle of the
stern-cabin and the inkwell was curled up in his left fist, but even so he had to strain to remain in his seat.
A heavy following sea, and the carrack was cranky for lack of ballast, the water in her hold moving with
every pitch. At least with a stern wind they did not feel the lack of the mizzen so much.

As the shipтАЩs movement grew less violent, he resumed his writing.



Of the two hundred and sixty-six souls who left Abrusio harbour some seven and a half months
ago, only eighteen remain. Poor Garolvo was washed overboard in the middle watch, may God
have mercy on his soul.



Hawkwood paused a moment, shaking his head at the pity of it. To have survived the massacre in the
west, all that horror, merely to be drowned when home waters were almost in sight.



We have been at sea almost three months, and by dead-reckoning I estimate our easting to be
some fifteen hundred leagues, though we have travelled half as far as that again to the north. But
the southerlies have failed us now, and we are being driven off our course once more. By
cross-staff reckoning, our latitude is approximately that of Gabrion. The wind must keep backing
around if it is to enable us to make landfall somewhere in Normannia itself. Our lives are in the
hand of God.



тАЬThe hand of God,тАЭ Hawkwood said quietly. Seawater dripped out of his beard on to the battered log