"Katherine Kurtz - Camber 1 - Camber Of Culdi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

had given him only the religious name of his grandson- Benedictus-and not his
secular one. If he ever did want to locate the man, it was going to be very
difficult.
With a troubled mind, he slipped the coin into the pouch at his belt and moved
toward the door. There he paused to collect his wits, to resume his
professional demeanor, to steel himself for the servants and the waiting
priest. A last glance at the old man, and then he opened the door.
"It is finished, my lord?" the priest asked.
Rhys nodded. "The end was easy. He did not suffer much."
The priest bowed, then slipped past Rhys to begin chanting the final prayers,
the servants slowly sinking to their knees around the doorway, some of them
weeping softly. As the words drifted out of the room, Rhys, suddenly very
tired, picked his way slowly down the stairs to where Gifford awaited him.
Gifford stood as his master approached, clutching Rhys's medical pouch to his
chest.
"Is it over, master?"
Rhys nodded, then gestured for Gifford to open the door and proceed.
Yes, it's over, he thought to himself, as they stepped into the street again.
Or, is it only just beginning?

chapter three
Then give place to the physician, for the Lord hath created him: let him not
go from thee, for thou hast need of him.
-Ecclesiasticus 38:12

It was raining steadily by the next morning, when Rhys Thuryn drew rein before
the Abbey of Saint Liam. Unaccompanied by any servant or attendant, he had
ridden most of the night to reach the abbey, for the coin Daniel had given him
would not let him sleep. He dismounted and led his horse beneath the eaves
extending around the courtyard, then waited until a young novice came to take
charge of the animal. His leather cloak was nearly soaked through, his fur
leggings spattered with mud. Rain dripped from his cap and the ends of his
hair as he strode into the shelter of the cloister walk and scanned the area.
He had been to Saint Liam's many times before, of course-had studied here with
Joram, years ago, before he had discovered his talents in the healing arts.
The memories were happy ones, of more carefree days.
But the reason for his visit today was not mere nostalgia. For, of the men
Rhys knew he could trust, there was but one who might know the origin of the
worn silver coin now lying in the pouch at his waist. Joram MacRorie, Rhys's
boyhood companion and probably his closest friend, was currently a master here
at the abbey school. If Rhys's information proved to be correct, and the man
Benedict in the unknown monastery really was the Haldane heir, then it was
also Joram who would know how best to use that knowledge for the good of all
concerned.
With a sigh, Rhys swept off his sodden cap and began to make his way along the
roofed cloister walk toward the Chapter House, ruffling his gloved fingers
through wet, unruly hair. Joram would not be in the Chapter House at this
hour, of course. Chapter would have been concluded hours ago, before most folk
were even rising for the day.
But the schoolrooms and the quarters of the schoolmasters lay through the