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

that, I can imagine how boorish the man must have been."
"If we execute every boor in Gwynedd, I think there will be few folk left."
Camber smiled wryly. "However you feel about Rannulf as a person, he did not
deserve death-and certainly not the sort of death he met." He paused. "I
assume, since you know of the incident, that you also know the details of the
murder?"
"Only that it was not a pretty sight."
"And it was not the work of our peasants, though the king's agents would have
it so," Camber retorted. He stood and leaned his arm against the mantelpiece,
his thumb tracing the wood graining on the goblet in his hand. "Rannulf was
hanged, drawn, and quartered, Evaine, in as professional a manner as I have
ever seen. The peasants of this village aren't capable of such finesse.
Besides, the king's Truth-Readers have already probed the hostages and learned
nothing. Some of the villagers think-mind you, they think- that it may have
been the work of the Willimites. But no one really knows, or can supply any
names."
Evaine snorted derisively. "The Willimites! Yes, I suppose Rannulf would have
been a likely target. There's been talk that a child was molested last week in
one of Rannulf's villages a few miles from here. Did you know that?"
"Are you implying that Rannulf was responsible?"
Evaine arched an eyebrow at him. "The villagers think so. And it's well known
that Rannulf kept a catamite at his castle in Eastmarch. He was nearly
excommunicated last year, until he bought off his local bishop. The Willimites
may have decided that the time had come to take matters into their own hands.
Saint Willim was a martyr from Deryni ill-use, you know."
"You hardly need remind me of my history, daughter," Camber smiled. "You've
been talking to Joram again, haven't you?"
"May I not speak with my own brother?"
"Nay, don't ruffle your feathers, child." Camber chuckled. "I shouldn't want
to be accused of fostering ill-will between brother and sister. Only, be a
little prudent with Joram. He's young yet, and a bit impulsive sometimes. If
he and his Michaelines aren't careful, they're liable to have young Imre
breathing down their necks with an inquisition, Deryni or not."
"I know Joram's weaknesses, Father-just as I know yours."
She glanced at him coyly and caught his indulgent expression, then smiled and
stood, relieved by the chance to change the subject.
"May we translate now, Father? I've prepared the next two cantos."
"Have you, now?" he asked. "Very well, bring the manuscript."
With a pleased sigh, Evaine darted to the table and began searching among the
rolls. She located the scroll she was looking for, but before she could turn
away her eye was caught by a small, pale golden stone lying beside one of the
inkwells. She picked it up.
"What is this?"
"What?"
"This curious golden stone. Is it a gem?"
Camber smiled and shook his head. "Not really. The mountain folk in Kierney
call it shiral. It comes out of the river that way, already polished. Bring it
here and I'll show you something peculiar about it."
Evaine returned to her chair and sat, settling the forgotten scroll in her lap
as she held the stone to the firelight. It glittered, slightly translucent,