"Katherine Kurtz - Knights Templar 01 - Temple and the Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

seas not long after first light."

The weatherman's predictions were borne out within the next few hours. Darkness yielded to an
uncertain dawn, under ominously lowering skies. The ship's crew went grimly to work, dousing the
lanterns and lashing down everything on deck that was not already secure. When the sail had been
trimmed and the hatches closed, the captain and the helmsmen took to their stations fore and aft and
braced themselves for the coming gale.

With the arrival of the first squall, the little Princess Margaret succumbed to retching seasickness and had
to be confined to her bed while the ship plunged and rolled. By midday, most of her personal attendants
were similarly affected, as well as a few of the crew. Bishop Narve and the young canon who served as
his secretary were among the few to be spared, and set themselves to caring for those who were not.
Meanwhile, the ship's helmsman fought to keep her headed into the waves, in the teeth of a blustering
wind and a day that never really got light.

Arnault had been to sea often enough to be accustomed to stormy weather. When Brian de Jay proved
equally resilient in keeping his sea legs and the contents of his stomach, the two Templars joined the crew
in helping keep the ship battened down against the storm, which continued throughout that day and all
through the night without any sign of abating.

By morning, the state of the ship's passengers was one of abject misery. Every roll of the vessel drew
groans from those lying prostrate on their pallets. The air trapped in the makeshift sleeping
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accommodations smelled sourly of sickness as Arnault made his staggering way to the little princess's
curtained alcove.

Here he found Bishop Narve and Freu Ingabritt, the little Maid's favorite lady-in-waiting, attempting to
ease the child's sufferings with infusions of herbs and other folk remedies. The elderly prelate was
cradling the little girl in his arms with a grandfather's tenderness, singing softly to her in the Norse tongue.
The simple rhymes and melodies were those of folksong and lullabye.

"How is she?" Arnault asked from the entryway.

The bishop looked up, his expression grave. "Not well, FrтАЪre Arnault. So young a child is too delicate for
rigors such as these. If this storm does not soon abate, I fear she may not survive the journey."

All that day and the next, the ship rode the storm like a leaf in a millrace, making but little headway.
Towering waves tossed the ship like a toy, often crashing over the prow and sending sheets of foam
racing the length of the deck. Crew and passengers alike spent their fifth night at sea without heat or
comfort. On the morning of the sixth day, the ship's timbers began to crack, and the hull began letting in
water. As most of the able-bodied were set to bailing, others helped move Princess Margaret and her
attendants out onto the deck, in case the ship should founder and they be trapped inside.

Oilskins and blankets were rigged to create a berth for them under the forecastle, but this was poor
shelter at best. The little Maid herself seemed wholly insensible to her surroundings, and lay white and
motionless in Bishop Narve's arms, with only the merest flutter of a pulse to show that she still lived.