"Lawhead, Stephen - Albion 02 - The Silver Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

Banfdith of Ynys Sd Doomsayer

1
Doomsayer

We carried the body of Meidryri Mawr down from high Findargad to be
buried in the Hill of Kings. Three horses pulled the wagon: a red and
a white to draw the bier, and a black to lead them. I walked at the
head of the dark horse, guiding the great king's body to its rest.

Six warriors walked on either side of the bier. The horses' hooves and
the wagon's wheels were wrapped with rags, likewise the spear sand
shields of the warriors. The Liwyddi followed, each man, woman and
child carrying an unlit torch.

Burial of a king has been observed in this way from time past
remembering. The wheels and hooves are muffled, so that the bier may
pass silently through the land; the weapons are covered and the torches
unlit, so that no eye will mark the passing procession. Secrecy and
silence are maintained so that the grave mound will never be discovered
and desecrated by an enemy.

As night drew its cloak of stars across the sky, we arrived at Glyn Du,
a narrow valley tributary to the Vale of Modornn. The funeral
procession entered the black glen, moving beside the still, dark water.
The deep-folded valley was darker even than the sky above, which still
glimmered in blue twilight. The grave mound loomed on its hill as a
mass of thick-gathered shadow.

At the foot of Cnoc Righ, the Hill of Kings, I kindled a small fire to
light the torches. As the people took their places, forming two long
lines on either side of the path leading up the hill to the entrance of
the cairn, the flame was passed from torch to torch. This is the
Aryant 0!" the radiant way along which a king is carried to the tomb.
When the people had assembled, I began the funeral rite, saying:

"The sword I bear on my thigh was a wall, high and strong-the bane of
marauding enemies! Now it is broken.

"The tore I bear in my hand was a light of keen judgment-the beacon of
right wise favor shining from the far-off hill. Now it is
extinguished.

"The shield I bear on my shoulder was a platter of plenty in the hail
of honor-the sustenance of heroes. Now it is riven, and the hand that
upheld it is cold.

"The pale white corpse will soon be covered, under earth and blue
stones: Woe my heart, the king is dead.