"Lawhead,.Stephen.-.Celtic.Crusades.01.-.Iron.Lance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

The bishop frowned. 'Please, you must be patient. No doubt the matter can be disentangled when the claimants have returned from pilgrimage to resume the governance of their estates.'
'What would you have us do until then?' demanded Niamh. 'Beg in the marketplace like paupers?'
'The convent is ever -' began the abbot.
But Niamh was no longer listening. 'Come away, Murdo. There is no justice for us here.'
She turned her back on the churchmen, and walked to the door. Murdo glared at the men with all the hate his soul could muster, and felt the awful impotence of frustrated rage. 'You will curse the day you slandered my father and sided against us,' he said, his voice trembling with fury. 'Hear me! Murdo Ranulfson makes this vow.'
'Come away, Murdo,' his mother called from the door. 'Do not waste your breath on them.'
Murdo, still glaring at the clerics, took a slow step backwards. 'You know well the worth of a vow made on holy ground. Mark me, and remember.'
The abbot made to speak, but the bishop waved him silent, and Murdo and his mother stepped into the anteroom. Murdo saw the table where the abbot had been sitting - two other monks now hovered over the document the abbot had been studying. Murdo strode to the table, snatched up the ink pot and dashed it over the parchment. Black ink splashed everywhere. The horrified monks shrieked, one threw his hands above his head, while the other began pawing at the ruined manuscript in a desperate effort to save it.
Murdo, allowing his anger full rein, raised his foot, put his boot against the table, and shoved with all his might. The sturdy thing tilted and slammed to the floor with a colossal crash, scattering documents and smashing the ink pot.
Other monks, hearing the commotion, rushed into the room, saw the overturned table, and flew at Murdo. He dodged aside, but one of them seized him by the arm, and the others fell on him.
'Remove him!' shouted the abbot from the doorway.
The monks hauled Murdo to his feet and dragged him away.
'Let him go!' cried Niamh, rushing to his aid.
One of the clerics, in his excitement, put out his hand and pushed her aside. Murdo saw her fall and, gripping his captors' arms tightly, swung both feet into the hapless cleric's face. His foot struck the man squarely on the chin. The man's head snapped back on his shoulders and he dropped like a felled tree. Meanwhile, the force of Murdo's kick unbalanced the monks who held him and they all collapsed in a heap on the floor, taking the boy with them.
'Get him out of here!' Abbot Gerardus shouted again, hoarse with rage.
The monks, still clasping their prisoner tightly, jerked him to his feet once more. The abbot stepped swiftly to where they struggled. 'You stupid, insolent little -' He drew back his hand to strike.
'Enough!' shouted the bishop. He stood in the doorway, his face livid, but his manner composed. 'Enough, I say. This is a house of God and you are behaving shamefully.' He thrust his hand towards the door. 'Lady Niamh, I must ask you to leave this place at once.'
'We are going,' Niamh said tersely. 'Come away, Murdo.'
Murdo shook off his captors' grip, and joined his mother. 'You call this a house of God,' Murdo spat, 'but I see only thieves and cowards.'
The monks started for him again, but Niamh took his arm and drew him quickly away. They hastily retraced their steps back through the cloisters and church, and did not stop again until they were standing in the muddy track outside the cathedral. 'Worse than vipers, the lot of them,' Murdo muttered, still shaking with anger.
'We will have our lands back, never fear,' Niamh assured him. 'When your father returns, we will -'
'What are we to do until then?' asked Murdo. 'What if they do not return until next summer - or even the summer after that? How long must we wait to reclaim what is ours?'
'We can stay at Cnoc Carrach. Ragnhild has offered -'
'You stay at Cnoc Carrach with Ragnhild,' Murdo told her harshly. 'I will not spend another day waiting - not while our home is held by thieves and greedy priests.'
Niamh regarded her son silently for a moment. 'What is in your mind, Murdo?'
'If we cannot take back what is ours until Lord Ranulf returns, then I will go and bring him back.'
'No,' Niamh told him firmly. 'Think what you are saying, son; you cannot go to the Holy Land.'
'Why not? Everyone else is going - even Orin Broad-Foot. Perhaps I will go with him!'
In truth, his thoughts had been scattered and confused. Yet, the moment he spoke the words, everything became clear and simple. Murdo knew what he would do.
Niamh saw the light of grim determination come up in his grey eyes, and recognized in the set of his jaw the stubborn resolve of Lord Ranulf himself. 'No, Murdo,' she repeated. Turning, she started down the track to the harbour where Peder was waiting with the boat. 'I will not hear it.'
She walked a dozen paces and, when Murdo made no attempt to follow, she turned back. 'Stop behaving like a child.'
'Fare well, Mother.'
'Murdo, listen to me.' She walked back to where he stood, and Murdo knew he had won his way. 'You cannot go - not like this. It is impossible.'
'I am going.'
'You must have provisions and money - you cannot simply go off as if it was a market fair. You must be prepared.'
Murdo said nothing, but gazed impassively at his mother.
'Please,' Niamh continued, 'come back to Cnoc Carrach at least, and we will make proper preparation for the journey.'
'Very well,' agreed Murdo at last. 'But when Orin Broad-Foot sets sail for Jerusalem, I will be on that boat.'


THIRTEEN

Night lay heavy on the house and on Murdo's soul. He stared into the darkness, unable to sleep for the ceaseless whirling of his mind. He thought about the journey to come and the trials he might endure, and how he would find his father. Niamh had written a detailed and passionate plea for Ranulf's return, but Murdo reckoned the campaign would probably be .finished by the time he reached Jerusalem, and anyway, he would have little difficulty convincing his father and brothers to hasten home and redress the outrage practiced against them in their absence.
He thought about the wickedness of Bishop Adalbert, and Abbot Gerardus; he cursed them breath and bones. He thought about how he would get himself a place aboard one of King Magnus' ships. Most of all he thought about Ragna. Tomorrow he was leaving Cnoc Carrach, and he did not know when he would return. After being near her every day for the last many weeks, the prospect of not seeing her as she went about her chores, not hearing her voice in the morning as they broke fast together, not being near her and knowing he might catch sight of her at any moment - to be so deprived seemed an almost insufferable hardship.
As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard the creak of a floorboard outside his room, and an instant later the latch of his door lifted. He sat up in bed. The candle had burned low, but he took it up and stood; unable to sleep, he had not bothered to undress. The door swung open and Ragna stepped into the room, pulling the door shut silently behind her.
She saw him standing with the candle, as if he knew she would come and was waiting for her; she smiled and moved quickly to his side, her limping step more prominent with bare feet.
'Ragna, what do you -' he began.
She lay a finger to his lips. 'Shh! Not so loud. Someone will hear us.'
'What are you doing here?'
'Do you want me to leave?'