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

Murdo turned his head to see the round-shouldered monk reclining on his elbows against the rail. 'I was thinking.' He shifted on the grain sacks for a better look at the jovial priest.
'About the crusade, yes?'
Murdo heard the word, but the crusade was so far from his thoughts that for a moment he could not make sense of what the cleric was saying. 'No, not that,' he answered at last. 'I was thinking about my farm - home, I mean.'
'You are wishing you had not left home perhaps,' suggested the monk. 'Ah, fy enaid,' he sighed wistfully. 'I, too, sometimes grow melancholy thinking of my home in blessed Dyfed.'
Murdo had never heard of the place and said so.
'Never heard of Dyfed!' cried the monk, aghast. 'Why, it is the best place on earth. God has showered every gift on that fair realm and the people there are the happiest to be found under Heaven's bright vault. How not? The land abounds in streams and lakes and springs of every kind - all of them flowing with water sweet and good to drink, water that makes the lightest, most delightful ale ever known, water that makes the thirsty kine content and the lambs' wool fine as silk.
'Truly, the weather is never harsh, and the breeze is soft as a mother's breath upon the cheek of her dearling child. The days are warm and the sky always blue as the lark's egg. Never does the stormcloud threaten, less yet conceal the glorious sun, for it rains only at night and then but gently, gently, wetting the land with dew as mild as milk. Thus, every good thing grows in abundance, and one has only to scatter the grainseed wherever he will to reap a bounteous harvest. Everywhere the grass is green and lush, fattening the cattle most remarkably well.'
The rapturous monk gulped down a breath, and plunged on in praise of his magical home. 'The women of Dyfed are beauty and elegance made flesh, and the men are bards and warriors every one. They live together in peaceful harmony, never speaking rudely to one another, much less raising their voices in anger. They spend their days making songs which are the envy of the angels themselves. Indeed, it has often been known that a bard will sing a song before his lord, and that night be taken up to Paradise so that he may teach the Heavenly Choir the blessed refrains he has composed.
'The wealth so coveted by other nations is wholly despised by the Cymry. Gold and silver are mere enticements for craftsmen to take up their tools and practice their masterly arts. The trifles they fashion become adornment for kings and queens, and even children are skilled in making the most wondrous and delicate designs. And.. and...'
Overcome by the memory, Emlyn lapsed into an enraptured silence. Murdo gazed at the man and thought again how odd these monks appeared. Were they, as they professed to be, truly clerics? If so, the church they served must be different by far from the one Murdo knew.
'It seems a most remarkable realm, the way you tell it,' Murdo observed.
Emlyn nodded solemnly. 'I tell you the truth: when Eden was lost to Adam's race, our Kind Creator took pity on his wayward children and gave them Ynys Prydein, and Dyfed is the finest corner of our beloved isle.'
'If it is as you say, I wonder anyone should ever leave it at all.'
'Oh, but that is the very heart and soul of our predicament,' the monk wagged his head sadly from side to side. 'For the Cymry, blessed of the Gifting Giver with all the highest boons, were also given a solitary affliction lest men of other realms and races eat out their hearts in hopeless envy. Heaven's Most Favoured were endowed with an irresistible taithchwant so that they might not become too proud in the enjoyment of their many-splendoured homeland.'
Emlyn spoke with such a soulful longing, that Murdo's heart was moved to hear it. 'What is this tai - taith -
'Taithchwant,' the monk repeated. 'Oh, it is less an affliction than a cruel travail. It is a kind of wanderlust, but more potent than any yearning known to humankind. It is that gnawing discontent which drives a man beyond the walls of paradise to see what lies over the next hill, or to discover where the river ends, or to follow the road to its furthest destination. Truly, there is nothing more powerful, and only one thing that is known to be its equal.'
'What is that?' wondered Murdo, entirely taken in by the monk's sincerity.
'It is the hiraeth,' answered the monk. 'That is, the home-yearning - an aching desire for the green hills of your native land, a matchless longing for the sound of a kinsman's voice, a greedy hunger only satisfied by the food first eaten at your mother's hearth. Alas, the hiraeth is a hankering torment so strong it can bring tears to a man's eyes and make him forget all other loves, and even life itself.'
He sighed. 'So, you see? We are forever pinched between the two most formidable cravings men can know, and therefore we cannot ever be happy to remain in one place very long.'
Murdo admitted that it did seem a very shame, at which thought the cleric brightened once more, and said, 'God is good. He has made us his special messengers, equipping us to take his pure and shining light to a world benighted and lost in darkness. We are the Celщ Dщ,' he proclaimed proudly, 'the Servants of the High King of Heaven, who has abundantly bestowed his grace and favour upon us.' Emlyn leaned close as if to confide a secret; he lowered his voice accordingly. 'Hear me: we are the Keepers of the Holy Light, and the Guardians of the True Path.'


NINETEEN

Raymond of Saint-Gilles, Count of Toulouse and Provence, arrived at Constantinople the day before Bohemond's army was to depart. Having wintered in Rome, where he had been joined by the papal legate Adhemar, Bishop of Le Puy, the count had crossed the Adriatic and landed his army at Dyrrachium. Then, hastened on their way by the governor, the count and bishop had begun the long, uncomfortable climb up through the rough Macedonian hills.
The journey had proven blessedly uneventful, with only a few minor lapses of discipline among troops - unfortunate misunderstandings which resulted in the pillage and destruction of several unsuspecting Byzantine towns, and the temporary imprisonment of Bishop Adhemar by the stern Pecheneg escort the emperor had sent to help speed their journey to its destination. Nevertheless, the troops, though tired, were in good spirits and eager to savour the delights of Byzantium.
Upon reaching the capital, the newcomers saw the armies of Bohemond and Tancred encamped before the great western wall -a city of tents spread upon the plain like an enormous multicoloured cloak flung out to dry on the uneven ground. The first ranks of the straggling warrior host saw their comrades and surged forth in a giddy rush and, unable to hold back their knights and foot soldiers any longer, the leading lords gave the men leave to join their fellow pilgrims in enthusiastic celebration of the successful completion of the first leg of their journey.
Leaving their servants and footmen to pitch the tents and prepare their camp, Raymond and Bishop Adhemar proceeded to Bohemond's enclave. They were greeted by noblemen of the prince's retinue, who welcomed them in their lord's absence.
'Bohemond not here?' demanded Raymond. 'We have been in the saddle for three months without rest. We have come from the pope himself.'
'With all respect, lord,' the foremost knight replied, 'we did not know you would arrive today.' The knight, a kinsman of Bohemond's named Rainuld of Salerno, gestured toward the prince's tent. 'Even so, wine awaits. We will raise cups while ЦС
'Where is Bohemond?' Adhemar interrupted, frowning at the manifest thoughtlessness of the prince.
'He is in consultation with the emperor, Lord Bishop,' Rainuld answered. 'The prince and his family, along with Tancred and some others, are dining at the palace today. They are not expected to return until tonight. But, please, you are most welcome to remain here and take your ease while your own camp is established.'
Raymond, peeved at this lacklustre welcome, sniffed. 'We will take our ease on the day we ride victorious through the gates of Jerusalem - and not before.'
'Does our Lord Christ take his ease while the salvation of the world hangs in the balance?' inquired Adhemar tartly.
'Pray forgive me, lords,' Rainuld replied stiffly. 'I seem to have offended your most noble sentiments. I assure you, I merely thought to make you welcome.'
'We see what manner of welcome the prince provides,' the bishop told him. 'We will return to our camp and trouble you no further.'
With that, they turned and rode back to where their tents were being erected a little to the south and east of Bohemond's forces. Upon arrival, they found an imperial delegation waiting to conduct them to the palace forthwith.
The armies of Hugh, Godfrey, and Baldwin had been shipped across the Bosphorus at last, and Alexius was determined that the latest arrivals should depart as soon as possible. Accordingly, he wasted not a moment in employing the same method with Raymond that had worked so successfully with Bohemond and Tancred: he offered them expensive gifts and provisions for their troops, and promised to assume the cost of conveying their armies across the Bosphorus -- in return for their signatures on the oath of allegiance.
But, where the unpredictable Prince of Taranto had proven remarkably compliant and reasonable, the solid and pious Count of Toulouse and Provence demonstrated an inflexibility normally associated only with four-footed pack animals, and bluntly refused to sign any document which might compromise the special authority granted him by the pope.
'As the first nobleman to take the cross,' Raymond explained patiently, 'I have been honoured to receive my commission from the hand of Pope Urban himself. Therefore, I must respectfully decline the oath you propose.'
Bishop Adhemar, the pope's legate and special envoy, nodded smugly and smiled in righteous superiority. 'The vow you propose, Emperor Alexius, is unnecessary,' he declared grandly. 'A nobleman who has sworn on the Cross of Christ no longer heeds any earthly sovereign, but is answerable to God alone.'
Alexius, almost speechless with anger and dismay - and wearied beyond words by the unrelenting arrogance of the crusaders, gazed down from his throne upon the recalcitrant lords before him. Attended by his drungarius, two magisters, a phalanx of palace Varangi, and assorted excubitori, the Emperor of All Christendom on his golden throne presented an impressive spectacle. Nevertheless, Raymond, hands gripping his swordbelt, remained unmoved.
'Are we to understand,' the emperor intoned, 'that this commission of yours prevents you from acknowledging the superior authority of the Imperial Throne?'
'In no way, Lord Emperor,' Raymond replied graciously. 'I do freely acknowledge it in all areas pertinent to its domain, save one - the leadership of the pilgrimage itself. This honour, as I have explained, has been granted me by His Holiness Pope Urban.'
'We might remind you, Count Raymond, that even Bishop Urban holds his position by our sufferance,' the emperor replied, turning his gaze from the count to Bishop Adhemar. 'Any authority the Patriarch of Rome enjoys derives and flows from this throne. Therefore, the oath which we require in no way subverts or denies your special commission.'
Raymond, gaunt and tall, stared sternly ahead, his face dour and expressionless. 'Be that as it may, it is rumoured in the camps that the emperor has raised Bohemond of Taranto to a position of high authority in the empire. It is said he is to become Grand Domestic of the Imperial Armies.'
At last, thought Alexius with an inward sigh of relief, we come to the source of this prince's pride: he is jealous of Bohemond.
'At the risk of inspiring the emperor's wrath,' Adhemar remarked, 'I would point out that Prince Taranto does not possess His Holiness' sanction and blessing. This has been granted to Count Raymond alone, and I, in my capacity as the pope's legate, have been given a special authority in such matters as -
'These rumours you mention,' the emperor said, interrupting the tedious Adhemar, 'are founded on Bohemond's ambition. While it is true that he has asked for high recognition within the imperial army, we hasten to reassure you, Lord Raymond, we have not acquiesced to Lord Bohemond's hopes of elevation.'
'Be that as it may,' Raymond observed woodenly, 'the crusade must have a leader. As I have been chosen by him who first summoned the valiant to take arms in this holy endeavour, I see no reason to relinquish the small authority I have been granted.' Seeing the colour rising to the emperor's face, the gaunt lord thought to amend his position. 'Naturally,' he added hastily, 'if the emperor was to assume personal leadership of the crusade, he would find me a most loyal and trustworthy vassal.'