"Stephen Lawhead - Celtic Crusades 02 - The Black Rood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

misguided boy, will shortly follow them to the grave.
The Saracens insist that I am the esteemed guest of the Caliph of Cairo. In
truth, this is nothing more than a polite way of saying I am a captive in his
house. They treat me well; indeed, since coming to the Holy Land, I have
not known such courtesy, nor such elegance. Nevertheless, I cannot leave
the palace until the caliph has seen me. It is for him to decide my fate. I
know too well what the outcome will be.
Be that as it may, the great caliph is pursuing enemies in the south and is
not expected to return to the city for a goodly while. Thus, I have time
enough, and liberty, to set down what can be told about our great and
noble purpose so you will know why your father risked all he loved best in
life for a single chance to obtain that prize which surpasses all others.
Some of what I shall write is known to you. If this grows tedious, I ask
you to bear with me, and remember that this, my last testament, is not for
you alone, my heart, but for those who will join us in our labours in days
to come. God willing, all will be told before the end.
So now, where to begin? Let us start with the day Torf-Einar came back
from the dead.
I was with your grandfather Murdo at the church, helping to oversee the
builders working there. The previous summer we had purchased a load of
cut stone for the arches and thresholds, and were preparing the site for the
arrival of the shipment which was due at any time. Your grandfather and
Abbot Emlyn were standing at the table in the yard, studying the drawings
which Brother Paulus had made for the building, when one of the monks
came running from the fields to say that a boat was putting into the bay.
We quickly assembled a welcome party and went down to meet it. The
ship was small - an island runner only - but it was not from Orkneyjar. Nor
was it one of King Sigurd's fishing boats as some had assumed. The
sailors had rowed the vessel into shallow water and were lifting down a
bundle by the time we reached the cove. There were four boatmen in the
water and three on deck, and they had a board between them which they
were straining to lower. Obviously heavy, they were at pains to keep from
dropping their cargo into the cove.
'They are traders from Eire,' suggested one of the women. 'I wonder what
they have brought?'
'It looks like a heap of old rags,' said another.
The sailors muscled their burden over the rail, and waded ashore. As they
drew nearer, I saw that the board was really a litter with a body strapped to
it. They placed this bundle of cloth and bone before us on the strand, and
stepped away - as if mightily glad to have done with an onerous task. I
thought it must be the body of some poor seaman, one of their own
perhaps, who had died at sea.
No sooner had they put it down, however, than this corpse began to shout
and thrash about. 'Unbind me!' it cried, throwing its thin limbs around. 'Let
me up!'
Those on the strand gave a start and jumped back. Murdo, however,
stepped closer and bent over the heaving mass of tatters. 'Torf?' he said,
stooping near. 'Is that you, Torf-Einar?'
To the amazement of everyone looking on, the near-corpse replied, 'And
who should it be but myself? Unbind me, I say, and let me up.'