"Morgan Llywelyn - Lion Of Ireland" - читать интересную книгу автора (Llywelyn Morgan)

and pens for stock. Beyond the wall were the farming lands of the Dal Cais and the cottages of the
plowmen. Boruma wasтАФalmostтАФa town, and as large a concentration of people as one could find
outside the monasteries and the port cities built by the Norsemen from the distant shores of the place they
called Lochlann.
The geese broke into a waddling run as they drew near the gate of the compound. All winter BrianтАЩs
mother had fattened them in a brush-and-timber pen, feeding them on sprouted grain and bread soaked
in barley water. That memory called strongly to them now.
тАЬYou feed those birds better than you feed me,тАЭ Cennedi liked to complain to his wife; but she always
had the same smiling answer: тАЬYou will get it all eventually, and bad grain and stale bread are much
improved by being converted into fat gooseflesh.тАЭ
тАЬPractical,тАЭ Cennedi sighed to himself, тАЬsheтАЩs so practical.тАЭ Left to his own devices, the chieftain of the
tribe was inclined to daydreaming and grandiose visions. It was his wife who saw that nothing was
wasted, that food was stored in the souterrains each autumn, and that mattresses were replaced and
weapons sharpened in the spring.
Today she was busy in the millerтАЩs shed, grinding flour in the communal stone quern. A handsome woman
who had not outgrown her beauty, Bebinn looked at the world through
calm gray eyes, set in large sockets beneath arching brows She lifted one feathery brow even higher as
the commotion outside announced the arrival of Brian, Brigid, and the geese.
Pouring through the gate, the geese headed straight for their feeding pen, just in time to encounter
CennediтАЩs brace of shaggy wolfhounds returning from some adventure of their own. Forgetting their usual
discipline, the dogs flung themselves joyously into the flock, yapping and snapping in mock attack and
setting off a cacophony of squawks that brought faces peering from doorways throughout the compound.
Within a matter of moments all was chaos. Bebinn remained at the quern, an amused smile curving her
lips. She expected, with justification, that the commotion would become a war and she would be called
upon to pacify it.
Soon enough her husband came storming into the millerтАЩs hut, waving his fists and complaining bitterly
about the amount of peace a man could expect in his own household.
тАЬYour son is out there now, woman, running the feathers off the geese and exciting my hounds so much
theyтАЩll be no good for hunting for a fortnight! CanтАЩt you control that child?тАЭ
тАЬI am controlling him,тАЭ Bebinn responded evenly, not lifting her eyes from her work. тАЬI gave him the job
of minding the fowl,, to teach him discipline and responsibility.тАЭ
тАЬDiscipline! Responsibility! I tell you, heтАЩs out there playing with them, like a wolf harrying lambs! Is that
how you want your geese tended?тАЭ A massive man with graying hair that had once been the same bright
copper as BrianтАЩs, Cennedi had a tendency to turn crimson in the face when he was excited. The more
he blustered and waved his hands, the calmer his wife became.
тАЬHe will always have to make mistakes and suffer for them, if he is to learn,тАЭ she replied. тАЬIt some of the
geese are damaged we will cook and eat them, and he shall watch us do it while he goes hungry. And he
will learn. But there is nothing to be gained if you go out there yelling and adding to the upset.тАЭ
тАЬIt might not do him any good,тАЭ Cennedi retorted, тАЬbut it at mattresses were
will give me a mighty amount of comfort!тАЭ He boiled out of the hut, intent on catching his smallest son and
rendering him incapable of further mischief.
Bebinn released the handle of the quern and wiped her hands on her skirt. She peered out through the
slanting rain, watching as her husband flung himself into the melee. Her eyes were warm with the
tolerance of a woman who has borne and raised a dozen sons.
She pulled her shawl over her silver-threaded dark hair and walked briskly across the compound to her
house. At the door she turned to look again at the seething mass, to which a new element of confusion
had been added as the other Dal Cais menfolk returned from field and pasture. Men were picking their
way among flapping geese and darting dogs, and the earth was churned into a sticky sea of mud. The air
rang with imaginative profanity. Bebinn ran her fingers in an unconscious, loving gesture over the
elaborately carved doorposts of her home, the gleaming wood polished by her frequent caress. тАЬCome