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

and eat, Cennedi!тАЭ she cried between the gusts of wind, her deep voice booming out from her full
bosom. тАЬCome and eat, or I shall use it to fatten the hogs in the forest!тАЭ
Faces turned toward her, activity lessened for a moment. Satisfied, she went indoors, and soon the
cessation of noise from outside assured her the geese had been penned at last. Brian came trudging
home, covered with mud, and was followed almost immediately by the vast troop of his brothers,
returning from the hilly pasturage where they tended the cattle, the тАЬwalking goldтАЭ of the Dal Cais.
They came in one by one and two by two, tall young men and stripling boys, peeling off their wet bratts
and shaking water everywhere as they hung the dripping cloaks close to the fire to dry. They lined up at
the hearth, where Bebinn bent over her cauldron, so that each might kiss his mother after his own fashion.
Lachtna and Niall and Echtigern. Donncuan, who was to replace BrigidтАЩs father one day as chief
herdsman. Dermott and Muiredach and Conn the
Quarrelsome. Benin and Marcan and Anluan, with his perpetual cough.
Sitting on his little three-legged stool by the fire, reveling in the smells of his motherтАЩs cooking, Brian
watched the doorway eagerly until MahonтАЩs broad shoulders filled it. He knew that sometime during the
evening he could expect a tongue-lashing from his father; but that would be all right, he could bear it, if he
could look up and see MahonтАЩs slight smile and subtle wink.
His other brothers did not notice him sitting there in smallness. Even Anluan, nearest him in age, only paid
him the attention of sticking out his tongue as he shoved past to salute Bebinn.
Cennedi would not come in to his own hearth and dinner until the men of Boruma were home and the
dayтАЩs business ended. Bebinn believed in discipline and self-restraint for her sons, but she did not expect
the impossible; as soon as Mahon arrived she began handing out the crusty loaves of bread, and ladling
thick chunks of meat from the pot.
Every edible that came to her hand was simmering in that pot: beef and fowl, with grain and herbs and
mushrooms from the woods beyond the compound. Niall had even devised a little tray that his mother
could put beneath roasting meat, so that the drippings could be caught and saved for her fragrant stews.
The meal was not a quiet one. Each boy customarily strove to outdo the others in his ability to talk with
his mouth full.
тАЬThere will be too many cows of breeding age this spring; the red bull can never cover them all.тАЭ
тАЬNonsense! YouтАЩre just saying that because you want to try that gangly brown calf of yours on some of
the cows. But heтАЩs no good for breeding; youтАЩve spoiled him rotten and ruined his temper.тАЭ
тАЬI have not! I raised him myself because he was orphaned, but I never spoiled him. HeтАЩs the best young
bull weтАЩve ever had, and heтАЩll be given the entire herd someday. Just ask Mahon, if you donтАЩt believe
me!тАЭ
The two boysтАФneither of whom had any say over the
policies of breedingтАФturned to Mahon as the final arbiter of their dispute. Mahon helped himself to a
steaming goblet of meat, chewed it reflectively, winked down the table at Brian, and began wiping out his
bowl with his bread.
тАЬIt seems to me,тАЭ he said at last, тАЬthat there is something to be said for both bulls. We must observe Liam
and our father closely and see what they decide. Perhaps they will use the red one on the majority of the
herd, and try the brown on the cows who need more vigor in their calves. But weтАЩll wait and see, and
IтАЩm certain weтАЩll all learn something.тАЭ
The air grew thick with the smell of food, and smoke, and damp clothes drying on warm young bodies.
One of the tribeswomen arrived to help Bebinn just as Cennedi himself тАШ appeared at last in the doorway,
followed by a stooped gray-beard wearing a silk-lined bratt.
тАЬWelcome, Fiacaid!тАЭ Bebinn hailed the oldster in the nightly ritual. тАЬWill you do us the honor of sharing
our evening meal?тАЭ
The old man bowed his acceptance and took the seat of honor at CennediтАЩs right hand, the place that
was his from long custom. He was old, and frail, the nobly sculptured bones of his face hidden behind a
network of lines like the creases in parchment, yellow and dead. Only his bright eyes were alive, glittering
wetly beneath his tangled brows. The years of his maturity had been given in service to the Dal I Cais as