"R. A. MacAvoy - Damiano" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

answer.
Someone had noticed. It was old Marco; even war
and occupation of the city by the enemy could not keep
him from his place beside the well, squatting on his
haunches with a bottle of Alusto's poorest wine.
Damiano, at this distance, could not make out his face,
but he knew it was Marco by his position and by the
filthy red wool jacket he wore. Damiano would have to
pass right by the old man, and he would have to speak
to him, since Marco had been one of Guillermo
Delstrego's closest friends. Perhaps his only friend.
Marco was, however, insufferable, and as Damiano
passed he only bowed in the general direction of the
well and called, "Blessing on you, Marco," hoping the
old sot had passed out already. Quite possibly he had,
since it was already the middle of the afternoon.
"Hraaghh?" Marco had not passed out. He jack-
knifed to his feet and strode over to Damiano, holding
the wine bottle aggressively in one sallow hand. Mac-
chiata yawned a shrill canine yawn and drooped her
tail, knowing what was coming. Damiano felt about the
same.
"Dami Delstrego? I thought you had flown to the
hills three days ago, just ahead of the Green Count's
army."
Damiano braced his staff diagonally in front of him
and leaned on it. "Flown? Fled, you mean? No, Marco.
You haven't seen me for three days because I've been
tending a pot. You know how it is in November; people
want my father's phlegm-cutting tonic for the winter,
and when I say I'm not a doctor, they don't hear me.
"Why did you think I'd run away?"
 Marco waved his bottle expansively, but very little
of the contents splashed out. "Because they all have.
Every man with any money in the village..."
"City, not village," corrected Damiano under his
breath, unable to let the slight pass, yet hoping Marco
would not hear him.
"And every young fellow with two arms that could
hold a spear, and all the women of any age, though
some of those old hens are flattering themselves, I will
tell you..."
"Why did they leave, and for where?" Damiano
spoke louder.
"Why?" Marco drew back and seemed to expand.
Damiano sighed and cast his eyes to the much dis-
turbed dust of the street. Nothing good had ever come
from Marco swelling like that.
"Why? You juicy mozzarella! To save their soft little
lives, of course. Are you so addled with your books