"Martin, George R R - The hedge knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

george rr martin - thehedgeknightThe Hedge Knight
A Tale of the Seven Kingdoms

George R.R. Martin


The story offered here takes place about a hundred years prior to the events
described in УA Game of ThronesФ



The spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the
grave. He chose a spot on the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had
always loved to watch the sunset. УAnother day done,Ф he would sigh, Уand who
knows what the morrow will bring us, eh, Dunk?Ф
Well, one morrow had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one
after had brought wet gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the
old man was too weak to ride. And now he was gone. Only a few days past, he had
been singing as they rode, the old song about going to Gulltown to see a fair
maid, but instead of Gulltown heТd sung of Ashford. Off to Ashford to see the
fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug.
When the hole was deep enough, he lifted the old manТs body in his arms and
carried him there. He had been a small man, and slim; stripped of hauberk, helm,
and sword belt, he seemed to weigh no more than a bag of leaves. Dunk was hugely
tall for his age, a shambling, shaggy, big-boned boy of sixteen or seventeen
years (no one was quite certain which) who stood closer to seven feet than to
six, and had only just begun to fill out his frame. The old man had often
praised his strength. He had always been generous in his praise. It was all he
had to give.
He laid him out in the bottom of the grave and stood over him for a time. The
smell of rain was in the air again, and he knew he ought to fill the hole before
the rain broke, but it was hard to throw dirt down on that tired old face. There
ought to be a septon here, to say some prayers over him, but he only has me. The
old man had taught Dunk all he knew of swords and shields and lances, but had
never been much good at teaching him words.
УIТd leave your sword, but it would rust in the ground,Ф he said at last,
apologetic. УThe gods will give you a new one, I guess. I wish you didnТt die,
ser.Ф He paused, uncertain what else needed to be said. He didnТt know any
prayers, not all the way through; the old man had never been much for praying.
УYou were a true knight, and you never beat me when I didnТt deserve it,Ф he
finally managed, Уexcept that one time in Maidenpool. It was the inn boy who ate
the widow womanТs pie, not me, I told you. It donТt matter now. The gods keep
you, ser.Ф He kicked dirt in the hole, then began to fill it methodically, never
looking at the thing at the bottom. He had a long life, Dunk thought. He must
have been closer to sixty than to fifty, and how many men can say that? At least
he had lived to see another spring.
The sun was westering as he fed the horses. There were three; his swaybacked
stot, the old manТs palfrey, and Thunder, his warhorse, who was ridden only in
tourney and battle. The big brown stallion was not as swift or strong as he had
once been, but he still had his bright eye and fierce spirit, and he was more