"Legacy Of Gird - 01 - Surrender None" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

determined not to put the basket down for a rest until he was out of sight of
the house. He wanted to go alone. HeТd begged for the chance, last year, when he
was clearly too small. And this year, when sheТd first told him, heТdЧhe frowned
harder, until he could feel the knot of his brows. HeТd been afraid, after all.
УIТm not afraid,Ф he muttered to himself. УIТm not. IТm big, bigger than the
others.Ф
All along the lanes he saw others walking, carrying baskets slung over an arm or
on a back. A handbasket for each square of bramble-berries; an armbasket for
each tree in its first three years of bearing; a ruckbasket for each smallfruit
tree over three years, and a back-basket for apples in prime. Last year heТd
carried a handbasket in each hand: two handbaskets make an armbasket, last
yearТs fee. This year was the plumТs fourth bearing year, and now they owed the
lord a ruckbasket.
And that leaves us, he thought bitterly, with only an armbasket for ourselves.
It had been a dry year; most of the fruit fell before it ripened. He had heard
his parents discussing it. They could have asked the lordТs steward to change
their fee, but that might bring other trouble.
УItТs not the name I want, a man who argues every measure of his fee,Ф said his
father, leaning heavily on the table. УNo. ItТs better to pay high one year, and
have the lordТs opinion. ТTis not as if we were hungry.Ф
Gird had listened silently. They had been hungry, two years before; he still
remembered the pain in his belly, and his brotherТs gifts of food. Anything was
better than that. Now, as he walked the lane, his belly grumbled; the smell of
the plums seemed to go straight from his nose to his gut. He squinted against
the bright light, trying not to think of it. Underfoot the dust was hot on the
surface, but his feet sank into a coolnessЧwas it damp? Why did wet and cold
feel the same? He saw a puddle left from the rain a week ago, and headed for it
before remembering his motherТs detailed warnings. No puddles, sheТd said; you
donТt come into the lordТs court with dirty feet.
The lane past his fatherТs house curved around a clump of pick-oak and into the
village proper. Gird shifted his basket to the other side, and stumped on. Up
ahead, just beyond the great stone barn where the whole village stored hay and
grain was the corner of the lordТs wall. The lane was choked with people waiting
to go in the gate, children younger than Gird with handbaskets, those his own
age with armbaskets, older ones with ruckbaskets like his. He joined the line,
edging forward as those who had paid their fee came out and left room within.
Once inside the gate, he could just see over taller heads one corner of the
awning over the stewardТs table. As he tried to peek between those ahead of him,
and see more, someone tapped his head with a hard knuckle. He looked around.
УGood looking plums,Ф said Rauf, Oreg the pigherdТs son. УBetter than ours.Ф
Rauf was a hand taller than Gird, and mean besides. Gird nodded, but said
nothing. That was safer with Rauf. УTheyТd look better in my basket, I think.
Eh, Sig?Ф Rauf nudged his friend Sikan in the ribs, and they both grinned at
Gird. УYouТve more than you need, little boy; that basketТs too heavy anyway.Ф
Rauf took a handful of plums off the top of the basket, and Sikan did the same.
УYou stop!Ф Gird forgot that loud voices were not allowed in the lordТs court.
УThose are my plums!Ф
УThey may have been once, but I found them.Ф Rauf shoved Gird hard; he stumbled,
and more plums rolled out of the basket. УFound them all over the ground, I did;
whatТs down is anyoneТs, right?Ф