"Sharon K. Penman - The Sunne In Splendour" - читать интересную книгу автора (Penman Sharon K)

and was awarded the last of the sugared comfits as his prize. The sun was warm, the air fragrant with the
last flowering of September. Richard rolled over onto his stomach to escape Ned, who was bent upon
tickling his nose with a strand of Joan's hair. After a while, he fell asleep. When he awoke, the blanket
had been tucked around him and he was alone. Sitting up abruptly, he saw his pony and Joan's mare still
hitched across the clearing. Ned's white stallion, however, was gone.
Richard was more hurt than alarmed. He didn't think it was quite fair for them to go off and leave him
while he slept, but adults were often less than fair with children and there was little to be done about it.
He settled down on the blanket to wait for them to come back for him; it never for a moment occurred to
him that they wouldn't. He rummaged in the basket, finished what was left of the manchet bread, and
lying on his back, watched clouds forming over his head.
Soon, however, he grew bored and decided it was permissible to explore the clearing while he awaited
their return. Much to his delight, he
discovered a shallow stream, a narrow ribbon of water that wound its way through the grass and off into
the surrounding trees. Lying flat on his stomach by the bank, he thought he could detect silvery shadows
darting about in the icy ripples, but try as he might, he was unable to capture even one of the ghostly little
fish.
It was as he was lying there that he saw the fox. On the other side of the stream, watching him with
unblinking black eyes, so still it might have been a carven image of a fox rather than one of flesh and
blood. Richard froze, too. Less than a fortnight ago, he'd found a young fox cub abandoned in the
meadows around the village. For more than a week, he'd tried to gentle the wild creature, with limited
success, and when he'd carelessly let his mother see the teeth marks in the palm of his hand, she'd given
him the choice of freeing it or drowning it. Now he felt a throb of excitement, an absolute certainty that
this was his former pet. With infinite care he sat up, searched for stepping-stones to cross the stream.
The fox faded back into the woods, but without apparent alarm. Encouraged, Richard followed after it.
An hour later, he was forced to concede that he'd lost both fox and his way. He'd wandered far from the
clearing where the horses were hitched. When he shouted for Ned, he heard only the startled rustling of
woodland creatures responding to a human voice. As the afternoon ebbed away, the clouds continued to
gather; at last, all blue was smothered in grey and soon after, a light warming rain began to fall. Richard
had been attempting to chart his path by the sun, knowing that Ludlow lay to the east. Now he was
completely at a loss, and felt the first stirrings of fear, until with the coming of dark, he gave way to panic.
He wasn't sure how long he huddled under the beech. Time seemed to have lost its familiar properties,
minutes to have lengthened into unrecognizable proportions. He tried counting backwards from one
hundred, but there were queer gaps in his memory, and he found himself fumbling for numbers he should
have known without hesitation.
"Dickon! Shout if you can hear me!"
Relief rose in Richard's throat with the intensity of pain. "Here, Edmund, I'm here!" he cried and within
moments, he was being lifted up onto his brother's horse.
With one arm holding Richard securely in the saddle, Edmund skillfully turned his mount, gave the animal
its head to find its way through the thick tangle of underbrush. Once they emerged into a splash of
moonlight, he subjected Richard to a critical appraisal.
"Well, you're bedraggled enough, in truth! But be you hurt, Dickon?"
"No, just hungry." Richard smiled, somewhat shyly. Edmund, who was sixteen, was not as approachable
as Ned, was much more apt to react
with impatience or, when provoked, with a quick cuff around the ears.
"You owe me for this, Little Brother. I assure you I've more pleasant ways to pass my nights than
prowling the woods for you! The next time you take it into your head to run away, I rather think I'll wait
and let the wolves find you first."
Richard could not always tell when Edmund was serious. This time, however, he caught a telltale glint,
knew Edmund was teasing, and laughed.
"There are no wolves . . ." he began, and then the import of Edmund's words struck him.