"Melanie Rawn - The Sacrifice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

ever known."
He went to the door and called for the guard, then turned back to face her where she sa
her cotтАФso serene, so certain. "France will become what it was ever meant to be: a provin
of England, as in the days of Henry FitzEmpress and Eleanor d'Aquitaine. Your worthless
Dauphin Charles will never rule here, never. You will fail of your purpose, and fail your
failure of a king."
She appeared unmoved. Her voice was soft, compassionate, as she asked, "Had you
thought, your grace, that although God has sent me here, to this time and this place, to do thi
thing for France, perhaps He has also sent you here to be the means of my death?"
"Thank me for it," he snapped, "when the flames char the flesh from your bones
And he left her alone with her Voices.

Well before dawn the next morningтАФhe slept not at all that nightтАФthe Cardinal of Eng
summoned a certain man to his apartments.
"Take heed, my son. She is to be burned. Completely and utterly annihilated by fire. No
one drop of her blood shall touch the soil of France. Do you understand us?"
"Yes, m'lordтАФI mean, y'r graceтАФy'r worshipтАФ"
"Enough. It is enough that you understand. Leave us. Do your work well, and God shal
reward you."
A little while later he was looking out upon the square of St. Ouen. Platforms were on
either side of the south door of the church; the Bishop of Beauvais and the rest of the clergy
occupied one, and the girl stood on the other. Within the cemetery there was ample space fo
large crowd to collect on the gently sloping ground facing the south door of the church. The
would be plenty of witnesses: noble ones to attest the truth to kings and princes; clerical on
to swear to the Church; common ones to spread word among the people. There would be no
mystery here, no magic.
The herald named him for the crowd. He could hear the capital letters.
"The Most Reverend Father in Christ, Henry, by Divine Permission Priest of the Holy
Roman Church, the Cardinal of England."
He slipped a hand into a pocket of his robes, closing his fingers around the purse that h
been his mother's, containing the ring that had been the girl's. Cauchon had given the ring to
him. He would give it to his daughter when he returned to EnglandтАФand suddenly he longe
for England with all his soul.
The Maid was looking at himтАФhe could swear she was staring him straight in the eyes
she called out in a rough, ringing voice, "I ask you, priests of God, to please say a mass for
soul's salvationтАФ"
Cauchon muttered angrily.
"May I have a crucifix, please? PleaseтАФon a level with my eyes, so that I may see itтАФ
SomeoneтАФhe would never know whoтАФheld up a plain wooden crosier, with the
Suffering Christ carved on it by a crude and awkward hand. Thus had the greatest King of a
died, his blood spilling on the earth. Hers must not.
The faggots were heaped above her knees now. By rights the crowd ought to have been
cheering. Oddly enough, he could hear nothing but the quiet measured beat of his own heart
felt calm, patient, as if waiting for he knew not whatтАФnot the smoke and the flames and the
stench of seared flesh, but something else. It was the sort of interior stillness he experience
sometimes just before Communion. Just before the miracle and the magic of the wine and b
becoming the Blood and Body of Christ. He heard nothing at those times, and he heard noth
now. He'd always thought that perhaps God stopped up his ears for that little while so that
servant might hear His Words more clearly.
But God had never spoken to him.