"Mary Renault - Greece 1 - The King Must Die" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

tops, birds still gave softly their evening calls, and a deep light carved the edges of the grass blades.

I came out upon the bare round summit ridge, where the sun strikes first at morning, and Apollo has his
altar. On two sides you can see the sea, and to the west the mountains about Mycenae. There is a house
for the priests, built of stone because up there the winds are strong; and a little stone sanctuary for the
holy things. Underfoot are springy heath and thyme; and against the sky is the altar.

My black mood was still on me. I had resolved not to go and eat in Hall; I should only affront someone
and make enemies. There was a girl by the harbor who would put up with me, because it was her trade.

A dim curl of old smoke rose from the altar, and I paused to salute the god. The hare I had shot was in
my hand. I thought, "It is not worth cutting. One can't be paltry with Apollo. Let him have it all; he has
given me something for nothing, often enough."

The altar stood black against a clear sunset sky, yellow as primroses. It smoldered still from the evening
sacrifice, and the smell of burnt meat quenched with wine hung on the air. The priests' house was silent,
lampless and without smoke. They were fetching wood, perhaps, or water. There was no human creature
to be seen in all the world; only the thin pure light, and great blue spaces stretching away, mountains and
seas and islands. Even the dog was daunted by the solitude; the hair darkened on its back, and I heard it
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whimper. The evening breeze touched my bowstring, and a humming came from it, high and strange. And
suddenly the place overwhelmed my soul, as an ant drowns in a river. I would have given anything for the
sight of an old woman gathering sticks, or any living thing. But nothing stirred in all that vastness; only the
bow still sang, small like a gnat. My nape shuddered, and my breath came thick. Almost I fled headlong
into the hillside forest, like a hunted stag, crashing down through the woods till the thicket held me. I
stood at stretch, my hair stirring like the dog's hackles; and a clear voice said in my ear, "Do not be late
tonight, or you will miss the harper."

I knew the voice. It was my mother's. The words too I knew, for she had spoken them that morning,
when I set out. I had answered heedlessly, my mind on my troubles, and had at once forgotten. Now,
like an echo, the sound returned.

I went up to the sanctuary, and laid the hare on the offering table for the priests to find. Then I walked
home through the dusky woodland. The black mood that drove me out had lifted; I felt hungry for
supper, for wine and company.

Though I made good haste, I was still rather late; my grandfather raised his brows at me, and I saw the
harper already at his meat. I went down to the foot of the table, where he sat among the House Barons,
and they made room for me beside him.

He was a middle-sized man, dark and spare, with eyes deep-set and a thinking mouth. His life had made
him at home at kings' tables; he set himself neither too high nor too low, and was easy to talk to. He told
me he came from Thrace, where he served a shrine of Apollo. The god had forbidden him to eat meat or
drink strong wine; he took cheese and greenstuff, and even that sparingly, because he was going to sing.
His robe glittered with gold, and looked like some rich king's gift; but it lay folded on the bench beside
him, while he ate in clean white linen. A quiet man, who talked of his art like a craftsman, and had a strain