"R Garcia Y Robertson - Strongbow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson R Garcia Y)

chapel. Winding stairs led to an anteroom directly above that had been her
mother's bedroom, and now belonged to Clare.

She closed and barred the door behind her. This room, the sickroom, and the
chapel had become her sanctuary -- now that the wall walk was no longer safe.

Night air smelled of lamp black. Curtains covered the arrow slits spaced around
three sides of the bedchamber. The stone window seats beneath them were three
feet tall, built for a race of giants. Two women waited in her bedchamber, one
young, one old -- aside from hermits and prisoners, Clare's world had no concept
of privacy. Gwen, her Welsh serving girl, slept on the floor at the foot of the
canopy bed. Nuala, her big white-haired Irish nurse, sat on an oak chest, head
nodding, a shawl around her shoulders. She looked up as the door closed.

"Eat," Nuala ordered. She had brought hare-and-wine collops and honey cakes up
from the kitchen. "Then wake the girl."

Selecting a honey cake, Clare sat obediently at the older woman's feet. She
might be the lady of the castle, but Nuala would always be her nurse -- who had
suckled her, spanked her, and cared for her, crooning her to sleep and sharing
her bed. "How goes it?" Nuala nodded toward the sickroom below.

"He sinks fast," Clare admitted. She had every reason to wish her stepfather
well, but she could not lie to Nuala.

"Mother Mary gives and the Mother Mary takes," Nuala intoned. "Now eat your
collops."

Clare obeyed, though she never liked eating rabbits -- or anything cute. Once
she had freed the castle's entire stock of hares, herding them out the upper
bailey's high postern, amazing and frightening the Welsh, who had never seen
rabbits before. Herd girls and hay cutters fled for the hills, pursued by
frisking hares. But the way Nuala cooked them, with wine, onions, and oatmeal,
gave them an agreeable nutty taste.

She washed her collops down with wine, then looked toward the bed. "Shall I wake
her?

Nuala nodded. Clare went over and shook the girl lying at the foot of her bed,
saying, "Wake up, Gwen. It is time."

Green eyes flicked opened. Gwen sat up, red-haired, freckle-faced, half-asleep,
and mumbling in Welsh, "O? Arglwyddes Caer?"

Clare smiled, "Bore da." Meaning, "Good morning." She had taken in Gaelic with
Nuala's milk, and Gwen had taught her Welsh. She spoke both languages better
than she spoke English, the language of soldiers and serfs. Norman-French was
her "native" speech, though she had never been to France, except in spirit. And
she knew enough Latin to talk to God in his own tongue. In fact she found many
similarities between Welsh and Latin. Words like "tripod" and "tribedd." Or