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

"canis" and "ci." Proof that the Welsh were descended from the Trojan heroes who
founded Rome.

The serving girl rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Ydyn ni'n mynd?"

Clare nodded. "Ydyn ni'n mynd." We are going. Locals called Clare "Arglwyddes
Caer o Caeradar." Lady Caer of Caeradar. The Rabbit Girl. Caer meant "camp." Or
"home." Caeradar meant, "Camp of the birds." Like Caerleon meant "Camp of the
Legions."

Gwen and her brother the dog-boy were the last hostages left loose in the
castle. Last summer her people had overrun two castles, Laugharne and
Llanstephen, three easy days to the east. Now the rising had spread to Ebbw
Vale, condemning Gwen to death or disfigurement. The other locals not locked in
the keep basement had all gone over the walls, or out the latrine postern, as
soon as the hill tribes had risen -- taking flitches of bacon, tableware and
tapestries, whatever they could lay hands on in lieu of wages. Theft was the
Welsh way of saying thanks.

Clare looked over at Nuala. "We're ready. Let's go. I want to see Mother."

Her nurse had already blown out the lamps, leaving a single taper burning in the
middle of the floor. Observing a holy silence, Nuala loosed her long
single-piece Celtic robe, then pulled her French-cut blouse over her head. It
was natural and comforting for Clare to see her nurse naked. Nuala was
incredibly strong, topping thirteen stone, with wide hips, broad knotted
shoulders, and arms like a troll. She had earth-magic in her blood. Not just a
lady's nurse, Nuala was a blacksmith, boatwright, and harper -- who shoed her
own horses, built her own boats, and composed her own verse. Born in the first
half of the century, she could still out-row men and run down mares, and
remained a fearsome wrestler, having beaten the garrison sergeant-at-arms two
falls in three.

Nuala was a force of nature. Clare was always in awe of her, and always depended
on her. More so than on her own mother, who had a retiring and contemplative
temperament. If Nuala said they must walk across the sea to Spain, or fly naked
to the Moon, Clare would not have doubted they could do it.

Clare took off her chamber slippers, then her loose-sleeved gown and the chemise
underneath. Gwen removed her homespun cloak and dress, singing softly to herself
as she stripped. She had been included to complete the coven, and as hostage she
had little choice. Nuala was not someone you said "no" to.

They knelt facing each other, forming a naked triangle around the lighted
candle. Nuala smeared honey in the girls' mouths, and they linked hands. Tall
shadows danced about the chamber. The Matins bell had rung, making it past
midnight on Friday, Witch's Night.

Nuala invoked Mary -- Virgin, All Mother, and Death Angel -- the female trinity.
Then she began an ancient Irish chant, one she used to croon to Clare in her