"Courtney 17-18th Century 02 - Monsoon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

The other two trailed after him with varying degrees of reluctance.

"Who could come anyway?" Dorian persisted.

"Everybody's busy. Even we should be helping."

"Black Billy could come," Tom replied, without looking back. That namesilenced even Dorian. Black Billy was the oldest Courtney son. Hismother had been an Ethiopian princess whom Sir Hal Courtney had broughtback from Africa when he returned from his first voyage to that mysticcontinent.

A royal bride and a shipload of treasure plundered from the Dutch andthe pagan, a vast fortune with which their father had more than doubledthe acreage of his ancient estate, and in so doing had elevated thefamily to among the wealthiest in all Devon, rivalling even theGrenvilles.

William Courtney, Black Billy to his younger half, brothers, was almosttwenty-four, seven years older than the twins. He was clever,ruthless, handsome, in a dark wolf-like way, and his younger brothersfeared and hated him with good reason. The threat of his name madeDorian shiver, and they climbed the last half-mile in silence. At lastthey left the stream and approached the rim, pausing under the big oakwhere the hen harrier had nested last spring.

Tom flopped down against the hole of the tree to catch his breath.

"If this wind holds we can go sailing in the morning," he announced, ashe removed his cap and wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve.

There was a mallard wing feather in his cap, taken from the first birdever killed by his own falcon.

He looked around him. From here the view encompassed almost half theCourtney estate, fifteen thousand acres of rolling hills and steepvalleys, of woodland, pasture and wheat fields that stretched down tothe cliffs along the shore, and reached almost to the outskirts of theport. But it was ground so familiar that Tom did not linger long onthe view.

"I'll go ahead to see if the coast is clear," he said, and scrambled tohis feet. Crouching low, he moved cautiously to the stone wall thatsurrounded the chapel.

Then he lifted his head and peered over.

The chapel had been built by his great grandfather, Sir Charles, whohad won his knighthood in the service of Good Queen Bess. As one ofher se a captains he had fought with great distinction against thearmada of Philip of Spain. Over a hundred years ago Sir Charles hadbuilt the chapel to the glory of God and in commemoration of the fleetaction at Calais. He had earned his knight, hood there, and many ofthe Spanish galleons had been driven in flames on to the beach, therest dispersed to the storms that Vice-Admiral Drake had called theWinds of God.

The chapel was a handsome octagonal building of grey stone, with a tallspire that, on a clear day, could be seen in Plymouth almost fifteenmiles distant. Tom vaulted easily over the wall, and sneaked throughthe apple orchard to the iron-studded oak vestry door. He opened it acrack and listened intently. The silence was impenetrable.

He crept inside and went to the door that opened into the nave.

As he peeped in, the sunlight through the high stained-glass windowslit the interior like a rainbow. Those above the altar depicted theEnglish fleet locked in battle against the Spaniards, with God theFather looking down approvingly from the clouds as the Spanish galleonsburned.

The windows above the main door had been added by Tom's own father.This time the foes who were being battered into submission were theDutch and the hordes of Islam, while above the battle stood Sir Hal,his sword raised heroically with his Ethiopian princess at his side.

Both of them were armoured and on their shields was blazoned the croixpaug of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail.

The nave was empty today. The preparations for Black Billy's wedding,which would take place next Saturday, had not yet begun. Tom had thebuilding to himself. He ran back to the vestry door, and stuck hishead out. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.Almost immediately his two brothers scrambled over the outer wall andran to meet him.

"Up to the belfry, Dorry!" Tom ordered, and when it seemed that theredhead might still protest, he took a menacing pace towards him.

Dorian scowled but disappeared up the staircase.

"Is she here yet?" Guy asked, with a hint of trepidation in hisvoice.

"Not yet. It's still early." Tom crossed the floor and went down thedark stone staircase that led to the underground crypt. When hereached the bottom, he unbuckled the flap of the leather pouch thathung beside the sheathed dagger on his belt. He brought out the heavyiron key that he had removed from his father's study that morning, andunlocked the grille gate, then swung it open on its creaking hinges.

He showed no hesitation as he entered the vault where so many of hisancestors lay in their stone sarcophagi. Guy followed him with lessconfidence. The presence of the dead always made him uneasy. Hepaused at the entrance to the crypt.

There were high windows at ground level through which glimmered aneerie light, the only illumination.