"Mary Stewart - The Arthurian Saga 02 - The Hollow Hills" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stewart Mary)

had not managed to rob him, if robbery had been the motive for the attack. His pouch was still at his belt,
and fastened.
 He made no move as I approached him, so I thought him insensible, or dead, but when I knelt beside
him I saw the slight movement as his hand clenched more tightly on the stems of bracken, and I realized
that he was exhausted or hurt beyond all caring. If I were one of his murderers come to finish him off, he
would lie there and let me.

I spoke gently. "Be easy, I shan't hurt you. Lie still a moment. Don't try to move."

There was no response. I laid careful hands on him, feeling for wounds and broken bones. He flinched
from my touch, but made no sound. I satisfied myself soon that no bones were broken. There was a
bloodied swelling near the back of his head, and one shoulder was already blackened with bruising, but
the worst that I could see was a patch of crushed and bleeding flesh on the hip, which looked тАФ and
indeed later proved тАФ to be where a horse's hoof had struck him.

"Come," I said at length, "turn over, and drink this."

He moved then, though wincing from the touch of my arm round his shoulder, and turned slowly round. I
wiped the dirt and sickness from his mouth and held my flask to his lips; he gulped greedily, coughed, and
then, losing strength again, leaned heavily against me, his head drooping against my chest. When I put the
flask back to his mouth he turned his head away. I could feel him using all his strength not to cry out
against the pain. I stoppered the flask and put it away.

"I have a horse here. You must try and sit him somehow, and I'll get you home, where I can see to your
hurts." Then, when he made no response: "Come now. Let's get you out of this before they decide to
come back and finish what they started."

He moved then, abruptly, as if these were the first words that had got through to him. I saw his hand
grope down to the pouch at his belt, discover it was still there, and then fall limply away. The weight
against my chest sagged suddenly. He had fainted.

So much the better, I thought, as I laid him down gently and went to bring up my horse. He would be
spared the painful jolting of the ride, and by the gods' mercy I might have him in bed with his hurts
bandaged before he woke. Then in the very act of stooping to lift him again I paused. His face was dirty,
grime mingled with bloodstains from scratches and a cut above the ear. Under the mask of dirt and blood
the skin was drained and grey. Brown hair, shut eyes, a slack mouth. But I recognized him. It was Ralf,
Ygraine's page, who had let us into Tintagel that night, and who with Ulfin and myself had guarded the
Duchess's chamber until the King had had his desire.

I stooped and lifted the Queen's messenger, and heaved his unconscious body across my waiting horse.

4



Ralf did not regain his senses during the journey up to the cave, and only after I had washed and bound
his wounds and put him into bed did he open his eyes. He stared at me for a few moments, but without
recognition.

"Don't you know me?" I said. "Merlinus Ambrosius. You brought your message safely enough. See." I