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

Still backing, he had come up against a wall of furze. As he looked this way and that, trying which way
to run, I put out a hand.

"Don't be afraid. I'll not hurt you. Here, take this. Come, take it, no sensible man should fear gold. Call it
a reward for catching my horse. Now, if you'll help me onto his back, I'll be on my way."

He made a half movement forward, ready to snatch and run, but then he checked, and his head went
round, quick as a wild thing's. I saw the goats had already stopped grazing and were looking eastwards,
ears pricked. Then I heard the sound of horses.

I gathered my own beast's reins in my good hand, then looked round for the boy to help me. But he was
already running, whacking the bushes to chase the goats in front of him. I called to him and, as he glanced
over his shoulder, flung the gold. He snatched it up and then was gone, racing up the slope with his goats
scampering round him.

Pain struck at me again, grinding the bones of my hand together. The cracked ribs stabbed and burned
my side. I felt the sweat start on my body, and round me the spring day wavered and broke again in mist.
The noise of approaching hoofs seemed to hammer with the pain along my bones. I leaned against my
horse's saddle, and waited.

It was the King riding again for Tintagel, this time for the main gate, and by daylight, with a company of
his men. They came at a fast canter along the grassy track from Dimilioc, four abreast, riding at ease.
Above Uther's head the Dragon standard showed red on gold in the sunlight. The King was himself
again; the grey of his disguise had been washed from his hair and beard, and the royal circlet glinted on
his helmet. His cloak of kingly scarlet was spread behind him over his bay's glossy flanks. His face
looked still, calm and set; a bleak enough look, and weary, but with over all a kind of contentment. He
was riding to Tintagel, and Tintagel was his at last, with all that lay within the walls. For him, it was an
end.

I leaned against my horse's shoulder and watched them come level with me.

It was impossible for Uther not to see me, but he never glanced my way. I saw, from the troop behind
him, the curious glances as I was recognized. No man was there but must have some inkling now of what
had happened last night in Tintagel, and of the part I had played in bringing the King to his heart's desire.
It was possible that the simpler souls among the King's companions might have expected the King to be
grateful; to reward me; at the very least to recognize and acknowledge me. But I, who had dealt all my
life with kings, knew that where there is blame as well as gratitude, blame must be allotted first, lest it
should cling to the King himself. King Uther could only see that, by what he called the failure of my
foreknowledge, the Duke of Cornwall had died even while he, the King, was lying with the Duchess. He
did not see the Duke's death for what it was, the grim irony behind the smiling mask that gods show when
they want men to do their will. Uther, who had small truck with gods, saw only that by waiting even one
day he might have had his way with honour and in the sight of men. His anger with me was genuine
enough, but even if it were not, I knew that he must find someone to blame: what ever he felt about the
Duke's death тАФ and he could hardly fail to see it as a miraculously open gate to his marriage with
Ygraine тАФ he must in public be seen to show remorse. And I was the public sacrifice to that remorse.
 One of the officers тАФ it was Caius Valerius, who rode at the King's shoulder тАФ leaned forward and
said something, but Uther might never have heard. I saw Valerius look doubtfully back at me, then with a
half-shrug, and a half-salute to me, he rode on. Unsurprised, I watched them go.