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

battle from a hilltop a mile away."

"They would say anything, of him." The doctor's voice was prosaic and calm.Brittany , I thought, I must
have known him inBrittany . The smooth Latin had some overtone I remembered, without knowing how.
"But certainly Ambrosius valued his advice."

"Is it true he rebuilt the Giants' Dance near Amesbury, that they call the Hanging Stones?"

"That's true enough. When he was a lad with his father's army inBrittany he studied to be an engineer. I
remember him talking to Tremorinus тАФ that was the army's chief engineer тАФ about lifting the Hanging
Stones. But that wasn't all he studied. Even as a youth he knew more about medicine than most men I've
met who practise it for a livelihood. I can't think of any man I'd rather have by me in a field hospital. God
knows why he chooses to shut himself away in that godforsaken corner ofWales now тАФ at least, one
can guess why. He and King Uther never got on. They say Uther was jealous of the attention his brother
the King paid Merlin. At any rate, after Ambrosius' death, Merlin went nowhere and saw no one, till this
business of Uther and Gorlois' Duchess. And it seems as if that's brought him trouble enough...Bring the
bowl nearer, while I clean his face. No, here. That's right."

"That's a sword cut, by the look of it."

"A glancing scratch from the point, I'd say. It looks worse than it is, with all the blood. He was lucky
there. Another inch and it would have caught his eye. There. It's clean enough; it won't leave a scar."

"He looks like death, Gandar. Will he recover?"

"Of course. How not?" Even through the lulling of the nepenthe, I recognized the quick professional
reassurance as genuine. "Apart from the ribs and the hand, it's only cuts and bruising, and I would guess a
sharp reaction from whatever has been driving him the last few days. All he needs is sleep. Hand me that
ointment there, please. In the green jar."

The salve was cool on my cut cheek. It smelled of valerian. Nard, in the green jar...I made it at home.
Valerian, balm, oil of spikenard...The smell of it took me dreaming out among the mosses at the river's
edge, where water ran sparkling, and I gathered the cool cress and the balsam and the golden moss...

No, it was water pouring at the other side of the room. He had finished, and had gone to wash his
hands. The voices came from farther off.

"Ambrosius' bastard, eh?" The foreigner was still curious. "Who was his mother, then?"

"She was a king's daughter, Southern Welsh, from Maridunum in Dyfed. They say he got the Sight from
her. But not his looks; he's a mirror of the late King, more than Uther ever was. Same colouring, black
eyes, and that black hair. I remember the first time I saw him, back inBrittany when he was a boy; he
looked like something from the hollow hills. Talked like it, too, sometimes; that is, when he talked at all.
Don't let his quiet ways fool you; it's more than just book-learning and luck and a knack of timing; there's
power there, and it's real."
"So the stories are true?"

"The stories are true," said Gandar flatly. "There. He'll do now. No need to stay with him. Get some
sleep. I'll do the rounds myself, and come and take a look at him again before I go to bed. Good night."