"SM Stirling - & David Drake - General 08 - The Tyrant" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

"And then there was Adrian Gellert," Helga continued, the flat tone in her voice replaced by lilting warmth, "who was neither old, nor fat, norЧtrust me, FatherЧhad the slightest difficulty with any of the business." Smugly: "Nor, I am quite certain, faked anything."

She hefted her baby and held him up before her. "This child is Adrian Gellert's and no other. You can be as sure of that as the sunrise. He was born much too late to have been one of the pirates', that's certain. And as for the old fat Director of VaseЧ"

Her soft laugh bordered on a giggle. " Lookat your grandchild, Father! Even if that old toad could have managed it, do you think his son would look like this ?" Her eyes were almost glowing. Some of that glow, of course, was because of the child. But most of it, Demansk knew, was because of the memory of the father. "He has Adrian's eyes, his hairЧeven that whimsical smile."

Demansk sighed. His face, he knew, was stiff as a board.

Helga studied him for a moment. "I have always been blunt, Father. Why should that disturb you now? It happened. You know it, and I know it. So why should we pretend, or try to cover my shameful past with vague phrases?"

He shook his head abruptly. "It's not that. It'sа.а.а." His voice trailed off. For all his own quite-famous bluntness and directness, Demansk simply could not say what needed to be said. He had never been able to say it; not once, in all the months since Adrian Gellert had returned Helga safely to her family.

"Oh," murmured Helga. " That." Her own face was as stiff and rigid as his own.

"Father, please. Do not insult me. For all my occasional sarcasm on the subject of our 'illustrious forefathers' and the 'grandeur of the Confederacy,' I am a daughter of Vanbert. In the bone, and the blood, and the flesh. And, for damn sure, in the spirit."

She plumped the baby back firmly on her lap. "I knew from the moment the pirates seized me that you would refuse to pay the ransom. I would have been furious if you had. The rest of Vanbert may have grown soft and corrupt, but not Demansk. Not us! Sophisticated we have become, and literateЧand why not? But we, if no other family, are the true Vanbert breed."

Her green eyes were like two emeralds, as hard and unyielding as they were beautiful. "We do not pay ransom to pirates. We suffer their cruelties, if we must. And then, when the time comes, we wreak our vengeance. And our vengeance, and our memory, is a thing of terror to our enemies."

Demansk swallowed, fighting back tears. He had known, of course, what would be the fate of his virgin daughter once he refused the pirates' demand for ransom. Ravished, first, by the entire crew. Then sold into a lifetime of slavery. ButЧ

He, too, was Vanbert. Of the old and true breed, undiluted and pure, for all the magnificence of his library and the glorious trappings of his villas and mansions. However far removed Demansk was in most respects from those ancient pig farmers, in one respect at least nothing at all had changed. He was tough. а

The soft feel of his daughter's hand on his cheek startled him. He had been lost there, for a moment, without his usual soldier's alertness for motion.

For all their feminine slimness, the fingers were strong. And tough. They moved through the short gray-and-brown bristles as easily as a sharp scythe through wheat. As easily as the fingers of a pig farmer's daughter did whatever work was necessary. Without flinching, without complaint.

"Stop it." Her voice surprised him as much as the touch. The curt command was warm, almost humorous. "It wasn't that bad, Father. Really. A few horrible days, at the beginning. ThenЧhonestlyЧeven worse was the year's tedium that followed in the hareem. I was bored almost to the point of insanity."

Again, that demigoddess shrug. "Father, if I had been a son of yours, I would have been expected to serve in the legions. And would have done so, of course, and gladly. Eagerly, in fact. The chances are quite good that, at some point or other, I would have been wounded in a battle. Possibly killed."

A strong slim finger poked at the cloth covering his midriff, right above a scar. Then again on his lower thigh, where ridged flesh peeked beneath the tunic. And again, tracing the old wound which trailed down his left arm.

"So tell me, Father. When you received these wounds, were you in pain? Was your mind dazed with shock, for a time? Did you whimperЧor rather, grind your teeth to keep from whimpering? Did you curse your fate? Did some part of your soul shriek outrage and protest at the universe?"

By then, Demansk was laughing. Softly, but aloud. "Oh, godsЧyes! It was all so unfair. I was quite indignant."

Helga's laughter matched his own. And, for the thousandth time in his life, Demansk felt himself almost drowning in adoration of his daughter. AdorationЧand pride. This too, gods, was my doing. Damn me if you will. а

"So why should it be any different for me?" Helga demanded. "Is rape any worse than a blade tearing into your body? In some ways, yes, I suppose. It's more humiliating, certainly."

"Don't be so sure of that," grunted Demansk. His hand rubbed the scar over his belly. Some part of his mind, idly, was pleased to note the absence of fat. The muscle there was perhaps not as hard as it had been in his youth. But it still felt like a board, at least, if not a bar of iron.

"I got this scar because the man I was matched against in my first battle was vastly better at mayhem than I was. At that young age, anyway. He toyed with me, evenЧdammit! In the middle of a battle!Ч taunted me, played with me. Then took me down at his leisure, leering the whole time."

He found himself gritting his teeth at the memory. Then, realizing what he was doing, barked a laugh. "Gods, he was good! I felt like a virgin in the hands of a rapist, I swear I did. I can remember my cheek slamming into the ground and the feel of his sandal stamping over me as he went on to his next victim. I was in a daze forа.а.а.аsome time, while everything around me was a blur of noise and confusion and pain. The only clear thought I can remember was that I realized how Errena must have felt after Wodep took her in his beast form. Used, humiliated, discarded like so much trash. As if all that was left of her was the bones tossed into the litter, after her flesh was eaten."

They were silent for a moment. Then Helga said, "Yes. And myЧlet's call it a 'wound'Чdidn't take months to recover from, as yours did." She eyed that portion of Demansk's midriff skeptically. "You're lucky, at that, you survived at all. If the blade had penetrated your bowels, you'd have spent weeks dying in agony."