"Steve White - The Disinherited 03 - Debt of Ages" - читать интересную книгу автора (White Steve)

The Restorer smiled again. "Better! There may be hope for you yet,
Sidonius!" Then he raised a hand from the bed and grasped the papal
forearm with surprising strength. When he spoke, the whisper was fainter
than before, but not with the faintness of failing strength. No, it was
deliberateтАФthese words were for the two of them alone.

"Sidonius, you will see me again."

"Why, of course, Augustus." Sidonius reverted to formality in his
puzzlement. "There can be no doubt of it. We will see each other again,
before the throne of God, whenтАФ"

"No!" The grip tightened on his arm, and the whisper took on a
compelling urgency. "I don't mean that. I mean in this life! I'm telling you
this because I want you to be prepared, and not doubt your sanity nor fear
for your soul. You must dismiss all thoughts of the black arts, and accept
what your eyes and ears and mind and heart tell youтАж"

The whisper faded to nothing and the grip went slack, for the effort had
been too much. Damasius the Syrian stepped forward and examined his
imperial patient with that look of sharp concentration which all
physicians cultivated, a mask behind which yawned bottomless ignorance.
 "He must rest now, Your Holiness. I fear he has exhausted himself."

Sidonius nodded and stepped back from the bedside. Whatever was he
talking about? he wondered. Nothing, probably. His mind is going, and
he can no longer command it to reason. Not even the force of will which
hauled back the outgoing tide of history can hinder death in its work of
dissolution.

"Remember," he told the physician, "I am to be notified when the end is
at hand." Then he turned from the bed and looked around the room, so
very Greek in its massive, mosaic-encrusted sombreness. Equally Greek
were most of the men and eunuchs in the room, the high officials of state
and church. Then he saw a new face, and he froze.

It seemed amazing that Acacius could have entered the room silently,
moving under the weighty vestments of the Patriarch of Constantinople.
Even more amazing was his audacity in being here at all, knowing that the
Pope of Rome, his bitterest enemy, was bound to be present. Well,
Sidonius thought, his habitual good nature reasserting itself, perhaps he
feels sincere affection for this dying man. Hp certainly has every reason
to. And I will not create a scene here!

He nodded stiffly to the Patriarch, who acknowledged with what he had
to admit was probably superior grace. Then he turned and left the room,
moving with that natural stateliness that people assured him he had
acquired by virtue of the weight he had put on in recent decades. I hope
that's true, he thought as he made his way along corridors and past the