"T. H. White - The Once and Future King" - читать интересную книгу автора (White T.H)

actually killed Sir Lamorak by treachery."
"I think," she said, "that the reason why Agravaine hates you is the old story of sour grapes. I don't think
he cares a bit about the idea, but he naturally envies anybody who is a better fighter than himself. He
loathed Tristram because of the thrashing he got from him on the way to Joyous Gard, and he helped to
murder Lamorak because the boy had beaten him at the Priory Jousts, andтАФhow many times have you
upset him?"
"I don't remember."
"Lance, do you realize that the two other people he hated are dead?"
"Everybody dies, sooner or later."
Suddenly the Queen had swept her plaits out of his fingers. She had twisted round in the chair, and, with
one hand holding a pigtail, she was staring at him with round eyes.
"I believe it Is true, what Gareth said! I believe they are coming to catch as tonight!"
She jumped out of the chair and began pushing him to the door.
"Go away. Go while there is time."

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Incipit%20Liber%20Quartus.html (46 of 114)14-10-2007 15:44:46
 file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Incipit%20Liber%20Quartus.html


"But, Jenny..."
"No, No buts, I know it is true. I can feel it. Here is your cloak. Oh, Lance, please go quickly. They
stabbed Sir Lamorak in the back."
"Come, Jenny, don't get excited about nothing. It is only a fancy..."
"It is not a fancy. Listen. Listen,"
"I can't hear anything."
"Look at the door"
The handle which lifted the latch of the door, a piece of wrought iron shaped like a horse-shoe, was
moving softly to the left. It moved like a crab, uncertainly.
"What is the matter with the door?"
"Look at the handle!"
They stood watching it in fascination, as it moved blindly, in jerks, a sly, hesitating exploration.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "And now it is too late!"
The handle fell back into place and there was a loud, iron knocking on the wood of the door. It was a
good door of double ply, one grain running vertically and the other horizontally, and it was being beaten
from the other side with a gauntlet. Agravaine's voice, echoing in the cavern of his helmet, cried: "Open
the door, in the King's name!"
"We are undone," she said.
"Traitor Knight," cried the neighing voice, as the wood thundered under the metal. "Sir Lancelot, now
art thou taken."
Many more voices joined the outcry. Many joints of harness, no longer under the necessity of
precaution, clanked on the stone stair. The door butted against its beam.
Lancelot dropped unconsciously into the language of chivalry also.
"Is there any armour in the chamber," he asked, "that I might cover my body withal?"
"There is nothing. Not even a sword."
He stood, facing the door with a puzzled, business-like expression, biting his fingers. Several fists were
hammering it, so that it shook, and the voices were like a pack of hounds.
"Oh, Lancelot," she said, "there is nothing to fight with, and you are almost naked. They are armed and
many. You will be killed, and I shall be burned, and our love has come to a bitter end."