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

"Shall we say it together?"
"If ye wish it."
"Gawaine, I fear I must kneel down."
"I will stand," said the laird of Orkney. тАв
"Now..."
They were beginning their unprofessional petition, when the faint bugle sounded from beyond the
market.
"Whist, uncle!"
The prayer fell at mid-word.
"There is soldiers coming. Horses, I think!"
Arthur was on his feet, was at the window.
"Where?"
"The trumpet!"
And now, clear, shrill, exultant, the song of brass was piercing the room itself. The King, shaking
Gawaine by the elbow, with trembling voice began to cry: "My Lancelot! I knew he would!"
Gawaine forced his heavy shoulders through the frame. They were jealous for the view.
"Aye. It is Lancelot!"
"Look at him. In silver."
"The argent, a bend gules!"
"The bonnie rider!"
"Look at them all!"


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Indeed, it was worth looking. The market-place was an avalanche, like a scene from the Wild West. The
baskets of fruit were broken, so that the coco-nuts poured down. The knights of the guard were
mounting, hopping beside their chargers with one foot in the stirrup, while each horse revolved about the
axis of its rider. The acolytes were throwing away their censers. The priests were butting their way
through the crowd. The bishop, who wanted to stay, was being bundled away towards the church, while
his crosier came after him like a standard, carried high above the tumult by some faithful deacon. A
canopy, which had been carried on four poles over somebody or something, was sinking with the poles
askew, like a liner foundering in Atlantic. The onrushing tide, of flashing cavalry with clanking arms
and brassy music, poured into the square with feathers tossing as if they were the heads of Indians, their
swords rising and falling like a strange machinery. Abandoned by the cluster of ministrants who had
obscured her as the last rites were being offered, Guenever stood like a beacon. In her white shift, tied to
the high stake, she remained motionless in the movement. She rode above them. The battle closed about
her feet.
"What sparring and plucking up of horses!"
"Nae other body ever charged like yon."
"Oh, the poor guard!"
Arthur was wringing his hands.
"Some man is down." '
"It. is. Segwarides."
"What a m├кl├йe!"
"His charges," stated the King vehemently, "were always irresistible, always. Ah, what a thrust!"
"There goes Sir Pertilope."
"No. It is Perimones. It is his brother."