"Yarbro,.Chelsea.Quinn.-.Olivia.02.-.Crusader's.Torch.(V1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

"Nor I you," Rainaut said, but with less certainty. He could not see the Spaniard's face, and aside from the Spanish accent, he had no means to identify the voice.
As if acknowledging this, the Spaniard laughed. "We have done for now." He raised his arm and signaled his men to turn and leave. "God give you good day, Bonsier," he said in mockery, dragging his horse around with a tug on the rein and a jab from one of his long-roweled spurs.
As the Templars clattered down the street, those unfortunate enough to lie in their path were run over with less concern than if they had been dead geese.
Moans, which had been inaudible moments before, now filled the stone street, and those casualties who could cry out for aid entreated every aid they could think of; at least three called for their mothers; oneЧthe EgyptianЧcontinued to beg God. The old man with the donkey cart lay still on the paving stones, blood congealing around him. His donkey, his off-hind leg broken, gave off a series of soft, high squeaks. The Bourgess was huddled against the wall, his garments reduced to rags, his face leaden.
"Sir?" the sarjeant said, and Rainaut jumped at the sound.
"I thought you wereЧ" Rainaut accused, to cover his own sudden lack of bravery. It had happened to him before, this unaccountable nausea and chill that seized him now; as always, he felt shamed by it, and vowed it would not possess him again.
"That was amazing, sir," the sarjeant said with honest humility. "I never saw anyone stand up to Templars that way. Not without full harness on, anyway."
Rainaut tried a ghost of a smile. "It had to be stopped," he said distantly, reaching out as he did to steady himself against the wall. "It went too far."
The sarjeant grinned without mirth. "Well, stop it you did, sir. But you had better be on guard."
"Why?" Rainaut asked, anticipating the answer.
"Because the Templars won't forget. They're the rulers here, for all they tell you otherwise. That devil Saladin is less feared than they are. They're supposed to fight to defend the honor of Christ and the Holy SepulcherЧthey fight for the love of battle, not the love of Christ. And they're not all well-born, the way Hospitaler Knights are. There's all manner of graceless sorts whoЧ"
"Yes; I know." Rainaut dropped the broken rod he had been holding, watching it as it hit the flagstones and split down half its length. "Do you know who they were?"
"I can find out. There aren't that many Spaniards in the Holy Land, not with all those Moors in Spain," he scoffed.
"Why are they here, then, if what they want is to fight Islamites? Aren't there enough in Spain for them, that they must come* here to find them?" Rainaut slapped the front of his surcote, noticing for the first time that it was blood-spattered. "I will have to have this washed." The stain would never leave it, but treated with urine, it would fade.
The sarjeant led the way cautiously down the street, taking care not to touch any of those who had fallen to the Templars. "As to that, sir, there's no saying what that Spaniard would do in Spain. If he is a priest's son, he would come here now that the Church has made him a bastard. If he is a bastard already, then he would not be welcome among the company of knights in Spain. They send only legitimate sons to chase out their Islamites."
"Foolish of them," said Rainaut absently. He had stopped beside a man in German dress. "His shoulder is out of its socket. We should lend him some aid."
"It's not wise, sir," warned the sarjeant.
"Hospitalers are mandated to care for Christians, to protect them. This man is a German merchant, from the look of his clothes. He is a Christian andЕ" He was troubled that he had not rendered more assistance during this fracas, and now he wanted to make amends, if only through something as minor as this token gesture to this one injured merchant.
"There will be a place for him," sighed the sarjeant, knowing that it was pointless to argue with a knight. "We can sling him between usЧwe haven't far to go."
A few of the upper windows had been opened once more, the shutters folded back against the stone fronts of the houses. At one of the windows a pair of curious faces appeared.
"You take his legs," Rainaut instructed. "I will try to carry him so that I will not pull on his shoulder any more. It is fortunate for him that he has swooned." He did his task efficiently; only the darkening of his face revealed the effort of his work.
The sarjeant, the merchant's feet caught in the crooks of his elbows, toiled along, puffing with each step. "The turn's coming up, sir. Have a care. The street is a busy one."
"Not as busy as this one has been, I reckon," said Rainaut grimly. "Who tends to the streets when we have gone?"
"It will be done," said the sarjeant vaguely. "There are those whoЕ"
The next street was more than twice the width of the covered one they left. Here the sun was merciless where people bustled and jostled.
"This is a griddle," Rainaut protested as he and the sarjeant lugged the German merchant toward the hospice of the Knights Hospitalers.
"Not much further, Bonsier," panted the sarjeant. "Have a careЧthere's goats ahead of you."
Rainaut had heard the animals in the general din of the street. "Thank you, sarjeant." He continued to back up, and though the German merchant seemed to grow heavier with each step Rainaut took, he did not permit himself to complain of it. "Where now?"
"Five more steps," the sarjeant told him. "Bonsier, my back is aching like I've fallen down stairs."
"You say it's not much farther." It took an effort to speak evenly.
"A little way, yes, Bonsier," the sarjeant said, suddenly resigned to his situation. "Not much more. Have a care, Bonsier." This last warning was for a pushcart filled with hot stuffed breads; the man behind it, a slave, struggled with the unwieldly vehicle while his owner walked at the front, clearing the way and crying his wares into the cacophony of the street.
"Offer the ache to God," Rainaut recommended when the food vendor was safely past them.
"The church will be on your right, Bonsier. Take him there. There are those who will know what to do." The sarjeant's steps were faltering and he grunted with the effort of walking.
"Tell me the way, sarjeant," Rainaut ordered.
A gaggle of ill-dressed children hurtled, screaming and laughing, down the street, careless of where they went. One of them knocked against the German merchant, and the unconscious man seemed to moan.
"A bit more to the right. There are three steps, and the narthex opens immediately to your right." He took a deep, ragged breath. "Hey, you there! Get us some help!"
Rainaut heard steps behind him rush, echoing, away. The shadow of the church fell across him, blocking out the hot weight of the sun. Then, as he struggled up the steps, he heard footsteps approaching, and a voice at his side said, "We will take him, my son." As confused as he was relieved, Rainaut gave over his burden to the priest and two men in the black-and-white cote of the Knights Hospitaler of Saint John, Jerusalem. "Be careful," Rainaut said. "His shoulder's out."
"We'll tend to it," one of those beside him said.
"Deo gratias," Rainaut said, blessing himself with an effort.
A Premonstratensian monk approached Rainaut, his face worn as leather and his head all but bald. "God give you good day, sir knight. You have had a most propitious beginning here."
Rainaut was suddenly too fatigued to respond.
а
* * *
Text of a letter from Niklos Aulirios in Roma to Atta Olivia Clemens in Tyre, written in archaic Latin.
To my esteemed bondholder and friend, Olivia, I send you greetings and what word I can from Roma. Little as I like to admit it, you were surely right when you decided that arrangements were necessary.
I have rarely seen Roma in such disarray as I find here now. It is not only that barbarians have done what they could to destroy it for the last five hundred years, but the Romans themselves appear to have forgot who they are, and are content to house themselves in filth and rubble. Not even the worst and poorest of the underground insulae of your youth were as dreadful as much of what I have seen here.
When I left, I told you I would have all your affairs here in order in two months at the most. You warned me at the time that I was being too optimistic, and that you feared with the change in the world that I would require more time, and possibly more money. Sadly, I must confess that you are right. I will not only need more money in order to do what must be done, but I will have to have more time if you are to occupy a place that is suitable to you in all the ways you require.
What is most shocking to me is the disrepair of the aqueducts, for now there is danger of fever from poor water. It is worse than when the Ostrogoths were attacking, and there is no real battle going on. There are German knights everywhere, because of that travesty, the Holy Roman Empire, which is not aptly described by any of those words. I will strive to find you a villa outside the city wallsЧalthough the walls are in such disrepair in parts that they might as well be torn down and the stones used to make worthwhile houses for the poor wretches who haunt the streets. I have heard of a number of such villas, and I will inspect them all, taking care not to stray too far from Roma, and I will determine the quality of wells in all the locations I inspect.
I have found a monk here who will arrange for you to be carried on a Spanish ship and brought to Ostia, which they are now calling Ostia Antiqua. Proper escort will be required, but it has been suggested that you yourself petition the Hospitalers for that. They are prepared to render such service and they have chapter houses in many places. It would relieve me to know you are in the hands of a sworn knightЧsuch a man would be less likely to try to rape you or sell you into slavery, and if it comes down to a fight, he will know what to doЧthan at the mercy of a ship's captain who might strike bargains with pirates, or worse than that.
No, I do not mean to alarm you. That is not my intention. But you have warned me for years and years that prudence is necessary for those of your kind and my kind, and I am only repeating your own precautions for your benefit. After so long, it would be more dreadful than I would like to think to know you had come to any harm.