Книга только для ознакомления
.
Now we fight from defense, I thought. Now we fight at
advantage. But more than that, we fight from warmth, on
the leeward side of the walls. That warmth, that comfort,
was most important then, and the chambers to which Heros
and I were escorted, as damp and drafty as an old attic, were
a palace, were more than enough. I am spoiled now in the
hospital, for there is a fire here and curtains, curtains that
for all I can tell may be sackcloth, a plain burlap, but
nonetheless do what curtains were intended to do in that
time before we saw fit to embroider and adorn them.
If Heros had known what I was thinking, he would have
said I thought like a footman. He would have been right, for
they were talking when I went to tend to the horses, most of
them wrapped in blankets and standing, sitting, lying
around the banked fires that spangled the dark inner
courtyards, a few others, the older veterans, crouched and
circled around Breca, who sat upon his helmet, cupping his
enormous red hands as he lit his pipe, the glow arising from
the bowl spreading over his face in a light both saintly and
violent.
I nodded to Breca, receiving a nod in return as he
singled me out from the darkness. He had what Heros called
THE INGRAINED POLITENESS TO HIS BETTERS, not as
common as you might imagine among footmen, but a
quality all were urged to adopt and cultivate
|
