A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Джордж Р. Р. Мартин

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СКАЧАТЬ there. Yes, you, the big one. Knight of the winged chalice. Is that a longsword you wear?”

      “It is mine by rights,” Dunk said defensively. “I am Ser Duncan the Tall.”

      “And I Ser Steffon Fossoway. Would you care to try me, Ser Duncan the Tall? It would be good to have someone new to cross swords with. My cousin’s not ripe yet, as you’ve seen.”

      “Do it, Ser Duncan,” urged the beaten Fossoway as he removed his helm. “I may not be ripe, but my good cousin is rotten to the core. Knock the seeds out of him.”

      Dunk shook his head. Why were these lordlings involving him in their quarrel? He wanted no part of it. “I thank you, ser, but I have matters to attend.” He was uncomfortable carrying so much coin. The sooner he paid Steely Pate and got his armor, the happier he would be.

      Ser Steffon looked at him scornfully. “The hedge knight has matters.” He glanced about and found another likely opponent loitering nearby. “Ser Grance, well met. Come try me. I know every feeble trick my cousin Raymun has mastered, and it seems that Ser Duncan needs to return to the hedges. Come, come.”

      Dunk stalked away red-faced. He did not have many tricks himself, feeble or otherwise, and he did not want anyone to see him fight until the tourney. The old man always said that the better you knew your foe, the easier it was to best him. Knights like Ser Steffon had sharp eyes to find a man’s weakness at a glance. Dunk was strong and quick, and his weight and reach were in his favor, but he did not believe for a moment that his skills were the equal of these others. Ser Arlan had taught him as best he could, but the old man had never been the greatest of knights even when young. Great knights did not live their lives in the hedges nor die by the side of a muddy road. That will not happen to me, Dunk vowed. I will show them that I can be more than a hedge knight.

      “Ser Duncan.” The younger Fossoway hurried to catch him. “I should not have urged you to try my cousin. I was angry with his arrogance, and you are so large, I thought … well, it was wrong of me. You wear no armor. He would have broken your hand if he could, or a knee. He likes to batter men in the training yard, so they will be bruised and vulnerable later, should he meet them in the lists.”

      “He did not break you.”

      “No, but I am his own blood, though his is the senior branch of the apple tree, as he never ceases to remind me. I am Raymun Fossoway.”

      “Well met. Will you and your cousin ride in the tourney?”

      “He will, for a certainty. As to me, would that I could. I am only a squire as yet. My cousin has promised to knight me, but insists that I am not ripe yet.” Raymun had a square face, a pug nose, and short woolly hair, but his smile was engaging. “You have the look of a challenger, it seems to me. Whose shield do you mean to strike?”

      “It makes no difference,” said Dunk. That was what you were supposed to say, though it made all the difference in the world. “I will not enter the lists until the third day.”

      “And by then some of the champions will have fallen, yes,” Raymun said. “Well, may the Warrior smile on you, ser.”

      “And you.” If he is only a squire, what business do I have being a knight? One of us is a fool. The silver in Dunk’s pouch clinked with every step, but he could lose it all in a heartbeat, he knew. Even the rules of this tourney worked against him, making it very unlikely that he would face a green or feeble foe.

      There were a dozen different forms a tourney might follow, according to the whim of the lord who hosted it. Some were mock battles between teams of knights, others wild melees where the glory went to the last fighter left standing. Where individual combats were the rule, pairings were sometimes determined by lot and sometimes by the master of the games.

      Lord Ashford was staging this tourney to celebrate his daughter’s thirteenth name day. The fair maid would sit by her father’s side as the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty. Five champions wearing her favors would defend her. All others must perforce be challengers, but any man who could defeat one of the champions would take his place and stand as a champion himself, until such time as another challenger unseated him. At the end of three days of jousting, the five who remained would determine whether the fair maid retained the crown of Love and Beauty, or whether another would wear it in her place.

      Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I? Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

      He supposed he would learn the truth of that soon enough. He hefted the sack of armor and turned his feet toward the merchants’ stalls, in search of Steely Pate.

      Egg had worked manfully at the campsite. Dunk was pleased; he had been half-afraid his squire would run off again. “Did you get a good price for your palfrey?” the boy asked.

      “How did you know I’d sold her?”

      “You rode off and walked back, and if robbers had stolen her you’d be more angry than you are.”

      “I got enough for this.” Dunk took out his new armor to show the boy. “If you’re ever to be a knight, you’ll need to know good steel from bad. Look here, this is fine work. This mail is double-chain, each link bound to two others, see? It gives more protection than single chain. And the helm, Pate’s rounded the top, see how it curves? A sword or an axe will slide off, where they might bite through a flat-topped helm.” Dunk lowered the greathelm over his head. “How does it look?”

      “There’s no visor,” Egg pointed out.

      “There are air holes. Visors are points of weakness.” Steely Pate had said as much. “If you knew how many knights have taken an arrow in the eye as they lifted their visor for a suck o’ cool air, you’d never want one,” he’d told Dunk.

      “There’s no crest either,” said Egg. “It’s just plain.”

      Dunk lifted off the helm. “Plain is fine for the likes of me. See how bright the steel is? It will be your task to keep it that way. You know how to scour mail?”

      “In a barrel of sand,” said the boy, “but you don’t have a barrel. Did you buy a pavilion too, ser?”

      “I didn’t get that good a price.” The boy is too bold for his own good, I ought to beat that out of him. He knew he would not, though. He liked the boldness. He needed to be bolder himself. My squire is braver than I am, and more clever. “You did well here, Egg,” Dunk told him. “On the morrow, you’ll come with me. Have a look at the tourney grounds. We’ll buy oats for the horses and fresh bread for ourselves. Maybe a bit of cheese as well, they were selling good cheese at one of the stalls.”

      “I won’t need to go into the castle, will I?”

      “Why not? One day, I mean to live in a castle. I hope to win a place above the salt before I’m done.”

      The boy said nothing. Perhaps he fears СКАЧАТЬ