The Lords of the North. Bernard Cornwell
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Название: The Lords of the North
Автор: Bernard Cornwell
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: The Last Kingdom Series
isbn: 9780007236879
isbn:
‘You don’t like Alfred?’
‘I hate the bastard.’
‘But he’s a warrior, a lawgiver …’
‘He’s no warrior!’ I interrupted scornfully, ‘he hates fighting! He has to do it, but he doesn’t like it, and he’s far too sick to stand in a shield wall. But he is a lawgiver. He loves laws. He thinks if he invents enough laws he’ll make heaven on earth.’
‘But why do men say he’s good?’ Guthred asked, puzzled.
I stared up at an eagle sliding across the sky’s blue vault. ‘What Alfred is,’ I said, trying to be honest, ‘is fair. He deals properly with folk, or most of them. You can trust his word.’
‘That’s good,’ Guthred said.
‘But he’s a pious, disapproving, worried bastard,’ I said, ‘that’s what he really is.’
‘I shall be fair,’ Guthred said. ‘I shall make men like me.’
‘They already like you,’ I said, ‘but they also have to fear you.’
‘Fear me?’ He did not like that idea.
‘You’re a king.’
‘I shall be a good king,’ he said vehemently, and just then Tekil and his men attacked us.
I should have guessed. Eight well-armed men do not cross a wilderness to join a rabble. They had been sent, and not by some Dane called Hergild in Heagostealdes. They had come from Kjartan the Cruel who, infuriated by his son’s humiliation, had sent men to track the dead swordsman, and it had not taken them long to discover that we had followed the Roman wall, and now Guthred and I had wandered away on a warm day and were at the bottom of a small valley as the eight men swarmed down the banks with drawn swords.
I managed to draw Serpent-Breath, but she was knocked aside by Tekil’s blade and then two men hit me, driving me back into the stream. I fought them, but my sword arm was pinned, a man was kneeling on my chest and another was holding my head under the stream and I felt the gagging horror as the water choked in my throat. The world went dark. I wanted to shout, but no sound came, and then Serpent-Breath was taken from my hand and I lost consciousness.
I recovered on the shingle island where the eight men stood around Guthred and me, their swords at our bellies and throats. Tekil, grinning, kicked away the blade that was prodding my gullet and knelt beside me. ‘Uhtred Ragnarson,’ he greeted me, ‘and I do believe you met Sven the One-Eyed not long ago. He sends you greetings.’ I said nothing. Tekil smiled. ‘You have Skidbladnir in your pouch, perhaps? You’ll sail away from us? Back to Niflheim?’
I still said nothing. The breath was rasping in my throat and I kept coughing up water. I wanted to fight, but a sword point was hard against my belly. Tekil sent two of his men to fetch the horses, but that still left six warriors guarding us. ‘It’s a pity,’ Tekil said, ‘that we didn’t catch your whore. Kjartan wanted her.’ I tried to summon all my strength to heave up, but the man holding his blade at my belly prodded and Tekil just laughed at me, then unbuckled my sword belt and dragged it out from beneath me. He felt the pouch and grinned when he heard the coins chink. ‘We have a long journey, Uhtred Ragnarson, and we don’t want you to escape us. Sihtric!’
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