Read Online No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 by Katherine Kingsley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Kingsley
Ads: Link
enthusiastic.
“Which one would you like?” he asked, slinging the saddle over the post he’d made for that purpose.
Ali brought him soap and a basin of water. “The story of Xanthos?” she said. She was in the right sort of mood for a good tragedy.
“Surely not again?” he replied, washing his hands and drying them on the towel she provided.
Joseph-Jean glanced up. “I think our Ali has a real love for bloodthirsty drama,” he said. “How many times have you heard the story? Five? Ten?”
“Stories only become better with many tellings,” Ali informed him crisply, and instantly regretted her unintentionally curt tone as Joseph-Jean looked at her in surprise. “It is only that they grow in detail,” she added contritely.
“Yes, I can see that they would,” he replied, but she knew he was puzzled by her mood.
Andre pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Xanthos it is.”
Ali settled herself at his feet, knowing that secretly he loved telling the story of the magnificent and honorable people who had once lived here. She usually loved just as much to hear the tale, especially the way he had of telling it in his deep, rich, melodic voice.
She tried to put herself in the correct frame of mind and closed her eyes for a moment, imagining herself thousands of years in the past.
“Xanthos was the capital city of Lycia,” he began. “But to understand Xanthos, you have to understand the character of the Lycians—a strong and fiercely independent people, who are believed originally to have come from Crete.”
“Probably Minoans, in around 1400 B.C. ,” Ali added, wishing he would skip the boring things, but knowing they would have to wade through them anyway. He always started the same way.
“Thank you,” Andre said. “They were determined to remain separate from all of their neighbors and they fought to retain that independence. They did, however, fight alongside the Trojans during their war—”
“Told in the Iliad,” Ali said, moving him along.
“How I am supposed to tell you a story if you keep interrupting?” he demanded.
“I was just helping you get to the good part,” Ali said.
The corners of Andre’s mouth curved up. “Naturally. You want to go straight to the catastrophe. Very well, I will oblige you.”
Ali grinned victoriously. “Start with the king.”
“Brat. When Croesus, King of Lydia, was no longer able to defend himself against Persia, Lydia fell. Lycia was next on the Persians’ list and naturally the independent Lycians weren’t very pleased about the prospect of being taken over.”
“No, how could they be?” Ali said, warming to the tale. “It was very bad of the Persians to want to take all these places that did not belong to them.”
“Yes, it was,” he said, pausing a moment to light a cheroot from an ember he took from the cooking fire, now dying out. “But that didn’t help the Lycians,” he continued. “When they realized there was nothing they could do to defend themselves against domination, they decided that they would do anything rather than surrender.”
Ali sighed heavily. “And so, being the very wonderful people they were, the men herded their brave women and children into the city. The women held their children in their arms to comfort them as their sad husbands set fire to the acropolis, where they had also placed all their possessions, including their loyal slaves. And then they marched out to meet the Persians and perished, every last one.”
“Ali, perhaps you would prefer to tell me the story.” Andre raised one eyebrow, which made Ali burst into laughter. It always made her laugh when he did that.
“No, no—you may tell it. It is only that sometimes you forget to talk about the magnificence of the women, who had to see the suffering of their poor children. At least the men were able to die in glory on the battlefield.”
Joseph-Jean chuckled as he folded his letter and put it
“Which one would you like?” he asked, slinging the saddle over the post he’d made for that purpose.
Ali brought him soap and a basin of water. “The story of Xanthos?” she said. She was in the right sort of mood for a good tragedy.
“Surely not again?” he replied, washing his hands and drying them on the towel she provided.
Joseph-Jean glanced up. “I think our Ali has a real love for bloodthirsty drama,” he said. “How many times have you heard the story? Five? Ten?”
“Stories only become better with many tellings,” Ali informed him crisply, and instantly regretted her unintentionally curt tone as Joseph-Jean looked at her in surprise. “It is only that they grow in detail,” she added contritely.
“Yes, I can see that they would,” he replied, but she knew he was puzzled by her mood.
Andre pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Xanthos it is.”
Ali settled herself at his feet, knowing that secretly he loved telling the story of the magnificent and honorable people who had once lived here. She usually loved just as much to hear the tale, especially the way he had of telling it in his deep, rich, melodic voice.
She tried to put herself in the correct frame of mind and closed her eyes for a moment, imagining herself thousands of years in the past.
“Xanthos was the capital city of Lycia,” he began. “But to understand Xanthos, you have to understand the character of the Lycians—a strong and fiercely independent people, who are believed originally to have come from Crete.”
“Probably Minoans, in around 1400 B.C. ,” Ali added, wishing he would skip the boring things, but knowing they would have to wade through them anyway. He always started the same way.
“Thank you,” Andre said. “They were determined to remain separate from all of their neighbors and they fought to retain that independence. They did, however, fight alongside the Trojans during their war—”
“Told in the Iliad,” Ali said, moving him along.
“How I am supposed to tell you a story if you keep interrupting?” he demanded.
“I was just helping you get to the good part,” Ali said.
The corners of Andre’s mouth curved up. “Naturally. You want to go straight to the catastrophe. Very well, I will oblige you.”
Ali grinned victoriously. “Start with the king.”
“Brat. When Croesus, King of Lydia, was no longer able to defend himself against Persia, Lydia fell. Lycia was next on the Persians’ list and naturally the independent Lycians weren’t very pleased about the prospect of being taken over.”
“No, how could they be?” Ali said, warming to the tale. “It was very bad of the Persians to want to take all these places that did not belong to them.”
“Yes, it was,” he said, pausing a moment to light a cheroot from an ember he took from the cooking fire, now dying out. “But that didn’t help the Lycians,” he continued. “When they realized there was nothing they could do to defend themselves against domination, they decided that they would do anything rather than surrender.”
Ali sighed heavily. “And so, being the very wonderful people they were, the men herded their brave women and children into the city. The women held their children in their arms to comfort them as their sad husbands set fire to the acropolis, where they had also placed all their possessions, including their loyal slaves. And then they marched out to meet the Persians and perished, every last one.”
“Ali, perhaps you would prefer to tell me the story.” Andre raised one eyebrow, which made Ali burst into laughter. It always made her laugh when he did that.
“No, no—you may tell it. It is only that sometimes you forget to talk about the magnificence of the women, who had to see the suffering of their poor children. At least the men were able to die in glory on the battlefield.”
Joseph-Jean chuckled as he folded his letter and put it
Similar Books
