Read Online Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosemary Sutcliff
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bittern boomed again, and again was silent.
‘But something I think was not so good. What was it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
I felt my hands tighten on my sword hilt until the pommel with its great square-edged amethyst cut into my palm, and forced a laugh. ‘More times than once, you have told me that I show all
things too clearly in my face. But this time you ride your own fancy. There is nothing there to show.’
‘Nothing?’ he said again.
And I turned deliberately to face him in the full white moonlight. ‘Do I seem changed in some way?’
‘No,’ he said slowly, consideringly. ‘More as though you found us – our world – changed; or were afraid to find it so. When you came into the holy men’s hall
this evening, you held yourself as long as might be, from looking into my face. And when you looked at last, it was as though you feared to see the face of a stranger – even an enemy. It
is—’ His voice dropped even lower, and all the while he had been speaking scarcely above his breath. ‘You make me think of a man such as the harpers sing of, who has passed a
night in the Hollow Hills.’
I was silent a long time, and I think I nearly told him all the story. But in the end I could not; I could not though my soul had depended upon it. I said, ‘Maybe I have passed my night in
the Hollow Hills.’
And even as I spoke, up beyond the apple trees the bell of the wattle church began to ring, calling the Brothers to evening prayer; a bronze sound, a brown sound in the moonlight, falling among
the apple trees. Ambrosius went on looking at me for a moment, but I knew that he would press the thing no further; and I remained for the same moment, playing with the hilt of the great sword
across my knees, and letting the quiet of the moment soak into me before I must rouse myself to go forward again. ‘If I were indeed newcome from the Hollow Hills, at least this must be the
place of all others, with the bell calling my soul back to the Christian’s God ... It is a good place – peace rises in it as the mist over the reedbeds. It would be a good place to come
back to in the end.’
‘In the end?’
‘When the last battle is fought and the last song sung, and the sword sheathed for the last time,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day when I am past fighting the Saxon kind, I shall give
my sword to whoever comes after me, and come back here as an old dog creeps home to die. Shave my forehead and bare my feet, and strive to make my soul in whatever time is left to me.’
‘That is the oldest dream in the world,’ Ambrosius said, getting to his feet. ‘To lay down the sword and the Purple and take up the begging bowl. I don’t see you with
bare feet and a shaven forehead, Artos my friend.’
But even as he spoke, it seemed to me that the great purple amethyst in my sword pommel tilted a fraction under my finger, as though it were not quite secure in its bed. I bent quickly to
examine it and Ambrosius checked in the act of turning away. ‘Something amiss?’
‘I thought Maximus’s seal felt loose in its setting. Seems secure enough now, though; probably I imagined it ... I’ll get the next goldsmith I can find, to take a look at it, all
the same.’
But the bell was ringing louder, and the sound of singing stole down through the apple trees, and if we were to pay the Brothers the small courtesy of joining them at prayer, we must move. I got
up, stirring the unwilling Cabal with my foot. ‘Up, lazy one!’ and with the hound’s cold muzzle thrusting into my hand, walked with Ambrosius up through the orchard. I thought no
more about the loosened amethyst, until a later day reminded me ...
Well before spring had given place to summer, I and my small band were in Dumnonia, and lodged with Cador the Prince, while we waited for a ship. I had thought to find him in the old frontier
town of Isca Dumnoniorum, or at his summer capital on the Tamara River; but it seemed that Cador had as
‘But something I think was not so good. What was it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
I felt my hands tighten on my sword hilt until the pommel with its great square-edged amethyst cut into my palm, and forced a laugh. ‘More times than once, you have told me that I show all
things too clearly in my face. But this time you ride your own fancy. There is nothing there to show.’
‘Nothing?’ he said again.
And I turned deliberately to face him in the full white moonlight. ‘Do I seem changed in some way?’
‘No,’ he said slowly, consideringly. ‘More as though you found us – our world – changed; or were afraid to find it so. When you came into the holy men’s hall
this evening, you held yourself as long as might be, from looking into my face. And when you looked at last, it was as though you feared to see the face of a stranger – even an enemy. It
is—’ His voice dropped even lower, and all the while he had been speaking scarcely above his breath. ‘You make me think of a man such as the harpers sing of, who has passed a
night in the Hollow Hills.’
I was silent a long time, and I think I nearly told him all the story. But in the end I could not; I could not though my soul had depended upon it. I said, ‘Maybe I have passed my night in
the Hollow Hills.’
And even as I spoke, up beyond the apple trees the bell of the wattle church began to ring, calling the Brothers to evening prayer; a bronze sound, a brown sound in the moonlight, falling among
the apple trees. Ambrosius went on looking at me for a moment, but I knew that he would press the thing no further; and I remained for the same moment, playing with the hilt of the great sword
across my knees, and letting the quiet of the moment soak into me before I must rouse myself to go forward again. ‘If I were indeed newcome from the Hollow Hills, at least this must be the
place of all others, with the bell calling my soul back to the Christian’s God ... It is a good place – peace rises in it as the mist over the reedbeds. It would be a good place to come
back to in the end.’
‘In the end?’
‘When the last battle is fought and the last song sung, and the sword sheathed for the last time,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day when I am past fighting the Saxon kind, I shall give
my sword to whoever comes after me, and come back here as an old dog creeps home to die. Shave my forehead and bare my feet, and strive to make my soul in whatever time is left to me.’
‘That is the oldest dream in the world,’ Ambrosius said, getting to his feet. ‘To lay down the sword and the Purple and take up the begging bowl. I don’t see you with
bare feet and a shaven forehead, Artos my friend.’
But even as he spoke, it seemed to me that the great purple amethyst in my sword pommel tilted a fraction under my finger, as though it were not quite secure in its bed. I bent quickly to
examine it and Ambrosius checked in the act of turning away. ‘Something amiss?’
‘I thought Maximus’s seal felt loose in its setting. Seems secure enough now, though; probably I imagined it ... I’ll get the next goldsmith I can find, to take a look at it, all
the same.’
But the bell was ringing louder, and the sound of singing stole down through the apple trees, and if we were to pay the Brothers the small courtesy of joining them at prayer, we must move. I got
up, stirring the unwilling Cabal with my foot. ‘Up, lazy one!’ and with the hound’s cold muzzle thrusting into my hand, walked with Ambrosius up through the orchard. I thought no
more about the loosened amethyst, until a later day reminded me ...
Well before spring had given place to summer, I and my small band were in Dumnonia, and lodged with Cador the Prince, while we waited for a ship. I had thought to find him in the old frontier
town of Isca Dumnoniorum, or at his summer capital on the Tamara River; but it seemed that Cador had as
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