Читать книгу The Red Saint онлайн

7 страница из 75

“We brought the boy to you. The arrow drove right through him. You can feel the point under his tunic.”

Denise laid a hand over the lad’s heart. There was not a flicker of movement there, but she could feel the arrow’s head standing out a hand’s breadth beyond the ribs. The lad must have died very quickly.

“He is dead,” she said to the man at her side.

Aymery was staring at the boy’s face. He turned, and glanced meaningly at the figure that stood apart in silent isolation.

“It is Waleran,” he said in a whisper, “he would not believe the worst.”

Denise gave a little shudder of pity. Aymery turned, and met her eyes.

“Pray for the boy, Denise. What is death, but a miracle! And an hour ago——”

She spread her hands helplessly.

“Lord, death is beyond me; I am not blessed with so much power. Someone must tell him.”

“The pity of it!”

And she echoed him.

“The pity of it!”

A compassionate humility made her bow her head over the rough litter, for there was no place for the smaller remembrance of self in the conscious awe of her own helplessness. Denise had healed sick people, but she who could play the lady of healing, knew herself human in the presence of death.