Читать книгу 1356 - Bernard Cornwell - Страница 14

‘Forgive me,’ Thomas said. He had not meant to speak aloud. He spoke to the crucifix above the main altar in the little church of Saint Sardos that stood beneath Castillon d’Arbizon’s castle. Thomas was kneeling. He had lit six candles, which burned on the side altar of Saint Agnes where a young, pale-faced priest counted bright new genoins.

‘Forgive you for what, Thomas?’ the priest asked.

‘He knows.’

‘And you don’t?’

‘Just say the masses for me, father,’ Thomas said.

‘For you? Or for the men you killed?’

‘For the men I killed,’ Thomas said. ‘I gave you enough money?’

‘You gave me enough to build another church,’ the priest said. ‘Remorse is an expensive thing, Thomas.’

Thomas half smiled. ‘They were soldiers, father,’ he said, ‘and they died in obedience to their lord. I owe them peace in their afterlife, don’t I?’