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.It was as if the odd words and melody came from somewhere outside herself.Asif it were her mother's voice, not Guihen's, not hers.With newfound resolve,she set foot on the faint trail back to Citharista and her father's grove.* * *The eighth winter of Pierrette's short life promised to be severe, and she wasgrateful for the fat bundles of dead branches she and Gilles gathered in theolive grove."Wait, Father," she protested, as Gilles fingered a promising branch."Thatone may not be dead."Her father examined the tips of the twig, looking for the first swelling budsof midwinter."Not a single new bud on the tree." His tone was bleak."If Ihad a good axe, I'd split the trunk for firewood.""We don't need that much wood, Father.The nights are less cold than a weekago." She needed time for what she'd done to have its effect.Too weary toargue, Gilles shrugged and climbed down from the tree.* * *Spring came, and winds no longer blew bitter in the mountain valleys.The fewclouds were high and puffy, and under the strengthening sun the ground dried.Gilles and Pierrette surveyed the grove."You were right," he crowed, cradlinga leafy branch in both hands."The tree lives! Look at those buds.Next year,we'll harvest a whole basketful from this branch alone." Olives do not bloomor put forth fruit every year.This year's rich foliage held a promise ofsomething more.As they walked home, Gilles rehearsed to his daughter how he'd rebuff Jeromethe Burgundian when hefile:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-%2.Sacred%20Pool%20(.html.jpg%20v3.0)/0671319566___5.htm (4 of 7)2-1-2007 14:07:52- Chapter 5Page 27 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlcame again to buy the grove.Pierrette, never really talkative, said little.Gilles saw nothing unusual in that.Gilles's good cheer stemmed not only from the tree's rebirth, but from theshattering of a belief he had held for several seasons now: that the grove'sdecline began with the death of his wife, and that it was irreversible.Now hecould speak with true conviction when he told Jerome that its ailment had beenonly a fluke of the weather.* * *The summer passed slowly.At the marketplace, Marie's preferred spot to sell pots of last year's olivesand jars of oil was at the end of the stone-paved square, where the columns ofthe Romans' forum shaded the cobblestones from the afternoon sun.Behind the crumbling brick arches was a weedy open space, from which issued awooden clatter."They're swordfighting again," Pierrette said."I'm going to watch." Marie,who seemed to have no interest in anything except olives and oil, shrugged.Pierrette was in the eyes of the gens a boy, Gilles's son Piers, so it was only natural that she should gravitatetoward boyish things.As a girl, albeit disguised, she considered boyspretentious little imitations of men, who puffed and postured in a manner shecould not imitate without an inward laugh.Her ready smile served a purpose: the genuine boys most of whom were tallerthan she was seldom pressed her hard.Her thin arms were hardly capable ofwielding even a wooden sword, should she be invited into the game.She wasneither a leader nor a scapegoat.As if by some unremarked magic, she wasnever really noticed at all, unless she made a point of it.She peered through an irregular doorway.Of the boys with wooden blades, sheonly had eyes for one:Marius, whose father owned the largest boat at the wharf.He was tall, withcurly hair and a long, straight nose.Older and half again her height, heseemed manly and mature.As always, he was getting the best of his opponent."When I marry," Pierrette promised herself, "it will be to Marius." Then herface twisted.She would marry no one.She was, as far as they all knew, aweak, ineffectual boy.When, if ever, could she reveal herself as a girl? Would she ever get over theteasing, the laughter, when the townsfolk learned her secret?Avoiding Marie's notice, she slipped down a narrow street, and away from themarket.How unfair life was.Marie, who didn't care whether boys noticed heror not, drew their attention with her quiet,file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-%2.Sacred%20Pool%20(.html.jpg%20v3.0)/0671319566___5.htm (5 of 7)2-1-2007 14:07:52- Chapter 5indifferent gaze, her ethereal smiles and downcast eyes.The street opened onto the empty place between the last houses and thehalf-fallen town wall.Pierrette gazed outward and upward to the threedomelike rocks that formed the Eagle's Beak.Guihen, on those very heights,had warned her away from Anselm.But what difference would that make? She had no real friends and no prospectof a husband, anyway [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.It was as if the odd words and melody came from somewhere outside herself.Asif it were her mother's voice, not Guihen's, not hers.With newfound resolve,she set foot on the faint trail back to Citharista and her father's grove.* * *The eighth winter of Pierrette's short life promised to be severe, and she wasgrateful for the fat bundles of dead branches she and Gilles gathered in theolive grove."Wait, Father," she protested, as Gilles fingered a promising branch."Thatone may not be dead."Her father examined the tips of the twig, looking for the first swelling budsof midwinter."Not a single new bud on the tree." His tone was bleak."If Ihad a good axe, I'd split the trunk for firewood.""We don't need that much wood, Father.The nights are less cold than a weekago." She needed time for what she'd done to have its effect.Too weary toargue, Gilles shrugged and climbed down from the tree.* * *Spring came, and winds no longer blew bitter in the mountain valleys.The fewclouds were high and puffy, and under the strengthening sun the ground dried.Gilles and Pierrette surveyed the grove."You were right," he crowed, cradlinga leafy branch in both hands."The tree lives! Look at those buds.Next year,we'll harvest a whole basketful from this branch alone." Olives do not bloomor put forth fruit every year.This year's rich foliage held a promise ofsomething more.As they walked home, Gilles rehearsed to his daughter how he'd rebuff Jeromethe Burgundian when hefile:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-%2.Sacred%20Pool%20(.html.jpg%20v3.0)/0671319566___5.htm (4 of 7)2-1-2007 14:07:52- Chapter 5Page 27 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlcame again to buy the grove.Pierrette, never really talkative, said little.Gilles saw nothing unusual in that.Gilles's good cheer stemmed not only from the tree's rebirth, but from theshattering of a belief he had held for several seasons now: that the grove'sdecline began with the death of his wife, and that it was irreversible.Now hecould speak with true conviction when he told Jerome that its ailment had beenonly a fluke of the weather.* * *The summer passed slowly.At the marketplace, Marie's preferred spot to sell pots of last year's olivesand jars of oil was at the end of the stone-paved square, where the columns ofthe Romans' forum shaded the cobblestones from the afternoon sun.Behind the crumbling brick arches was a weedy open space, from which issued awooden clatter."They're swordfighting again," Pierrette said."I'm going to watch." Marie,who seemed to have no interest in anything except olives and oil, shrugged.Pierrette was in the eyes of the gens a boy, Gilles's son Piers, so it was only natural that she should gravitatetoward boyish things.As a girl, albeit disguised, she considered boyspretentious little imitations of men, who puffed and postured in a manner shecould not imitate without an inward laugh.Her ready smile served a purpose: the genuine boys most of whom were tallerthan she was seldom pressed her hard.Her thin arms were hardly capable ofwielding even a wooden sword, should she be invited into the game.She wasneither a leader nor a scapegoat.As if by some unremarked magic, she wasnever really noticed at all, unless she made a point of it.She peered through an irregular doorway.Of the boys with wooden blades, sheonly had eyes for one:Marius, whose father owned the largest boat at the wharf.He was tall, withcurly hair and a long, straight nose.Older and half again her height, heseemed manly and mature.As always, he was getting the best of his opponent."When I marry," Pierrette promised herself, "it will be to Marius." Then herface twisted.She would marry no one.She was, as far as they all knew, aweak, ineffectual boy.When, if ever, could she reveal herself as a girl? Would she ever get over theteasing, the laughter, when the townsfolk learned her secret?Avoiding Marie's notice, she slipped down a narrow street, and away from themarket.How unfair life was.Marie, who didn't care whether boys noticed heror not, drew their attention with her quiet,file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-%2.Sacred%20Pool%20(.html.jpg%20v3.0)/0671319566___5.htm (5 of 7)2-1-2007 14:07:52- Chapter 5indifferent gaze, her ethereal smiles and downcast eyes.The street opened onto the empty place between the last houses and thehalf-fallen town wall.Pierrette gazed outward and upward to the threedomelike rocks that formed the Eagle's Beak.Guihen, on those very heights,had warned her away from Anselm.But what difference would that make? She had no real friends and no prospectof a husband, anyway [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]