ggk.asongforarbonne-第1部分

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　　Anselme；　who　has　ever　been　acknowledged　as　the　first　and　perhaps　the　greatest　of　all　the　troubadours　of　Arbonne；　was　of　modest　birth；　the　youngest　son　of　a　clerk　in　the　castle　of　a　baron　near　Cauvas。　He　was　of　middling　height；　dark　haired；　with　a　quiet　manner　in　speech　that　was　nonetheless　wondrously　pleasing　to　all　who　heard　him。　While　yet　tender　in　years；　he　showed　great　skill　and　interest　in　music　and　was　invited　to　join　the　celebrated　choir　of　the　Cauvas　sanctuary　of　the　god。　It　was　not　long；　however；　before　he　felt　the　beginnings　of　a　desire　to　make　music　very　different　from　that　acceptable　in　the　service　of　the　god；　or　indeed　of　the　goddess　Rian　in　her　temples。　And　so　Anselme　left　the　forts　of　the　chapel　and　choir　to　make　his　way　alone　among　the　villages　and　castles　of　Arbonne；　offering　his　new　songs　shaped　of　tunes　and　words　such　as　he　had　heard　sung　by　the　mon　folk　in　their　own　speech　。。。　
　　He　was　later　brought　into　the　household　of　Duke　Raimbaut　de　Vaux　and　honoured　there；　and　in　time　his　prowess　came　to　the　attention　of　Count　Folquet　himself；　and　Anselme　was　invited　to　pass　a　winter　in　Barbentain。　From　that　time　was　Anselme's　fortune　assured；　and　the　fate　of　the　troubadours　of　Arbonne　likewise　made　sure；　for　Anselme　swiftly　rose　high　in　the　friendship　and　trust　of　Count　Folquet　and　in　the　esteem　and　very　great　affection　of　the　noble　Countess　Dia。　They　honoured　him　for　his　music　and　his　wit；　and　also　for　his　discretion　and　cleverness；　which　led　the　count　to　employ　him　in　many　hazardous　tasks　of　diplomacy　beyond　the　borders　of　Arbonne　。。。　
　　In　time；　Count　Folquet　himself；　under　the　tutelage　of　Anselme　of　Cauvas；　began　to　make　his　own　songs；　and　from　that　day　it　may　be　said　that　the　art　and　reputation　of　the　troubadours　has　never　been　diminished　or　endangered　in　Arbonne；　and　has　indeed　grown　and　flourished　in　all　the　known　countries　of　the　world　。。。　
　　
　　PROLOGUE
　　　On　a　morning　in　the　springtime　of　the　year；　when　the　snows　of　the　mountains　were　melting　and　the　rivers　swift　in　their　running；　Aelis　de　Miraval　watched　her　husband　ride　out　at　dawn　to　hunt　in　the　forest　west　of　their　castle；　and　shortly　after　that　she　took　horse　herself；　travelling　north　and　east　along　the　shores　of　the　lake　towards　the　begetting　of　her　son。
　　She　did　not　ride　alone　or　secretly；　that　would　have　been　folly　beyond　words。　Though　she　was　young　and　had　always　been　headstrong；　Aelis　had　never　been　a　fool　and　would　not　be　one　now；　even　in　love。
　　She　had　her　young　cousin　with　her；　and　an　escort　of　six　armed　corans；　the　trained　and　anointed　warriors　of　the　household；　and　she　was　riding　by　pre…arrangement…as　she　had　told　her　husband　several　days　before…to　spend　a　day　and　a　night　with　the　duchess　of　Talair　in　her　moated　castle　on　the　northern　shore　of　Lake　Dierne。　All　was　in　order；　carefully　so。
　　The　fact　that　there　were　other　people　in　Castle　Talair　besides　the　duchess　and　her　ladies　was　an　obvious　truth；　not　worthy　of　ment　or　observation。　A　great　many　people　made　up　the　household　of　a　powerful　duke　such　as　Bernart　de　Talair；　and　if　one　of　them　might　be　the　younger　son　and　a　poet；　what　of　that？　Women　in　a　castle；　even　here　in　Arbonne；　were　guarded　like　spices　or　gold；　locked　up　at　night　against　whoever　might　be　wandering　in　the　silence　of　the　dark　hours。
　　But　night；　and　its　wanderers；　was　a　long　way　off。　It　was　a　beautiful　morning　through　which　they　now　rode；　the　first　delicate　note　of　the　song　that　would　be　springtime　in　Arbonne。　To　their　left；　the　terraced　vineyards　stretched　into　the　distance　of　the　Miraval　lands；　pale　green　now；　but　with　the　promise　of　the　dark；　ripe　summer　grapes　to　e。　East　of　the　curving　path；　the　waters　of　Lake　Dierne　were　a　dazzle　of　blue　in　the　light　of　the　early　sun。　Aelis　could　see　the　isle　clearly；　and　the　smoke　rising　from　the　three　sacred　fires　in　Rian's　temple　there。　Despite　her　two　years　on　the　other；　larger　island　of　the　goddess　far　to　the　south　in　the　sea；　Aelis　had　lived　her　life　too　near　to　the　gather　and　play　of　earthly　power　to　be　truly　devout；　but　that　morning　she　offered　an　inward　prayer　to　Rian；　and　then　another…amused　at　herself…to　Corannos；　that　the　god　of　the　Ancients；　too；　might　look　down　with　favour　upon　her　from　his　throne　behind　the　sun。
　　The　air　was　so　clear；　swept　by　the　freshness　of　the　breeze；　that　she　could　already　see　Talair　itself　on　the　far　shore　of　the　lake。　The　castle　ramparts　rose　up；　formidable　and　stern；　as　befitted　the　home　of　a　family　so　proud。　She　glanced　back　behind　her　then　and　saw；　across　the　vineyards　that　lay　between；　the　equally　arrogant　walls　of　Miraval；　a　little　higher　even；　seat　of　a　lineage　as　august　as　any　in　Arbonne。　But　when　Aelis　looked　across　the　water　to　Talair　she　smiled；　and　when　she　looked　back　at　the　castle　where　she　dwelled　with　her　husband　she　could　not　suppress　a　shiver　and　a　fleeting　chill。
　　〃I　thought　you　might　be　cold。　I　brought　your　cloak；　Aelis。　It　is　early　yet　in　the　day；　and　early　in　the　year。〃
　　Her　cousin　Ariane；　Aelis　thought；　was　far　too　quick　and　observant　for　a　thirteen…year…old。　It　was　almost　time　for　her　to　wed。　Let　some　other　girl　of　their　family　discover　the　dubious　joys　of　politically　guided　marriages；　Aelis　thought　spitefully。　But　then　she　was　quick　to　withdraw　that　wish：　she　would　not　have　another　lord　such　as　Urté　de　Miraval　visited　upon　any　of　her　kin；　least　of　all　a　child　as　glad…hearted　as　Ariane。
　　She　had　been　much　the　same　herself；　Aelis　reflected；　not　so　long　ago。
　　She　glanced　over　at　her　cousin；　at　the　quick；　expressive；　dark　eyes　and　the　long　black　hair　tumbling　free。　Her　own　hair　was　carefully　pinned　and　covered　now；　of　course；　she　was　a　married　woman；　not　a　maiden；　and　unloosed　hair；　as　everyone　knew；　as　all　the　troubadours　wrote　and　the　joglars　sang；　was　sheerest　incitement　to　desire。　Married　women　of　rank　were　not　to　incite　such　desire；　Aelis　thought　drily。　She　smiled　at　Ariane　though；　it　was　hard　not　to　smile　at　Ariane。
　　〃No　cloak　this　morning；　bright　heart；　it　would　feel　like　a　denial　of　the　spring。〃
　　Ariane　laughed。　〃When　even　the　birds　above　the　lake　are　singing　of　my　love；〃　she　quoted。　〃Though　none　can　hear　them　but　the　waves。〃
　　Aelis　couldn't　help　smiling　again。　Ariane　had　the　lyric　wrong；　but　it　wouldn't　do　to　correct　her；　it　might　give　too　much　away。　All　of　her　ladies…in…waiting　were　singing　that　song。　The　lines　were　recent　and　anonymous。　They　had　heard　a　joglar　sing　the　tune　in　the　hall　at　Miraval　only　a　few　months　before　during　the　winter　rains；　and　there　had　been　at　least　a　fortnight's　worth　of　avid　conjecture　among　the　women　afterwards　as　to　which　of　the　better…known　troubadours　had　shaped　this　newest；　impassioned　invocation　of　the　spring　and　his　desire。
　　Aelis　knew。　She　knew　exactly　who　had　written　that　song；　and　she　also　knew　rather　more　than　that…that　it　had　been　posed　for　her；　and　not　for　any　of　the　other　high…born　ladies　whose　names　were　being　bandied　about　in　febrile　speculation。　It　was　hers；　that　song。　A　response　to　a　promise　she　had　chosen　to　make　during　the　midwinter　feasting　at　Barbentain。
　　A　rash　promise？　A　deserved　one？　Aelis　thought　she　knew　what　her　father　would　have　said；　but　she　wondered　about　her　mother。　Signe；　countess　of　Arbonne；　had；　after　all；　founded　the　Courts　of　Love　here　in　the　south；　and　Aelis　had　grown　into　womanhood　hearing　her　mother's　clear　voice　lifted　in　wit　or　mockery　in　the　great　hall　at　Barbentain；　and　the　responding；　deep…throated　laughter　of　a　circle　of　besotted　men。
　　It　was　still　happening　now；　today；　probably　this　very　morning　amid　the　splendours　of　Barbentain　on　its　own　island　in　the　river　near　the　mountain　passes。　The　young　lords　of　Arbonne　and　even　the　older　ones　and　the　troubadours　and　the　joglars　with　their　lutes　and　harps　and　the　emissaries　from　over　all　the　mountains　and　across　the　seas　would　be　dancing　attendance　upon　the　dazzling　countess　of　Arbonne；　her　mother。
　　With　Guibor；　the　count；　watching　it　all；　smiling　to　himself　in　the　way　he　had；　and　then　assessing　and　deciding　affairs　of　state　afterwards；　at　night；　with　the　glittering　wife　he　loved　and　who　loved　him；　and　whom　he　trusted　with　his　life；　his　honour；　his　realm；　with　all　his　hope　of　happiness　on　this　side　of　death。
　　〃Your　mother's　l