ggk.asongforarbonne-第100部分

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ne　de　Barbentain　had　collectively　attended　mourning　services　in　the　Temple　of　Rian；　and　in　their　midst…walking　beside　the　countess；　in　fact…had　been　Blaise　de　Garsenc。
　　Thaune　was　instructed　to　claim　responsibility　for　that　attempted　killing　of　the　pretender；　both　on　the　road　north　through　the　pass　and　again　when　he　arrived　home　at　the　castle…a　Garsenc　coran　would　need　such　a　story；　Blaise　had　told　him。　Thaune；　remembering　the　fears　that　had　led　him　to　kill　the　animal…trainer；　had　acceded　gratefully。　It　was　strange；　actually；　to　be　working　for　a　leader　who　thought　of　so　many　details　concerning　his　men。　Thaune　had　even；　after　hesitating；　told　Blaise　about　that　killing　in　the　alley。　He　didn't　want　hidden　things　between　him　and　this　man。
　　Blaise　had　looked　regretful；　but　not　judgmental。　〃You　were　afraid；〃　he'd　said；　〃and　doing　your　duty　out　of　fear。　That　is　how　things　have　always　been　at　Garsenc。　I　hope　you　will　do　what　you　see　as　your　duty　now；　but　without　the　fear。〃
　　
　　Thaune　remembered　that。　He　had　done　what　he　could；　which；　as　it　turned　out；　was　quite　a　bit。　He'd　more　of　a　knack　than　he　would　have　guessed　for　such　intrigues。　There　had　been　only　a　dozen　soldiers　in　his　party　on　the　ride　north…Gorhaut　corans　seldom　went　south　to　tournaments　in　Arbonne；　they　hadn't　done　so　for　years。
　　There　were　no　rules　about　such　things；　but　corans　of　reputation　usually　waited　another　month　and　went　east　to　Aulensburg　for　the　tourney　there。　Gotzland　was　seen　as　better　than　Arbonne；　it　was　acceptable　to　fight　there。　Only　the　younger　ones；　and　a　handful　of　spies　sometimes；　went　south　to　Lussan　in　the　autumn　with　the　merchants　and　entertainers。　There　were　no　spies　in　this　small　party；　though；　Thaune　was　certain　of　it。　The　young　men　listened；　a　little　awed；　to　his　snarling　tale　of　wind　pushing　a　long　bowshot　short。
　　They　were　probably　wishing　they　had　tried　the　same　thing；　he　had　mused　that　first　night　in　the　roadside　inn　among　the　falling　leaves　of　autumn。　Probably　even　dreaming　of　having　done　so；　and　having　succeeded；　and　riding　back　to　King　Ademar　in　triumph　unimaginable。　Young　men　had　such　dreams。
　　Two　of　the　corans　on　that　ride；　he'd　decided；　might　be　thinking；　or　dreaming；　along　somewhat　different　lines。　He'd　taken　a　chance　and　spoken　to　one　of　them　before　they　parted　ways。　Turned　out　he　had　judged　rightly；　taking　careful　chances　was　what　he'd　been　sent　back　to　do。　Before　their　roads　divided；　his　to　Garsenc；　the　other　coran's　towards　the　palace　in　Cortil；　Thaune　had　won　his　first　recruit　to　the　cause　of　Blaise　de　Garsenc's　rebellion。　The　accent　had　been　what　decided　him。　You　could　almost　always　trust　a　north…land　man　to　be　unhappy　with　King　Ademar。
　　On　the　ramparts　of　Garsenc　he　leaned　forward；　suddenly　tense；　peering　blindly　into　the　fog。　It　was　thick　as　the　mist　was　said　to　be　above　the　river　to　the　land　of　the　dead。　He　could　see　nothing；　but　he　thought　he'd　heard　a　sound　from　the　grassy　space　beyond　the　outer　wall　and　the　dry　moat。
　　
　　The　sky　above　another　castle；　beyond　the　mountains　to　the　south；　was　brilliantly　clear　that　same　night；　the　stars　like　diamonds；　the　two　moons　bright　enough　to　lend　shadows　to　the　trees　bending　in　the　path　of　the　sirnal…the　north　wind　that　swept　down　the　Arbonne　Valley　with　the　bitter　force　of　winter　behind　it。
　　Fires　were　burning　on　all　the　hearths　of　Barbentain；　and　Signe　had　dressed　herself　in　layers　of　fine…spun　wool　with　fur　trim　at　the　collar　and　sleeves　and　a　fur…lined　hat　covering　her　head；　even　indoors。　She　hated　the　winter；　she　always　had；　especially　when　the　sirnal　blew；　making　her　eyes　stream　and　her　fingers　ache。　Usually　she　and　Guibor　had　been　south　by　this　time；　in　Carenzo　with　Ariane　and　Thierry；　or　in　the　winter　palace　in　Tavernel　for　their　sojourn　there。　It　was　always　milder　in　the　south；　the　depredations　of　the　sirnal　less　harrowing；　tempered　by　the　shape　of　the　land　and　the　influence　of　the　sea。
　　This　year　was　different。　She　needed　to　be　in　Barbentain　because　this　winter　would　not　be　the　customary　time　of　sheltering　behind　castle　and　village　walls　while　the　wind　whipped　down　the　valleys　and　empty　roads。　Events　were　taking　place　this　season　that　were　going　to　define　the　future　for　all　of　them；　one　way　or　another。　In　fact；　they　were　taking　place　tonight；　beneath　the　brightness　of　these　two　moons　beyond　the　mountains；　in　Gorhaut。　She　wondered　what　Vidonne　and　blue　Riannon　were　seeing　there　as　they　looked　down。
　　Almost　unbearably　anxious；　unable　to　keep　still；　she　paced　back　and　forth　from　one　fire　to　another　in　her　sitting　room。　She　was　disturbing　her　waiting…women　she　knew；　and　almost　certainly　doing　the　same　to　Rosala；　who　sat　calmly　nonetheless；　hands　busy　at　needlework　in　her　chair　drawn　close　to　one　fire。　She　wondered　how　the　woman　could　be　so　placid；　knowing…as　indeed　she　did　know…what　was　at　stake　tonight　in　the　north。
　　It　had　e　down　to　Blaise　de　Garsenc；　as　Beatritz　had　said　it　might　almost　a　year　ago　when　they'd　first　bee　aware　that　the　new　coran　in　Baude　Castle　was　rather　more　than　he　seemed。　Rather　more。　A　very　great　deal　more；　in　fact。　The　countess　wished；　again；　that　Beatritz　was　with　her　now；　instead　of　on　the　island　so　far　to　the　south　in　the　sea。　Images　of　the　past　year　had　been　with　her　all　evening；　dancing　in　the　flicker　of　the　fires。　It　sometimes　seemed　to　her　that　she　spent　half　her　life　now　walking　with　images　of　the　past。　But　she　wasn't　thinking　of　Guibor　now。　She　was　remembering　Bertran　at　the　challenge　ground　as　the　northerner　stood　before　the　Portezzan　pavilion　offering　a　red　rose：
　　We　may　have　all　found　more　than　we　bargained　for　in　this　man；　Bertran　had　said。
　　Another　image　rose　up　then；　a　memory　from　within　this　castle；　in　autumn　as　well；　when　they　had　summoned　all　the　merchants　and　corans　of　Gorhaut　the　morning　after　Aubry　and　told　them　they　were　confiscating　their　trade　goods　and　sending　them　home　from　the　fair。
　　Urté　de　Miraval　had　wanted　to　execute　them　all；　and　Signe；　a　hard　rage　running　through　her；　had　had　to　resist　the　same　desire。　There　were　even　precedents　for　such　a　thing。　Every　citizen　of　a　country　was　personally　responsible　for　the　truce…breaking　of　their　lords。　It　had　been　Blaise　who　had　requested；　insisted　actually；　that　the　merchants　be　let　go；　and　had　given　cause　why　this　should　be　so。
　　〃I　have　nothing　at　all　to　offer　in　Gorhaut　just　yet；〃　he'd　said；　speaking　earnestly　in　this　very　room　before　they　had　all　gone　down　to　deal　with　those　assembled。　〃They　must　go　home　knowing　I've　saved　their　lives…lives　put　in　hazard　by　Ademar's　truce…breaking。　They　must　go　home　and　talk　about　that。　Will　you　give　me　that　much？〃　He'd　paused。　〃Or　are　we　no　better　than　what　we　are　trying　to　fight？〃
　　She'd　been　genuinely　angry　with　him　then；　a　Gorhautian　speaking　so　to　her　on　the　morning　after　so　many　of　her　people　had　been　slain。　But　she　was　a　countess　of　a　land　in　peril；　and　she　had　always　been　able　to　master　her　emotions　when　it　was　time　to　advise　Guibor　on　his　decisions；　or　to　make　them　herself。　Blaise　was　speaking　truth；　she　finally　decided；　and　she　gave　him　what　he　asked。
　　In　the　room　below　when　she　came　before　the　merchants　one　of　them　had　protested　loudly　at　the　announced　seizure　of　their　goods；　astonishingly　oblivious　to　how　close　all　of　them　had　been　to　being　executed　that　same　morning：　no　more　innocent　than　the　villagers　and　priestesses　of　Aubry。　The　man　plained　furiously　a　second　time；　and　then　a　third；　speaking　with　choler　and　no　respect；　interjecting　while　she　was　still　addressing　them。　In　an　odd；　unsettling　way；　she　had　actually　been　glad　of　it。　She　had　nodded　at　Urté；　who　had　been　looking　at　her　expectantly；　only　waiting　for　a　signal。　The　duke　of　Miraval　had　calmly　declared　the　merchant's　life　to　be　forfeit。　The　man　had　begun　shouting　then；　and　the　palace　corans　had　moved　in　quickly　to　take　him　from　the　room。
　　Blaise　had　looked　as　if　he　wanted　to　object　even　to　that；　but　had　held　himself　in　check　as　the　struggling　merchant　was　dragged　away　by　the　guards。　There　was　another　message　that　had　to　be　sent　here；　and　Signe　knew　it；　she　had　been　governing　a　nation　for　some　time；　after　all；　with　Guibor　and　now　alone。　Images　of　power　mattered：　in　Gorhaut　they　could　not　be　allowed　to　think