ggk.asongforarbonne-第22部分

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s　amusement　of　the　king's　has　taken　place　before；　but　never　with　a　lord　of　so　high　a　rank。　It　is　a　measure　of　Ademar's　power；　or　the　fear　he　elicits；　that　he　can　do　this　to　a　man　who　was　once　King's　Champion　in　Gorhaut；　however　many　years　ago　that　was。
　　〃Marry　the　bitch；〃　the　king　repeats　slowly；　as　if　tasting　the　syllables　on　his　tongue。　〃Marry　the　countess　of　Arbonne。　How　old　is　Signe　de　Barbentain　now；　sixty…five；　seventy？　An　astonishing　suggestion　。。。　how　is　she　with　her　mouth；　does　anyone　know？〃
　　Several　of　the　men　and　one　of　the　women　by　the　window　titter　with　laughter　again。　None　of　the　foreign　envoys　is　in　the　room　at　the　moment；　given　the　current　subject　matter；　an　extremely　good　thing。　Rosala　de　Garsenc　is　pale；　but　her　square；　handsome　features　betray　no　expression　at　all。
　　On　the　other　side　of　the　room　her　husband　abruptly　reaches　for　his　flagon　again。　This　time　he　spills　some　ale　as　he　brings　it　to　his　lips。　He　wipes　his　moustache　with　a　sleeve　and　says；　〃Does　it　matter？　Would　anyone　imagine　I　speak　of　more　than　a　marriage　of　acquisition？〃　He　pauses　and　glances；　almost　involuntarily；　downward　for　an　instant；　and　then　resumes。　〃You　marry　the　crone；　pack　her　off　to　a　castle　in　the　north　and　inherit　Arbonne　when　she　dies　of　fever　or　ague　or　whatever　else　the　god　sees　fit　to　send　her。　Then　you　follow　through　with　your　marriage　to　Daufridi　of　Valensa's　daughter。　She　may　even　be　old　enough　to　bed　by　then。〃
　　Ademar　has　turned　in　his　seat　to　look　fully　at　him；　his　pale　eyes　unreadable　above　the　yellow　beard。　He　says　nothing；　chewing　meditatively　on　one　end　of　his　long　moustache。　There　is　a　stir　at　the　far　end　of　the　room；　made　louder　by　the　silence　around　the　throne。　The　great　doors　swing　open　and　the　guards　let　someone　through。　A　very　large　man　in　a　dark　blue　robe　enters；　striding　purposefully　forward。　Seeing　him；　Ademar's　face　lights　up。　He　grins　like　a　mischievous　child　and　glances　quickly　back　at　Ranald　de　Garsenc；　who　has　also　taken　note　of　the　man　entering；　though　with　a　very　different　expression　on　his　face。
　　〃My　dear　High　Elder；〃　the　king　says；　his　tone　brightly　malicious　now；　〃you　are　narrowly　in　time　to　observe　how　we　value　our　cousin；　your　son；　and　his　wise　counsels。　Our　well…beloved　Mistress　Belote　is　even　now　assuaging　him　with　his　lady　wife's　full　approval。　Will　you　e　make　this　a　family　affair？〃
　　Galbert　de　Garsenc；　High　Elder　of　Corannos　in　Gorhaut；　Chief　Counsellor　to　the　King；　disdains　to　even　glance　at　his　son；　nor　does　he　appear　to　acknowledge　the　amusement　in　the　room　that　takes　its　cue　from　the　king's　brittle　tone。　He　stops　not　far　from　the　throne；　a　bulky；　formidable　presence；　and　inclines　his　large；　smooth　face　towards　Ademar。　saying　merely；　〃What　counsels；　my　liege？〃　His　voice　is　deep　and　resonant；　though　he　speaks　quietly　it　fills　the　large　chamber。　〃What　counsels；　indeed！　Duke　Ranald　has　just　advised　us　to　marry　the　countess　of　Arbonne；　send　her　off　north　and　inherit　her　sun…drenched　country　when　she　succumbs　in　her　decrepitude　to　some　lamentable　pestilence。　Would　this　be　a　thought　you　and　your　son　have　devised　together？〃
　　Galbert；　the　only　clean…shaven　man　in　the　room；　turns　to　look　at　his　son　for　the　first　time　as　the　king　finishes　speaking。　Ranald　de　Garsenc；　though　very　pale；　meets　his　father's　gaze　without　flinching。　With　a　contemptuous　twist　of　his　mouth；　Galbert　turns　back　to　the　king。
　　〃It　would　not；〃　he　says　heavily。　〃Of　course　it　is　not；　my　liege。　I　do　not　devise　with　such　as　he。　My　son　is　fit　for　nothing　but　spilling　ale　on　himself　and　occupying　tavern　sluts。〃
　　The　king　of　Gorhaut　laughs；　a　curiously　joyous；　high…pitched　sound　in　the　dark…beamed；　shadowed　room。　〃Tavern　sluts？　In　the　name　of　our　blessed　god！　What　a　way　to　speak　of　the　noble　lady　his　wife；　my　lord　Galbert！　The　woman　bearing　your　grandchild！　Surely　you　do　not　think…〃
　　The　king　stops；　hilarity　vivid　in　his　face；　as　a　flagon　of　ale　hurtles　across　the　room　to　strike　the　High　Elder　of　Corannos　full　on　his　broad　chest。　Galbert　stumbles　heavily　backwards　and　almost　falls。　At　the　long　table　Ranald　rises；　hastily　pushing　his　semi…erect　member　back　into　his　clothing。　Two　guards　step　belatedly　forward　but　pause　at　a　gesture　from　the　king。　Breathing　heavily；　Ranald　de　Garsenc　points　a　shaking　finger　at　his　father。
　　〃Next　time　I　might　kill　you；〃　he　says。　His　voice　trembles。　〃Next　time　it　may　be　a　knife。　Take　note　for　your　life。　If　you　speak　so　of　me　again；　anywhere　where　I　might　hear　of　it；　it　may　mean　your　death　and　I　will　submit　myself　to　whatever　judgment　of　that　deed　Corannos　makes　when　I　leave　the　world。〃
　　There　is　a　shocked　silence。　Even　in　a　court　not　unused　to　this　sort　of　thing；　especially　from　the　de　Garsenc　clan；　the　words　are　sobering。　Galbert's　rich　blue　robe　is　stained　with　dark　ale。　He　fixes　his　son　with　a　glance　of　icy　contempt；　easily　a　match　for　Ranald's　impassioned　rage；　before　turning　back　to　the　king。　〃Will　you　allow　such　an　assault　upon　your　High　Elder；　my　liege？　An　attack　upon　my　person　is　an　insult　to　the　god　above　us　all。　Will　you　sit　by　and　let　this　impiety　go　unpunished？〃　The　deep　voice　is　still　controlled；　resonantly　pitched；　soberly　aggrieved。
　　Ademar　does　not　immediately　reply。　He　leans　back　once　more　against　the　heavy　wooden　seat…back　of　the　throne；　stroking　his　beard　with　one　hand。　Father　and　son　remain　on　their　feet；　rigid　and　intense。　The　hatred　between　them　lies　heavy　and　palpable　in　the　room；　seeming　denser　than　the　smoke　of　the　fires。
　　〃Why；〃　says　King　Ademar　of　Gorhaut；　at　length；　his　voice　sounding　even　higher　and　more　querulous　after　the　High　Elder's　deep　tones；　〃is　it　such　a　foolish　idea　for　me　to　wed　Signe　de　Barbentain？〃
　　Abruptly　Duke　Ranald　sits　again；　a　tiny　smile　of　vindication　playing　about　his　lips。　Impatiently　he　moves　a　knee　to　forestall　an　obedient　attempt　by　the　woman　beneath　the　table　to　resume　her　intentions。　On　the　far　side　of　the　room　he　notices　that　his　wife　has　turned　away　again　and　is　staring　out　the　windows　with　her　back　to　the　king　and　the　court。　It　has　begun　to　rain。　He　looks　at　Rosala's　profile　for　a　moment；　and　a　curious　expression　crosses　his　own　features。　After　a　moment　he　lifts　his　flask　and　drinks　again。
　　The　only　thing　I　really　don't　know；　Rosala　de　Garsenc　is　thinking　just　then；　looking　out　at　the　cold；　steady；　slating　rain　and　the　mist…wrapped　eastern　moors；　is　which　of　them　I　despise　most。
　　It　is　not　a　new　thought。　She　has　spent　a　remarkable　amount　of　time　trying　to　decide　whether　she　more　hates　the　erratic；　usually　inebriated　man　she'd　been　forced　to　wed　by　the　late　King　Duergar；　or　the　dangerously　cunning；　Corannos…obsessed　High　Elder　of　the　god；　her　husband's　father。　If　she　chooses；　as　today；　to　take　the　thoughts　one　small；　very　natural　step　further；　it　is　easy　to　include　Duergar's　son；　now　King　Ademar　of　Gorhaut；　in　that　blighted　pany。　In　part　because　she　is　uneasily；　constantly　aware　that　when　the　child　she　now　carries　is　born　she　is　going　to　have　to　contend　with　the　king　in　a　very　particular　way。　She　doesn't　know　why　he　has　singled　her　out；　why　her　manner　seems　to　have　captivated　him…goaded　him；　more　likely；　she　sometimes　thinks…but　there　is　no　denying　the　import　of　Ademar's　flat；　pale　gaze　and　the　way　it　lingers　on　her；　especially　in　that　dangerous　time　of　night　here　in　Cortil　after　too　much　ale　has　been　drunk　around　the　banquet　tables　but　before　the　women　are　permitted　to　leave。
　　One　of　the　reasons；　perhaps　unfairly；　that　she　despises　her　husband　is　for　the　way　in　which　he　will　notice　the　king　staring　at　her　and　indifferently　turn　away　to　his　dice　cup　or　his　flagon。　The　duke　of　Garsenc　ought　surely；　Rosala　had　thought；　in　the　early　months　of　her　marriage；　to　have　more　pride　in　him　than　that。　It　appeared；　though；　that　the　only　people　who　could　arouse　Ranald　to　anything　resembling　passion　or　spirit　were　his　father　and　brother；　and　that；　of　course；　was　its　own　old；　bleak　story。　It　sometimes　seems　to　Rosala　that　she　has　been　part　of　their　tale　forever；　it　is　hard　to　remember　clearly　back　to　a　time　when　the　lords　of　Garsenc　have　not　trammelled　her　tightly　about　with　their　festering　family　griefs。　It　had　been　different　at　home　in　Savaric；　but　Savaric　was　a　long　time　ago。
　　The　wind　is　rising　no