ggk.asongforarbonne-第37部分

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　Bertran　stood　quietly　as　the　boatmen　manoeuvred　the　next　small　craft　into　position。　Valery　and　the　bearded　coran　from　Gorhaut　had　moved　down　beside　him；　Lisseut　saw。　A　murmur　of　sound；　gathering　and　swelling　as　it　went；　began　to　race　along　the　banks　of　the　river　carrying　the　news　of　what　was　about　to　happen。
　　Lisseut　looked　upwards；　and　in　that　same　moment　most　of　the　others　on　the　pier　did　the　same。　A　bank　of　clouds；　moving　swiftly　eastward　with　the　breeze；　had　cut　across　the　face　of　white　Vidonne　and　would　soon　obscure　the　blue　light　of　Riannon　as　well。
　　〃Let　me　go　first；〃　said　Valery　of　Talair；　stepping　past　the　duke　in　the　shadows。　〃Wait　for　the　moons。　No　one　has　challenged　me　so　it　doesn't　matter　if　I　miss。〃　He　quickly　unbuckled　his　sword　and　handed　it　to　one　of　the　boatmen。　He　looked　over　his　shoulder　and　Lisseut　was　close　enough　to　hear　him　say；　〃Follow　my　line；　Blaise。　If　you　overshoot　the　third　raft　do　everything　you　can　to　slow　down　before　you　reach　the　fourth…unless　you're　partial　to　the　taste　of　river　water。〃
　　The　Arimondan　beside　Urté　laughed　at　that。　It　was　not　a　pleasant　sound；　Lisseut　thought；　looking　over　quickly。　The　man　frightened　her。　She　turned　away；　back　to　the　river；　hoping　the　Arimondan　hadn't　noticed　her　staring　at　him。
　　Valery　was　in　the　boat　with　the　flat　paddle　to　hand。　He　grinned　up　at　Bertran。　〃If　I　get　wet　it's　your　fault。〃
　　〃Of　course；〃　his　cousin　said。　〃It　always　is。〃
　　Then　the　boat　was　gone；　out　into　the　high；　swift　current　of　the　river。　A　moment　later；　straining　to　see　amid　the　shadows；　Lisseut　was　made　to　understand　something　about　the　skills　of　men：　Jourdain　the　troubadour　was　an　athlete；　and　gifted；　in　the　prime　of　his　youth；　but　Valery　of　Talair　was　a　professional　coran；　trained　and　hardened；　and　very　experienced。
　　He　snapped　up　the　first　wreath　effortlessly；　the　boat　turning　back　the　other　way　almost　before　the　priestess's　torch　had　been　raised　and　the　responding　shout　had　gone　up　along　the　bank。　The　second　ring；　which　had　initiated　Jourdain's　precipitate　descent　towards　a　watery　immersion；　was　negotiated　almost　as　easily　and　Valery；　unlike　the　troubadour；　kept　both　his　balance　and　his　control　of　the　boat；　paddling　strenuously　back　across　the　river　with　a　second　triumphant　torch　lofted　behind　him　and　screams　of　wild　approval　on　each　bank。
　　〃They　think　he's　the　duke；〃　little　Alain　said　suddenly；　and　Lisseut　realized　that　it　was　true。　The　word　that　En　Bertran　was　to　run　the　river　had　gone　racing　down　the　banks　before　the　clouds　had　e　and　Valery　had　taken　his　place。　These　screams　and　cries　were　those　the　people　of　Tavernel　reserved　for　their　favourites…and　the　troubadour　duke　of　Talair　had　been　one　of　those　for　most　of　his　life。
　　Meanwhile；　Valery；　approaching　the　third　of　the　moored　rafts；　stood　up　smoothly　in　his　bobbing　craft…making　a　perilous　feat　seem　easy…and　stretched　up　and　over　to　snatch　the　third　of　the　olive　laurels　from　its　pole。　He　dropped　back　down　into　the　boat　and　began　paddling　furiously　across　the　water；　leaning　into　the　task　as　the　people　watching　from　riverbank　and　overhanging　window　and　the　crowded　boats　moored　against　the　shore　stamped　and　roared　their　most　extreme　approval。
　　The　angle　back　to　the　fourth　and　final　raft　was　the　most　acute　by　far　and　Valery　was　working　for　all　he　was　worth　to　avoid　being　carried　downstream　past　the　ring；　Jourdain　had　jumped　for　the　laurel　here　and　smacked　into　the　water。　Valery　of　Talair　pulled　hard　to　the　upstream　edge　of　the　raft；　let　his　small　craft　turn　with　the　current　and　then　stood；　smoothly　again；　and　without　evident　haste　or　urgency　lifted　his　paddle　upward　and　swept　it　along　the　pole　suspended　high　above　the　raft　and　out　over　the　river…and　he　caught　the　olive　ring　thereby　dislodged　as　his　craft　went　hurtling　beneath。
　　That　is　what　it　looked　like　to　Lisseut；　a　long　way　upstream　with　swift　clouds　obscuring　the　moons　and　men　and　women　jostling　and　shouting　around　her　as　the　priest　of　Rian's　signifying　torch　was　thrust　triumphantly　skywards　far　down　along　the　Arbonne。　For　some　reason　she　glanced　over　at　the　coran　from　Gorhaut：　an　unconscious　grin；　an　almost　boyish　expression　of　pleasure；　showed　in　his　face；　making　him　look　different　suddenly；　less　austere　and　formidable。
　　〃My　cousin；　too；　is　worth　six　men…no；　a　dozen！〃　Bertran　de　Talair　said　happily；　looking　at　no　one　in　particular。　There　was　a　stirring　among　the　green…garbed　corans　of　Miraval。　Lisseut；　feeling　particularly　sharp　just　then；　doubted　that　En　Bertran　had　spoken　carelessly…there　were　verbal　daggers　in　almost　everything　he　and　the　duke　of　Miraval　said　in　each　other's　presence。　Ariane；　her　hair　swept　up　again　and　hidden　beneath　her　hood；　said　something　to　Urté　that　Lisseut　could　not　hear。　Ariane　stepped　forward　beside　Bertran；　the　better　to　see　Valery　approach　the　end　of　the　course。
　　The　rope　across　the　river　was　the　last　obstacle。　An　enormous　round　shield　with　a　hole　drilled　in　its　centre　hung　exactly　halfway　across　with　the　rope　passing　through　it。　Whichever　side　of　the　shield　his　boat　passed　under；　the　petitor's　task　was　to　leap　up；　seize　the　rope　and　then　pull　his　way　hand　over　hand　under　or　over　or　around　the　shield…an　exceptional　achievement　in　itself…and　then　all　the　way　to　the　opposite　bank。
　　Every　one　of　the　men　who　had　made　it　this　far　would　be　formidably　agile　and　strong。　Ropes　across　water　would　not　customarily　faze　them。　This　one　was　different。　This　one　was　virtually　impossible。　It　had；　for　a　start；　been　coated　with　attentive；　careful　malice　in　layers　of　beeswax。　Just　before　being　strung　across　the　water　it　had　also　been　oiled　extravagantly　with　the　purest　olive　oil　from　the　celebrated　groves　and　presses　in　the　hills　above　Vezét。　Then　it　was　strung　across　the　Arbonne　in　such　a　fashion　that　it　sagged　just　low　enough　in　the　middle　to　force　the　hapless　adventurer　who　had　adroitly　made　it　this　far　to　pull　his　way　hand　over　slippery　hand　along　a　cruelly　upward　inclination　towards　the　dismally　remote　platform　on　the　bank　where　triumph　and　glory　awaited。
　　Lisseut；　in　three　years　of　watching　this　contest　on　the　river　at　Midsummer　Carnival；　had　never　seen　anyone　e　close；　she'd　never　even　seen　anyone　cross　the　shield。　She　had　seen　quite　a　few　undeniably　graceful　men　made　to　look　ically　helpless　as　they　struggled　to　find　a　way　across　the　shield　in　the　middle；　or　found　themselves　hanging　on　grimly；　as　if　pinned　down　by　the　bright　watching　moons；　unable　to　move　at　all　while　their　legs　kicked　helplessly　above　the　racing　river。
　　There　was　a　point　to　all　this；　she　knew；　during　Carnival　there　was　a　point　to　everything；　even　the　most　apparently　trivial　or　licentious　activities。　All　the　inversions　and　reversals　of　this　night　of　the　goddess；　suspended　outside　the　rhythms　and　the　round　of　the　year；　found　their　purest　emblem　in　these　torchlit　and　moonlit　images　of　gifted　men　rendered　helpless　and　inept；　forced　either　to　laugh　at　their　own　predicament　while　themselves　suspended　on　a　slick　rope　or；　if　too　grimly　serious　to　share　the　hilarity；　bear　the　mockery　of　a　shrieking　crowd。
　　No　one；　though；　was　mocking　Valery　of　Talair　that　night；　and　there　was　nothing　even　faintly　hilarious　about　him　as　he　guided　his　tiny　boat　straight　towards　the　shield。　Approaching　the　rope；　he　stood　up　again　and；　without　hesitation；　with　a　neat；　precise；　economic　movement；　hurled　himself　up　towards　it　just　to　the　left　of　the　shield。　Tucking　his　knees　in　tight　to　his　chest　like　a　tumbler　performing　at　a　banquet　he　let　his　momentum　swing　him　around　in　an　arc　at　the　top　of　which　he　released　his　precarious　grip　on　the　slippery　rope　and　rose　gracefully　into　the　air…to　e　angling　back　down；　as　if　it　were　the　easiest；　most　natural　thing　in　the　world　on　this　night　or　any　other　night；　on　the　other　side　of　the　shield　barrier。
　　For　all　the　relished　anticipation　of　ic　failure；　the　people　of　Tavernel　and　those　assembled　in　the　city　for　its　Carnival　knew　excellence　when　they　saw　it。　They　exploded　with　exultant　approval　of　such　stylish　mastery。　The　shouts　and　applause　assaulted　the　ears。　Lisseut；　back　on　the　launching　pier；　heard　a　bark　of　delighted；　surprised　laughter　beside　her　and　turned　in　time　to　see　the　Gorhautian　coran's　bearded　face　pletely　ungu