ggk.asongforarbonne-第67部分

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e　damaged　her　new　vest　in　any　way　he　would　replace　it　or　die。　He　had　ordered　a　bottle　of　Cauvas　gold　wine　by　way　of　reply。　They　had　been　joking　then；　laughing　about　Midsummer；　celebrating。
　　She　looked　back　at　Ramir。　He　was　still　tuning　the　lute；　loosening　his　fingers　as　he　did。　Lisseut's　uncle　had　taught　her　about　that；　one　of　the　first　lessons　he　had　given　her：　whatever　else　you　do；　never　rush　the　beginning。　Start　when　you　are　ready　to　start；　they　will　not　leave　as　long　as　they　see　you　preparing。
　　〃We　have　a　challenge　here；〃　Ramir　said；　almost　conversationally；　one　ear　tilted　down　towards　the　lute；　fingers　busy　on　the　strings。　His　voice　was　pitched　so　they　all　had　to　lean　forward　to　hear。　The　silence　abruptly　became　plete。　Another　old　joglar's　trick；　Lisseut　knew。　She　saw；　out　of　the　corner　of　her　eye；　that　Remy　was　now　smiling　as　well。
　　〃A　curious　challenge；　really。〃　For　the　first　time　Ramir　looked　briefly　at　the　table　of　Gotzlanders。　〃How　is　one　to　fairly　choose　among　the　music　of　different　countries；　different　heritages？　Surely　there　is　fine　music　made　in　Aulensburg　and　in　Arimonda　at　the　court　of　King　Vericenna；　as　has　just　been　urged　upon　us　so　。。。　soberly　。。。　by　our　friend　over　there。〃　There　was　a　titter　of　amusement。　Gradually；　almost　imperceptibly；　Ramir's　voice　had　begun　to　chime　and　weave　with　the　apparently　random　chords　he　was　playing　upon　the　lute。　Aurelian's　face　as　he　listened；　Lisseut　saw；　was　entranced；　rigorously　attentive。
　　〃We　are　asked；　in　the　light　of　this　truth；　why　Arbonne　should　be　pre…eminent。〃　Ramir　paused；　looked　around　the　room；　not　hurrying。　〃We　are　also　asked；　in　nearly　as　many　words；　what　there　will　be　to　mourn　if　Arbonne　is　lost。〃
　　He　left　a　silence　after　that；　save　for　the　gentle；　almost　casual　notes　drawn　from　the　instrument　as　if　unconsciously。
　　Lisseut　swallowed　abruptly；　with　difficulty。　Ramir　said；　〃I　am　only　a　singer；　and　such　questions　are　difficult　to　answer。　Let　me　offer　a　song　instead；　with　apologies　if　it　should　be　found　inadequate　and　fail　to　please。〃　The　ancient　phrasing；　that；　no　one　used　it　any　more。　〃I　will　sing　a　song　of　the　first　of　the　troubadours。〃
　　〃Ah；〃　said　Remy　under　his　breath。　〃Ah；　well。〃　Ramir's　fingers　were　busier　now；　the　music　beginning　to　take　shape；　the　notes　gathering　as　if　from　scattered　places　in　the　world　at　the　joglar's　bidding。　〃Anselme　of　Cauvas　was　of　modest　birth；〃　Ramir　said；　and　this　too　was　of　the　old　fashion；　the　vidan；　the　tale　of　the　poser。　No　one　in　the　newer　generation　did　this　any　longer　when　beginning　a　song。　〃Anselme　was　clever　and　gifted；　though；　and　was　brought　into　the　chapel　of　the　god　at　Cauvas；　and　then　Duke　Raimbaut　de　Vaux　took　him　into　his　household；　and　finally　he　came　to　the　attention　of　the　count　himself；　Folquet；　and　the　count　honoured　Anselme　for　his　wisdom　and　discretion　and　employed　him　in　many　affairs　of　state　in　all　of　the　six　countries　for　many　years。　And　Anselme　had　several　great　loves　among　the　noble　ladies　of　his　day；　but　always　he　was　chaste　and　honourable；　and　never　did　he　speak　the　name　of　any　of　these　women；　but　in　his　passion　and　desire　he　began　posing　songs　for　them；　and　this　was　the　beginning　of　the　troubadours　of　Arbonne。〃
　　The　music　beneath　the　spoken　words　was　beautiful；　delicate　as　lace　or　the　gems　of　a　master　jeweller；　precise；　many…faceted。　Ramir　said；　〃I　could　sing　a　song　of　love　of　Anselme　of　Cauvas　tonight；　I　could　sing　his　love　songs　all　night　long　until　the　dawn　came　to　draw　us　out　the　doors；　but　we　have　been　given　a　different　kind　of　challenge　here；　and　so　I　will　sing　a　different　kind　of　song。　With　the　permission　and　by　the　grace　of　all　those　gathered　here；　I　will　sing　a　song　Anselme　wrote　once　when　he　was　far　from　home。〃
　　The　music　changed　and　was　alone　then；　creating　room　for　beauty　by　candle　and　lantern　light　in　a　thronged　tavern；　with　the　first　cold　breezes　of　autumn　beginning　to　blow　outside。　Lisseut　knew　the　tune　immediately。　Everyone　at　their　table　knew　this　tune。　She　waited；　feeling　close　to　tears；　wanting　to　close　her　eyes　but　wanting　also　to　watch　Ramir；　every　movement　he　made；　and　a　moment　later　she　heard　the　jongleur　sing：
When　the　wind　that　es　from　Arbonne
Sweeps　north　across　the　mountains；
Then　my　heart　is　full　again；　even　in　far　Gorhaut；
Because　I　know　that　spring　has　e　to　Tavernel　and　Lussan；
To　the　olive　groves　above　Vezét　
And　the　vineyards　of　Miraval；　
And　nightingales　are　singing　in　the　south。
　　Ramir's　rich　voice　paused　again；　as　he　let　the　simple；　sweet　notes　of　the　music　take　them　away　with　it。　There　was　an　old；　plain　roughness　to　the　song；　words　and　music　both。　It　was　worlds　removed　from　Jourdain's　intricate　melodies　or　the　subtle　interplay　of　thought　and　image　and　changing　form　in　Remy's　best　work　or　Alain's　new　songs。　This；　though；　was　the　authentic　voice　of　something　at　its　very　beginning。　Lisseut　knew　her　own　origins　were　here；　those　of　all　the　joglars　and　troubadours；　and；　yes；　of　that　table　of　Gotzland　trovaritz；　and　all　the　Arimondan　singers　and　Portezzan；　and　of　those　men　in　Gorhaut　and　Valensa　who　might　actually　venture　to　shape　music　of　a　different　sort　from　the　interminably　thunderous　battle　hymns　of　those　northern　lands。
　　As　if　in　answer　to　the　flow　of　her　thoughts；　Ramir's　voice　was　lifted　again；　not　so　vibrant　perhaps　as　it　once　had　been；　but　purified　by　years　and　the　wisdom　of　those　years　into　an　instrument　rare　and　fine　as　his　lute：
　　Here　in　Gorhaut；　so　distant　from　my　home；　
　　Among　men　who　care　nothing　for　music；　
　　And　ladies　who　utter　little　of　courtesy　to　poets　
　　And　even　less　of　love；　the　memory　of　songbirds　
　　In　the　branches　of　trees；　of　gardens　watered　
　　By　the　sweetness　of　the　Arbonne　itself；　
　　Flowing　from　the　mountains　to　the　sea…
　　Such　a　vision…a　blessing　of　Rian！…guides　
　　Me　to　my　rest　at　night　with　the　promise　of　return。
　　The　singing　ended。　Ramir　continued　the　music　for　only　a　little　longer；　after　the　old　fashion　again；　and　then　his　fingers　on　the　lute；　too；　were　still。　It　was　silent　in　the　tavern。　Lisseut　looked　slowly　around　at　her　friends。　They　had　all　heard　this　song　before；　they　had　all　sung　it　themselves；　but　not　like　this。　Not　ever　like　this。　She　saw　that　of　all　those　sitting　there　it　was　Remy　who　had　tears　in　his　eyes。　Her　own　heart　was　full；　there　was　an　ache　in　it。
　　His　head　lowered；　Ramir　was　carefully　slipping　his　lute　back　into　its　case。　It　took　him　a　long　moment　to　deal　with　the　thong　again。　No　one　yet　had　made　a　sound。　He　finished　putting　away　his　instrument。　With　a　grimace；　he　awkwardly　shifted　his　bad　leg　and　rose　from　the　low　stool。　He　bowed　gravely　towards　the　table　of　Gotzlanders。　Of　course；　Lisseut　realized：　they　were　the　ones　who　had；　after　a　fashion；　called　for　his　song。　He　turned　to　leave；　but　then；　as　if　a　new　thought　had　just　e　to　him；　he　looked　back　at　the　Gotzlanders。
　　〃I　am　sorry；〃　he　said。　〃Will　you　permit　me　to　correct　something　I　said　before？〃　His　voice　was　soft　again；　they　had　to　lean　forward　to　hear。　And　Lisseut　heard　him　say　then；　would　ever　after　remember　hearing　Ramir　of　Talair　say；　with　his　gentle；　muted　sadness；　〃I　told　you　I　would　not　sing　one　of　Anselme's　songs　of　love。　That　is　not　true；　on　reflection。　I　did　sing　a　love　song　after　all。〃
　　It　was　Ariane　de　Carenzu；　a　moment　later；　from　her　place　on　the　upper　level　of　the　inn；　who　was　first　on　her　feet　to　begin　the　applause。　Everyone　at　the　troubadours'　table　stood　as　the　noise　in　The　Senhal　began　to　grow　and　grow。　And　then　Lisseut　saw　the　Gotzlanders　rise；　as　one　man；　and　begin　pounding　their　fists　and　pewter　mugs　upon　the　dark　oak　wood　of　their　table；　shouting　a　fierce　approval。　She　began　to　cry。　Through　the　blurring　rainfall　of　her　sorrow　and　her　pride　she　saw　Ramir；　clutching　his　lute　in　its　case　with　both　hands　to　his　chest；　walk　slowly　away。　He　didn't　go　back　to　his　corner　after　all。　He　left　the　lights　and　the　thunderous　noise　of　the　tavern　and　walked　out　into　the　autumn　night　under　the　stars。
　　
　　There　were　some　among　the　taverns　and　inns　within　and　around　Lussan　that　did　their　own　highly　successful　business　in　the　month　of　the　fair　by　not　remaining　open　during　this　lucrative　season。　The　proprietor　of　The　Silver　Tree；　a　well…regarded　country　inn　among　fig