ggk.asongforarbonne-第92部分

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ain　pass　towards　a　slaughter　in　Arbonne？
　　In　the　end　it　is　precisely　as　easy　as　any　experienced　soldier　might　have　predicted　it　would　be。　The　three　Arbonnais　corans　in　the　watch…tower　on　the　southern　slopes　of　the　range　are　accustomed　to　traffic　from　the　north　during　the　month　of　the　Lussan　Fair；　and　utterly　confident…as　they　have　every　right　to　be…of　the　truce　that　always　acpanies　a　fair。
　　Ademar　halts　his　full　pany　out　of　sight　and　sends　five　corans　down　towards　the　tower。　They　are　greeted　with　courtesy　by　the　guards；　offered　shelter　and　food　and　straw　for　the　night。　The　three　Arbonnais　are　killed　even　as　these　offers　are　being　made。　On　the　instructions　of　the　king；　as　the　signal　is　given　and　the　rest　of　the　pany　rides　up；　the　three　guardsmen　are　decapitated　and　castrated　and　the　wooden　buildings　beside　the　stone　tower　are　set　on　fire。
　　They　ride　more　swiftly　then；　to　be　ahead　of　any　message　in　the　flames。　A　short　time　later　they　sweep　down　upon　the　nearby　hamlet　of　Aubry　like　a　wild　hunt　out　of　the　shepherds'　night　terrors：　fifty　howling　men　on　horses；　swords　out；　torches　in　their　free　hands；　burning　and　slaying　without　warning；　without　reason　offered；　without　respite。　This　raid　in　a　time　of　truce　is　a　message；　and　the　message　is　to　be　made　as　unambiguous　as　it　can　be。
　　Ranald；　aware　that　he　is　being　watched　by　the　king　and　by　the　Elder　who　is　here　as　his　father's　representative；　makes　a　point；　slightly　sickened；　of　seeking　out　those　few　villagers　who　have　some　sort　of　weapon　in　their　hands　as　they　stumble　from　the　huts　amid　the　screaming　of　animals　and　small　children。　He　is　a　very　good　fighter；　once　a　celebrated　one；　though　his　brother　latterly　might　have　had　the　reputation；　travelling　the　world　in　search　of　tournaments　and　wars。　But　it　was　Ranald　who　first　taught　Blaise　anything　about　swordsmanship；　and　it　was　Ranald　de　Garsenc　who；　the　year　he　turned　nineteen；　was　named　King's　Champion　in　Gorhaut　by　Ademar's　father；　Duergar。
　　That　had　been；　he　has　often　thought；　easily　the　best　time　of　his　life。　Honoured　by　the　king　and　the　court　for　his　prowess；　excited　by　the　attention　of　women　of　high　rank　and　low；　continually　gratified　by　his　own　smooth；　effortless　skills；　immersed　in　the　oblivious；　expansive　confidence　of　youth；　and　free…more　than　anything　else；　free　of　his　father　for　a　little　while。
　　Then　his　uncle；　Ereibert　de　Garsenc；　had　died　and　Ranald　had　bee　duke；　with　all　the　defining　burdens　and　powers　of　rank；　and　the　specific　implications　of　being　near　to　an　often…disputed　throne。　A　new　champion　had　been　named　ceremoniously；　even　as　Ranald；　returned　to　Garsenc　Castle　in　the　south；　and　his　father；　again；　began　to　tell　him　what　to　do。　More　than　ten　years　ago；　that　was。　For　all　those　years　he　has　mostly　been　doing　what　Galbert　tells　him。　He　wonders　what　he　could　point　to；　if　he　tried；　that　has　given　him　real　pleasure　in　that　time。
　　Certainly　not　this　slaughter；　or　the　meaning　of　it；　in　a　time　of　truce。　Ranald　de　Garsenc　is　hardly　a　sentimental　man；　and　he　has　no　trouble　with　warfare；　or　even　the　idea　of　conquest　here　in　Arbonne。　This　isn't　a　war　though；　not　yet。　This　is　something　ugly　and　vengeful。　It　is　supposed　to　be　his　own　revenge；　he　knows。　He　has　not　been　consulted　on　the　issue；　he　has　only　ridden；　as　required　by　his　king；　to　deliver　a　message　in　blood　and　fire。
　　There　is　a　small　temple　to　the　goddess　Rian　not　far　from　the　village；　the　northernmost　temple　in　Arbonne；　the　nearest　to　Gorhaut。　That　is　why　they　are　here。　The　thirty　or　forty　inhabitants　of　Aubry；　awakened　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　are　killed；　down　to　the　last　child。　Like　the　guardsmen　in　the　burning　tower；　the　men…mostly　shepherds　and　farmers…are　decapitated　and　their　genitals　are　hacked　off。　Ademar　of　Gorhaut　knows　exactly　how　to　say　what　he　thinks　of　the　men　in　woman…ruled　Arbonne。　Then　they　ride　on　to　the　temple。
　　Under　the　light　of　Escoran　at　its　full　and　the　just…risen　crescent　of　Vidonne；　the　eight　priestesses　of　Rian　in　that　small　sanctuary　are　taken　from　their　beds　and　are　burned　alive。　The　soldiers　are　made　free　of　them　first；　by　order　of　the　king。　Ademar　moves　his　big　horse　restlessly　back　and　forth；　watching　first　one　cluster　of　corans　with　a　woman　and　then　another。　There　is　a　great　deal　of　screaming　and　a　growing　roar　from　the　swiftly　gathered　bonfire　of　dry　autumn　wood。　At　one　point；　his　pale　yellow　hair　reddened　in　the　firelight；　Ademar　looks　over　at　Ranald　and　laughs。
　　〃Do　you　not　want　a　woman；　my　lord　of　Garsenc？　A　gift　from　your　king；　solace　for　your　great　loss？〃　He　shouts　it　so　others　can　hear。
　　Ranald；　his　sword　still　in　his　hand；　though　unnecessarily　now；　says；　〃Not　before　you；　my　liege。　I　will　follow　in　this；　as　in　all　things。〃
　　Ademar　throws　his　head　back　and　laughs　again。　For　a　moment；　Ranald　is　afraid　the　king　will　indeed　dismount　and　join　his　corans　among　the　pinioned　women；　but　Ademar　only　slashes　his　horse　again　and　moves　nearer　to　where　the　Elder　that　Galbert　has　sent　is　watching　the　pyre。　Ranald　watches　the　king　go；　a　bleakness　in　his　heart。　He　knows　what　he　should　do。　He　knows　he　will　not　do　it。　In　the　mingling　of　firelight　and　the　moons　his　eyes　briefly　meet　those　of　Fulk　de　Savaric。　Both　men　look　away　without　speaking。　He　has　seen　burnings　before；　has　ordered　a　number　of　them　himself　on　the　Garsenc　lands；　following　his　father's　regime　of　having　one　such　spectacle　every　year　or　so　to　keep　the　serfs　and　villagers　properly　subdued。　He　has　watched　impassively；　time　after　time；　setting　an　example。　He　has　never　seen　eight　women　burned　at　once；　though。　The　numbers　shouldn't　matter；　but；　when　it　finally　begins；　it　appears　that　they　do　make　a　difference。
　　Through　the　screaming　and　the　terrified　noises　of　the　farm　animals　all　around；　Ranald　hears　his　father's　designated　Eider　intone　the　ritual　of　denunciation　and　the　formal　curse　of　Corannos；　and　then；　his　voice　rising　in　genuine　triumph；　invoking　the　god's　gift　of　fire　to　eradicate　heresy。
　　A　scourging　of　the　god；　Galbert　called　this　raid　in　the　throne　room　of　Cortil；　when　the　king　came　out　from　a　meeting　with　his　High　Elder　and　announced　that　he　would　be　riding　for　Arbonne　that　same　night。
　　The　screaming　continues　among　the　flames　until　the　smoke　stops　it；　which　is　what　always　happens。　The　women　slowly　begin　to　turn　black　and　the　smell　of　burning　flesh　is　strong。　Ademar　decides　to　leave。　Having　done　what　he　came　to　do；　his　fury　slaked　for　the　moment；　the　king　of　Gorhaut　leads　his　corans　back　towards　the　mountain　pass。　As　they　go　past　the　still…smouldering　outbuildings　beside　the　lone　watchtower　one　coran　begins　to　sing；　and　soon　almost　all　of　them　are　doing　so…a　song　of　Gorhaut　victorious　in　battle；　the　chosen　warriors　of　Corannos　in　his　most　beloved　land。
　　Three　guardsmen　in　a　tower；　a　hamlet　of　shepherds　and　farmers；　eight　priestesses　raped　and　set　on　fire。　A　scourging　of　the　god。
　　It　is　a　beginning。
　　
　　The　west　wind　blew　the　smoke　the　other　way；　so　he　was　able　to　see；　quite　clearly　from　the　ridge　at　the　fringe　of　the　forest；　exactly　what　was　happening　below。　He　watched　the　massacre　in　the　village　without　expression；　and　felt　a　disturbing　but　unmistakable　stirring　in　his　loins　when　he　saw　men　he　knew　dragging　the　women　out　from　the　temple；　some　naked；　some　in　night…robes　that　were　quickly　ripped　away。　He　was　quite　close；　actually；　though　hidden　among　the　trees。　He　heard　not　only　the　screams　but　the　shouted　jests　of　the　corans。　He　recognized　the　king　immediately；　and　a　moment　afterwards　saw　his　own　liege　lord；　the　duke　of　Garsenc。　These　were；　in　fact；　the　men　he　had　been　riding　north　to　find。
　　He　was　bothered　by　the　burning；　though　in　itself　that　would　not　have　been　enough　to　make　him　pause。　He　did　pause；　however；　silent　and　watchful　on　his　horse　above　Aubry；　as　the　corans　of　Gorhaut　finished　their　games　and　their　work　and　the　screaming　died　away。　Nor　did　he　move；　though　it　was　clearly　past　time　to　ride　down；　when　he　saw　the　king　make　a　sudden；　sweeping　gesture　and　fifty　horsemen　swiftly　remount　and　ride　away；　east　and　north　towards　the　pass。
　　He　was　trembling；　in　fact；　confused　and　unsettled　by　his　own　hesitation；　visited；　as　he　had　been　all　day；　by　thoughts　he　would　never　have　entertained　before　this　mor