fs.thesecondbookofswords-第10部分

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　and　something　of　the　appearance　of　an　itinerant　peddler　he'd　fallen　in　with　early　in　his　journey。　The　peddler；　once　convinced　that　Ben　meant　him　no　harm；　had　been　glad　to　have　the　strong　man　as　an　escort；　had　cut　a　sturdy　quarterstaff　for　him　to　carry；　and　had　rewarded　his　panionship　with　food　and　clothing。
　　　But　their　paths　had　diverged；　many　kilometers　back。　Ben　was　alone　when　he　arrived　outside　Purkinje's　half…tumbled　walls　toward　evening　on　a　clear；　late　spring　day。　Those　walls　were　no　longer　a　very　impressive　defense。　The　city；　though；　was　still　flying　its　own　flag　of　orange　and　green；　evidently　still　managing　to　maintain　a　measure　of　independence　from　the　brawling　warlords　whose　armies　endlessly　came　and　went　across　the　land。
　　　The　carnival　still　looked　independent　too；　though　in　the　past　year　it　had　grown　even　shabbier　than　Ben　remembered　it。　The　tents　and　wagons　that　Ben　could　recognize　had　endured　another　year　of　wear　and　tear；　and　he　found　it　difficult　to　discover　among　them　any　traces　of　repair；　new　paint；　or　fresh　decoration。　And　there　were　now　a　couple　of　wagons　that　he　did　not　recognize。
　　　The　crude　painting　on　the　cloth　side　of　one　of　these　vehicles　caught　Ben's　eye；　and　he　paused　to　look　at　it。　Large；　somewhat　uneven　lettering　proclaimed　Tanakir　the　Mighty。　Tanakir's　painted　portrait　showed　him　expanding　biceps　and　chest　to　break　great　iron　chains　that　might　have　held　a　drawbridge。
　　　Ben　delayed　only　for　a　moment　to　look　at　this。　Then；　with　a　strange　feeling　inside　his　own　chest；　he　went　on　to　Barbara's　recognizable　small　tent。　As　usual　she　had　the　tent　set　up　beside　her　wagon。　If　she　was　keeping　a　small　caged　dragon　inside　her　conveyance　as　usual；　it　was　hidden　by　cloth　coverings；　and　made　no　sound　at　Ben's　approach。
　　　The　flap　of　her　tent　was　closed；　but　Ben　could　see　that　it　was　not　tied　shut。　Ben　threw　down　the　wooden　staff　that　the　peddler　had　given　him。　Then；　obeying　the　traditional　rules　of　courtesy；　he　cleared　his　throat　and　scratched　on　the　tent　wall　near　the　flap　…　there　was　of　course　no　way　to　knock。　He　waited　a　few　decent　seconds　then；　and　when　there　was　no　response　he　lifted　the　fabric　gently　and　stepped　in。。。
　　　At　a　small　table　near　the　center　of　the　tent　sat　Barbara；　wrapped　in　the　shabby　familiar　robe　that　she　often　wore　around　camp。　Despite　the　poor　light　in　the　tent　she　was　trying　to　do　something　to　prettify　her　fingernails。　She　looked　up　sharply　at　the　intrusion；　her　small；　spare　body　coiled　like　a　spring。　Between　the　two　black　sheaves　of　her　hair；　her　round；　expressive　face　showed　anger；　even　before　she　had　time　to　recognize　Ben　and　be　surprised　…　she　had　been　keeping　her　anger　ready；　he　thought；　for　someone　else。
　　　〃You've　got　a　look　in　your　eye；　Ben。〃　That　was　how　she　greeted　him　after　a　year's　absence；　uncoiling　the　spring　of　her　body　slightly。　Barbara　was　very　nearly　the　same　age　as　Ben；　though　not　much　more　than　a　third　his　weight。　They　had　known　each　other　for　a　number　of　years。　He　saw　now　that　her　straight　black　hair　had　been　allowed　to　grow　a　little　longer　since　he'd　left。　Otherwise　she　looked　just　about　the　same。　She　went　on：　〃Fuzz　on　your　chin　and　a　look　in　your　eye。　What　are　you　up　to　now？　I　don't　suppose　you　rode　back　here　in　a　golden　coach　pulled　by　six　white　showbeasts？〃
　　　〃Thinking；〃　he　replied；　choosing　to　answer　the　one　halfway　sensible　question　in　her　speech；　letting　the　rest　of　it　go　by。　It　was　a　way　he　had。　He　thought　it　was　one　of　the　things　that　she　did　like　about　him。
　　　〃Thinking　about　what？〃
　　　〃About　certain　things　that　I've　found　out。〃　Ben　slid　off　his　peddler's　pack；　looked　about　for　a　place　to　put　it；　then　dropped　it　on　the　floor　and　kicked　it　under　the　small　table；　conserving　floor　space。
　　　〃It　sounds　like　you've　managed　to　addle　your　mind　somehow；　whatever　else　you've　done。　I　suppose　you're　hungry？〃　Barbara　gave　up　the　pretense　of　continuing　to　fuss　with　her　nails。　She　turned　to　give　him　her　full　attention　and　frank　interest。
　　　Ben　crouched　and　reached　under　the　table　to　get　something　from　his　pack。　His　hand　rejected　a　half…loaf　of　bread　that　was　going　stale；　and　pulled　out　some　good　sausage。　〃Not　really。　I　have　this；　if　you'd　like　some。〃
　　　〃Maybe　later；　thanks。　Did　you　go　to　the　Blue　Temple　and　enlist；　as　you　were　saying　you'd　do？〃
　　　〃Didn't　you　get　either　of　my　letters？〃
　　　〃No。〃
　　　That　was　hardly　surprising；　Ben　supposed。　〃Well；　I　wrote　twice。　And　I　did　enlist。〃　He　took　a　bite　off　the　end　of　the　sausage　himself；　and　offered　it　again。　〃Ever　hear　from　Mark？〃
　　　〃Not；　since　he　left。〃　This　time　Barbara　was　not　so　reluctant。　Chewing；　she　regarded　Ben　for　a　little　while　in　silence；　while　he　stood　there　unable　to　keep　himself　from　smiling　at　her。　He　could；　as　always；　see　thoughts　ing　and　going　in　her　face；　though　he　was　hardly　ever　sure　of　what　they　were。　It　sounded　simple；　but　it　was　one　of　the　things　about　her　that　gave　Ben　a　sensation　of　enchantment。
　　　At　last　Barbara　said　to　him：　〃There's　more　on　your　mind　than　Mark；　or　bringing　me　sausage。　I　suppose　you've　deserted。　Is　that　the　big　secret　I　can　see　in　the　back　of　your　eyes？　A　Blue　Temple　enlistment　should　run　for　four　or　five　years；　shouldn't　it？〃
　　　Ben's　eye　had　caught　sight　of　his　old　lute。　It　was　hanging　in　a　prominent　place；　tied　high　up　on　the　tent's　central　pole。　Seeing　the　instrument　so　honored　gave　him　a　good　feeling；　and　seeing　it　also　brought　back　memories。　Ben　reached　up　and　took　it　down。
　　　〃I've　kept　it　as　a　decoration；　like。〃
　　　He　strummed　the　instrument；　but　only　briefly　and　softly。　He　could　see　at　once　that　the　strings　were　in　bad　shape。　It　seemed　too　that　his　hands　were　well　on　the　way　to　losing　entirely　whatever　poor　skill　they'd　once　possessed。　For　years；　for　most　of　his　life；　Ben　had　nursed　deep；　fervent　dreams　of　being　a　musician。　His　broad　mouth　twisted　now；　under　his　new　beard；　remembering　that。
　　　Now　that　he　had　some　form　of　music　in　his　hands；　the　tune　that　had　been　haunting　him　ever　since　that　night　of　treasure　and　terror　and　flight　came　back　irresistibly。　In　his　mind　the　music　ran　sweet　and　clear　…　all　tunes　ran　that　way　for　him；　in　his　mind。　It　was　only　when　he　tried　to　get　them　to　e　out　properly　through　his　fingers　or　his　voice　that　his　difficulties　started。
　　　He　sang　the　old　tune　now；　very　softly　and　almost　to　himself；　in　a　voice　that　sounded　as　inadequate　as　he　had　feared　it　would：
　　　　　　　　　　　Benambra's　gold　Doth　glitter　coldly。。。
　　　〃Gods　and　demons；　what　a　noise！〃　judged　the　harsh　bass　voice　of　someone　standing　just　outside　the　tent。　A　moment　later　the　entrance　flap　was　whipped　aside；　this　time　by　no　gentle　hand。　The　man　who　had　to　bow　his　head　to　enter　seemed　to　fill　up　what　little　space　Ben's　presence　had　left　in　the　small　interior。
　　　The　newer　could　be　no　one　but　Tanakir　the　Mighty；　though　perhaps　he　did　not　quite　do　justice　to　his　portrait　on　the　wagon's　side。　Well；　thought　Ben；　no　human　figure　could　do　that。　Tanakir　was　almost　a　head　taller　than　Ben；　and　his　upper　body　proportionately　broad。　His　shirt；　a　garment　undoubtedly　once　expensive　though　now　badly　faded；　was　worn　halfway　open　to　reveal　the　carven　plates　of　muscle　on　his　chest。　His　biceps　were　more　than　simply　large；　and　as　he　came　into　the　tent　his　movements　were　ponderous；　as　if　slowed　down　by　equal　weights　of　muscle　and　of　vanity。　At　second　glance　he　was　a　considerably　older　man　than　Ben。　There　were　a　few　gray　hairs　showing　in　his　long　dark　braids。
　　　Once　inside；　Tanakir　paused；　fists　on　hips　in　a　pose　that　might　well　be　some　part　of　his　act。　He　glared　at　the　two　other　people　in　the　tent　as　if　he　were　demanding　an　explanation　from　them。
　　　〃We　have　a　strongman　now；〃　said　Barbara　in　conversational　tones　to　Ben。　〃You　never　wanted　that　job　while　you　were　here。〃
　　　Tanakir　from　his　greater　height　glowered　down　at　Ben；　who　stood　with　lute　in　hand；　blinking　back　at　him。　〃So；　this　is　Ben；〃　the　strongman　rumbled。　〃He　didn't　want　the　job？　Him？　This　chubby　minstrel？〃
　　　Ben　turned　a　little　away；　to　hang　up　the　lute　again　carefully；　high　up　on　the　central　pole；　out　of　head…knocking　range。　It　was　one　of　the　few　times　in　his　life　that　anyone　had　ever　called　him　a　minstrel；　and　he　felt　unreasonably