ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第86节

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wounded　man　on　the　cobblestones。　It　only　took　one　glance。　It　was　too　late　for　a　doctor's　art　here。　Heartsick；　too　shocked　to　speak；　she　began；　helplessly；　to　weep。
　　〃Jehane；〃　whispered　the　dying　man。　His　eyes　had　opened　and　were　locked　on　hers。　〃Jehane　。。。　I　。。。　so　very　。。。　〃
　　She　put　her　fingers　gently　to　his　lips。　Then　laid　her　hand　against　his　cheek。　There　was　a　Muwardi　knife　embedded　in　his　chest；　and　a　hideous；　pouring　sword　wound　deep　in　his　collarbone；　and　that　was　what　was　going　to　kill　him。
　　A　moment　later；　it　did。　She　watched　him　reach　for　a　last；　inadequate　breath　and　then　close　his　eyes；　as　if　in　weariness。　This　was　one　of　the　ways　men　died。　She　had　seen　it　so　many　times。　Her　fingers　were　still　against　his　cheek　when　he　went　away　from　all　of　them；　to　whatever　lay　in　wait　beyond　the　dark。
　　〃My　dear；〃　she　said；　brokenly。　〃Oh；　my　dear。〃
　　Was　it　always　like　this？　That　one　thought　of　all　the　things　one　so　much　wanted　to　say；　endlessly　too　late？
　　Above　her　the　circle　of　soldiers　parted。　Someone　passed　between　them　and　sank　to　his　knees　on　the　other　side　of　the　body；　heedless　of　the　dark　blood　soaking　the　cobblestones。　He　was　breathing　quickly；　as　if　he'd　been　running。　Jehane　didn't　look　up；　but　then　she　saw　him　reach　forward　and　take　the　dead　man　by　the　hand。
　　〃May　there　be　light　waiting　for　you；〃　she　heard　him　say；　very　softly。　〃More　and　gentler　light　than　any　of　us　can　dream　or　imagine。〃
　　She　did　look　up　then；　through　her　tears。
　　〃Oh；　Jehane；〃　said　Rodrigo　Belmonte。　〃I　am　so　sorry。　This　should　never　have　happened。　He　saved　my　life。〃
　　
　　At　some　point；　with　all　the　unmixed　wine　he　had　drunk；　and　the　heady　smell　of　incense　burning　in　the　room；　and　the　many…colored　candles　everywhere；　and　the　useful　pillows　on　bed　and　woven　carpet；　and　the　extraordinary　ways　it　seemed　that　a　slender　golden　leash　could　be　used；　Alvar　lost　track　of　time　and　place。
　　He　moved　with　this　unknown　woman；　and　upon　her；　and　at　times　beneath　her　urgency。　They　had　removed　their　masks　when　they　entered　the　house。　It　didn't　matter：　she　was　still　a　hunting　cat　tonight；　whatever　she　was　by　daylight　in　the　customary　round　of　the　year。　He　had　raking　scratches　down　his　body；　as　if　to　prove　it。　With　some　dismay　he　realized　that　she　did；　too。　He　couldn't　remember　doing　that。　Then；　a　little　later；　he　realized　he　was　doing　it　again。　They　were　standing；　coupled；　bending　forward　against　the　bed　then。
　　〃I　don't　even　know　your　name；〃　he　gasped；　later；　on　the　carpet　before　the　fire。
　　〃And　why　should　that　matter　tonight；　in　any　possible　way？〃　she　had　replied。
　　Her　fingers　were　long；　the　painted　nails　sharp。　She　was　wondrously　skilled　with　her　hands；　among　other　things。　She　had　green　eyes　and　a　wide　mouth。　He　gathered；　through　various　signs；　that　he　was　giving　pleasure　as　well　as　taking　it。
　　Some　time　afterwards　she　chose　to　blow　out　all　the　candles　and　leash　him　in　a　particularly　intimate　fashion。　They　went　out　together；　naked；　with　the　marks　of　their　lovemaking　on　both　of　them；　to　stand　on　the　dark　balcony　one　level　above　the　teeming　square。
　　She　leaned　against　the　waist…high　balustrade　and　guided　him　into　her　from　behind。　Alvar　was　almost　convinced　by　then　that　something　had　been　put　into　his　wine。　He　ought　to　have　been　exhausted　by　this　point。
　　The　night　breeze　was　cool。　His　skin　felt　feverish；　unnaturally　sensitive。　He　could　see　past　her；　look　down　upon　the　crowd。　Music　and　cries　and　laughter　came　up　from　below　and　it　was　as　if　they　were　hovering　here；　their　movements　almost　a　part　of　the　dancing；　weaving　throng　in　the　street。　He　had　never　imagined　that　lovemaking　in　such　an　exposed　fashion　could　be　so　exhilarating。　It　was；　though。　He　would　be　a　liar　to　deny　it。　He　might　want　to　deny　many　things　tomorrow；　Alvar　thought　suddenly；　but　he　was　not　capable　of　doing　so　just　now。
　　〃Only　think；〃　she　whispered；　tilting　her　head　far　back　to　whisper　to　him。　〃If　any　of　them　were　to　look　up　。。。　what　they　would　see。〃
　　He　felt　her　tug　a　little　on　the　leash。　He　had　put　it　about　her；　earlier。　It　was　on　him　again。　Very　much　so。　His　hands；　which　had　been　gripping　the　balustrade　beside　her；　came　up　and　encircled　her　small　breasts。　A　man　was　playing　a　five…stringed　lute　directly　below　them。　A　ring　of　dancing　figures　surrounded　him。　In　the　center　of　the　ring　a　peacock　was　dancing。　The　peacock　was　Husari　ibn　Musa。
　　〃What　do　you　think？〃　Alvar　heard；　tongue　at　his　ear　again；　the　long　neck　arched　backwards。　So　much　like　a　cat。　〃Shall　we　bring　a　torch　out　here　and　carry　on？〃
　　He　thought　of　Husari　looking　up；　and　winced。　But　he　didn't　think　he　was　going　to　be　able　to　deny　this　woman　anything　tonight。　And　he　knew；　without　yet　having　tested　the　limits　of　it；　that　she　would　refuse　him　nothing　he　might　ask　of　her　between　now　and　dawn。　He　didn't　know　which　thought　excited　or　frightened　him　more。　What　he　did　know；　finally　understanding；　was　that　this　was　the　dark；　dangerous　truth　at　the　heart　of　the　Carnival。　For　this　one　night；　all　the　rules　of　the　circling　year　were　changed。
　　He　drew　a　long　breath　before　answering　her。　He　looked　up　from　the　crowd　below　them　to　the　night　sky：　only　the　one　moon；　blue　among　the　stars。
　　Still　within　her；　moving　steadily　in　their　merging　rhythms；　Alvar　looked　down　again；　away　from　the　distant　lights　in　the　sky　to　the　nearer　ones　lit　by　mortal　men　and　women　to　chase　away　the　dark。
　　Across　the　square；　between　torches　set　into　the　wall　of　the　barracks；　he　saw　Rodrigo　Belmonte　falling。
　　
　　He　had　indeed　been　sitting　at　the　writing　desk；　parchment　before　him；　ink　and　quills；　a　glass　of　dark　wine　at　one　elbow；　trying　to　think　of　what　more　there　was　to　say…of　tidings；　counsels；　apprehensions；　need。
　　He　was　not　the　sort　of　man　who　could　write　to　his　wife　about　how　much　he　longed　to　have　her　in　this　room　with　him。　How　he　would　unbind　her　hair；　strand　by　strand；　and　slip　his　arms　about　her　and　draw　her　near；　after　so　long。　Allow　his　hands　to　travel；　and　then；　his　own　clothing　gone；　how　they　might　。。。　
　　He　could　not　write　these　things。　He　could　think　them；　however；　a　kind　of　punishment。　He　could　sit　alone　at　night　in　a　high　room　and　listen　to　the　sounds　of　revelry　drifting　up　through　the　open　window　and　he　could　picture　Miranda　in　his　mind；　and　imagine　her　here　now；　and　feel　weak　with　his　desire。
　　He　had　made　a　promise　years　before；　and　had　renewed　it　over　and　again…to　her；　but　more　to　himself。　He　was　not　the　kind　of　man　who　broke　promises。　He　defined　himself；　in　large　part；　by　that。　A　man　found　his　honor；　Rodrigo　Belmonte　thought…and　his　self…respect；　and　certainly　pride…on　many　different　kinds　of　battlefields。　He　was　on　one；　or　hovering　above　one；　tonight　in　Ragosa。　He　didn't　write　that　to　Miranda；　either。
　　He　picked　up　a　quill　again　and　dipped　it　into　the　black　ink　and　prepared　to　resume：　something　for　the　boys；　he　thought；　to　take　his　mind　from　these　unsettling　channels。
　　The　boys。　Love　there；　too；　sword…sharp；　fear　and　pride　as　well。　Almost　men　now。　Too　soon。　Riding　with　him？　Would　that　be　best？　He　thought　of　the　old　outlaw　Tarif　ibn　Hassan；　in　that　echoing　valley。　A　cunning；　ferocious　giant　of　a　man。　He　had　thought　about　him　often　since　that　day　in　the　Emin　ha'Nazar。　Two　sons　there；　as　well。　Kept　beside　him。　Both　of　them　fine　men；　capable　and　decent；　though　the　one　had　lost　his　leg　now；　which　was　a　misfortune。　Alive　though；　thanks　to　Jehane。　No　longer　young；　either　of　them。　And　neither；　it　could　be　seen；　would　ever　break　free　of　the　father's　wide　shade　into　his　own　defining　sunlight；　to　cast　his　own　shadow。　Not　even　after　Tarif　died。　It　could　be　seen。
　　Would　he　do　that　to　Fernan　and　Diego？
　　He　became　aware　that　he　had　been　holding　the　pen　for　a　long　time　over　the　smooth　pale　parchment。　Writing　nothing。　Chasing　thoughts。　The　ink　had　dried。　He　laid　the　quill　down　again。
　　There　came　a　knocking　at　his　door。
　　
　　Later；　tracking　events　backwards；　he　would　realize　what　had　put　him…very　slightly…on　the　alert。
　　He　had　not　heard　footsteps。　Any　of　his　own　pany　e　calling…as　many　of　them　had　promised；　or　threatened；　to　do…would　have　warned　him　by　their　noisy　progression　up　the　stairs　and　along　the　corridor。　The　Muwardis　were　too　schooled　to　silence。　The　stillness　of　the　desert；　at　night　under　stars。
　　Even　so；　it　was　only　a　partial　warning；　because　he　had　been　expecting　some　of　the　men　to　e　up　tonight；　with　more　wine；　and　stories　from　the　streets。　He'd　even　been　wondering；　feeling　a　little　sorry　for　himself；　what　was　taking　them　so　long。
　　So　he　called　out　an　easy　greeting；　and　pushed　his　chair　back；　rising　to　let　them　in。
　　And　the　door　burst　open。
　　He　had　no　weapon　to　hand：　his　sword　and　the　rancher's　whip　lay　across　the　room；　by　the　bed　where　he　always　left　them。　Moving　by　sheerest　instinct；　triggered　by　that　half…doubt　at　the　back　of　his　mind；　he　twisted　desperately　away　from　the　first　flung　dagger。　He　felt　it　graze　his　arm。　In　the　same　wrenching　motion　he　seized　and　hurled　the　candle　from　the　desk　into　the　face　of　the　first　man　into　the　room。
　　There　were　two　more　behind　that　one；　he　had　time　to　see。　The　sword　was　hopeless；　he　would　never　get　to　it。
　　He　heard　a　cry　of　pain；　but　he　had　already　turned。　Hurtling　straight　over　t