grrm.astormofswords-第151节

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knight　and　two　squires；　lightly　armored　and　mounted　on　fast　palfreys。　Clegane　cracked　his　whip　at　the　team；　a　pair　of　old　drays　that　had　known　better　days。　The　wayn　was　creaking　and　swaying；　its　two　huge　wooden　wheels　squeezing　mud　up　out　of　the　deep　ruts　in　the　road　with　every　turn。　Stranger　followed；　tied　to　the　wagon。
　The　big　bad…tempered　courser　wore　neither　armor；　barding；　nor　harness；　and　the　Hound　himself　was　garbed　in　splotchy　green　roughspun　and　a　soot…grey　mantle　with　a　hood　that　swallowed　his　head。　So　long　as　he　kept　his　eyes　down　you　could　not　see　his　face；　only　the　whites　of　his　eyes　peering　out。　He　looked　like　some　down…at…heels　farmer。　A　big　farmer；　though。　And　under　the　roughspun　was　boiled　leather　and　oiled　mail；　Arya　knew。　She　looked　like　a　farmer's　son；　or　maybe　a　swineherd。　And　behind　them　were　four　squat　casks　of　salt　pork　and　one　of　pickled　pigs'　feet。
　The　riders　split　and　circled　them　for　a　look　before　they　came　up　close。　Clegane　drew　the　wayn　to　a　halt　and　waited　patiently　on　their　pleasure。　The　knight　bore　spear　and　sword　while　his　squires　carried　longbows。　The　badges　on　their　jerkins　were　smaller　versions　of　the　sigil　sewn　on　their　master's　surcoat；　a　black　pitchfork　on　a　golden　bar　sinister；　upon　a　russet　field。　Arya　had　thought　of　revealing　herself　to　the　first　outriders　they　encountered；　but　she　had　always　pictured　grey…cloaked　men　with　the　direwolf　on　their　breasts。　She　might　have　risked　it　even　if　they'd　worn　the　Umber　giant　or　the　Glover　fist；　but　she　did　not　know　this　pitchfork　knight　or　whom　he　served。　The　closest　thing　to　a　pitchfork　she　had　ever　seen　at　Winterfell　was　the　trident　in　the　hand　of　Lord　Manderly's　merman。
　〃You　have　business　at　the　Twins？〃　the　knight　asked。
　〃Salt　pork　for　the　wedding　feast；　if　it　please　you；　ser。〃　The　Hound　mumbled　his　reply；　his　eyes　down；　his　face　hidden。
　〃Salt　pork　never　pleases　me。〃　The　pitchfork　knight　gave　Clegane　only　the　most　cursory　glance；　and　paid　no　attention　at　all　to　Arya；　but　he　looked　long　and　hard　at　Stranger。　The　stallion　was　no　plow　horse；　that　was　plain　at　a　glance。　One　of　the　squires　almost　wound　up　in　the　mud　when　the　big　black　courser　bit　at　his　own　mount。　〃How　did　you　e　by　this　beast？〃　the　pitchfork　knight　demanded。
　〃M'lady　told　me　to　bring　him；　ser；〃　Clegane　said　humbly。　〃He's　a　wedding　gift　for　young　Lord　Tully。〃
　〃What　lady？　Who　is　it　you　serve？〃
　〃Old　Lady　Whent；　ser。〃
　〃Does　she　think　she　can　buy　Harrenhal　back　with　a　horse？〃　the　knight　asked。　〃Gods；　is　there　any　fool　like　an　old　fool？〃　Yet　he　waved　them　down　the　road。　〃Go　on　with　you；　then。〃
　〃Aye；　m'lord。〃　The　Hound　snapped　his　whip　again；　and　the　old　drays　resumed　their　weary　trek。　The　wheels　had　settled　deep　into　the　mud　during　the　halt；　and　it　took　several　moments　for　the　team　to　pull　them　free　again。　By　then　the　outriders　were　riding　off。　Clegane　gave　them　one　last　look　and　snorted。　〃Ser　Donnel　Haigh；〃　he　said。　〃I've　taken　more　horses　off　him　than　I　can　count。　Armor　as　well。　Once　I　near　killed　him　in　a　melee。〃
　〃How　e　he　didn't　know　you；　then？〃　Arya　asked。
　〃Because　knights　are　fools；　and　it　would　have　been　beneath　him　to　look　twice　at　some　poxy　peasant。〃　He　gave　the　horses　a　lick　with　the　whip。　〃Keep　your　eyes　down　and　your　tone　respectful　and　say　ser　a　lot；　and　most　knights　will　never　see　you。　They　pay　more　mind　to　horses　than　to　smallfolk。　He　might　have　known　Stranger　if　he'd　ever　seen　me　ride　him。〃
　He　would　have　known　your　face；　though。　Arya　had　no　doubt　of　that。　Sandor　Clegane's　burns　would　not　be　easy　to　forget；　once　you　saw　them。　He　couldn't　hide　the　scars　behind　a　helm；　either；　not　so　long　as　the　helm　was　made　in　the　shape　of　a　snarling　dog。
　That　was　why　they'd　needed　the　wayn　and　the　pickled　pigs'　feet。　〃I'm　not　going　to　be　dragged　before　your　brother　in　chains；〃　the　Hound　had　told　her；　〃and　I'd　just　as　soon　not　have　to　cut　through　his　men　to　get　to　him。　So　we　play　a　little　game。〃
　A　farmer　chance…met　on　the　kingsroad　had　provided　them　with　wayn；　horses；　garb；　and　casks；　though　not　willingly。　The　Hound　had　taken　them　at　swordpoint。　When　the　farmer　cursed　him　for　a　robber；　he　said；　〃No；　a　forager。　Be　grateful　you　get　to　keep　your　smallclothes。　Now　take　those　boots　off。　Or　I'll　take　your　legs　off。　Your　choice。〃　The　farmer　was　as　big　as　Clegane；　but　all　the　same　he　chose　to　give　up　his　boots　and　keep　his　legs。
　Evenfall　found　them　still　trudging　toward　the　Green　Fork　and　Lord　Frey's　twin　castles。　I　am　almost　there；　Arya　thought。　She　knew　she　ought　to　be　excited；　but　her　belly　was　all　knotted　up　tight。　Maybe　that　was　just　the　fever　she'd　been　fighting；　but　maybe　not。　Last　night　she'd　had　a　bad　dream；　a　terrible　dream。　She　couldn't　remember　what　she'd　dreamed　of　now；　but　the　feeling　had　lingered　all　day。　If　anything；　it　had　only　gotten　stronger。　Fear　cuts　deeper　than　swords。　She　had　to　be　strong　now；　the　way　her　father　told　her。　There　was　nothing　between　her　and　her　mother　but　a　castle　gate；　a　river；　and　an　army　。　。　。　but　it　was　Robb's　army；　so　there　was　no　real　danger　there。　Was　there？
　Roose　Bolton　was　one　of　them；　though。　The　Leech　Lord；　as　the　outlaws　called　him。　That　made　her　uneasy。　She　had　fled　Harrenhal　to　get　away　from　Bolton　as　much　as　from　the　Bloody　Mummers；　and　she'd　had　to　cut　the　throat　of　one　of　his　guards　to　escape。　Did　he　know　she'd　done　that？　Or　did　he　blame　Gendry　or　Hot　Pie？　Would　he　have　told　her　mother？　What　would　he　do　if　he　saw　her？　He　probably　won't　even　know　me。　She　looked　more　like　a　drowned　rat　than　a　lord's　cupbearer　these　days。　A　drowned　boy　rat。　The　Hound　had　hacked　handfuls　of　her　hair　off　only　two　days　past。　He　was　an　even　worse　barber　than　Yoren；　and　he'd　left　her　half　bald　on　one　side。　Robb　won't　know　me　either；　I　bet。　Or　even　Mother。　She　had　been　a　little　girl　the　last　time　she　saw　them；　the　day　Lord　Eddard　Stark　left　Winterfell。
　They　heard　the　music　before　they　saw　the　castle；　the　distant　rattle　of　drums；　the　brazen　blare　of　horns；　the　thin　skirling　of　pipes　faint　beneath　the　growl　of　the　river　and　the　sound　of　the　rain　beating　on　their　heads。　〃We've　missed　the　wedding；〃　the　Hound　said；　〃but　it　sounds　as　though　the　feast　is　still　going。　I'll　be　rid　of　you　soon。〃
　No；　I'll　be　rid　of　you；　Arya　thought。
　The　road　had　been　running　mostly　northwest；　but　now　it　turned　due　west　between　an　apple　orchard　and　a　field　of　drowned　corn　beaten　down　by　the　rain。　They　passed　the　last　of　the　apple　trees　and　crested　a　rise；　and　the　castles；　river；　and　camps　all　appeared　at　once。　There　were　hundreds　of　horses　and　thousands　of　men；　most　of　them　milling　about　the　three　huge　feast　tents　that　stood　side　by　side　facing　the　castle　gates；　like　three　great　canvas　longhalls。　Robb　had　made　his　camp　well　back　from　the　walls；　on　higher；　drier　ground；　but　the　Green　Fork　had　overflown　its　bank　and　even　claimed　a　few　carelessly　placed　tents。
　The　music　from　the　castles　was　louder　here。　The　sound　of　the　drums　and　horns　rolled　across　the　camp。　The　musicians　in　the　nearer　castle　were　playing　a　different　song　than　the　ones　in　the　castle　on　the　far　bank；　though；　so　it　sounded　more　like　a　battle　than　a　song。　〃They're　not　very　good；〃　Arya　observed。
　The　Hound　made　a　sound　that　might　have　been　a　laugh。　〃There's　old　deaf　women　in　Lannisport　plaining　of　the　din；　I'll　warrant。　I'd　heard　Walder　Frey's　eyes　were　failing；　but　no　one　mentioned　his　bloody　ears。〃
　Arya　found　herself　wishing　it　were　day。　if　the　sun　was　out　and　the　wind　was　blowing；　she　would　have　been　able　to　see　the　banners　better。　She　would　have　looked　for　the　direwolf　of　Stark；　or　maybe　the　Cerwyn　battleaxe　or　the　Glover　fist。　But　in　the　gloom　of　night　all　the　colors　looked　grey。　The　rain　had　dwindled　down　to　a　fine　drizzle；　almost　a　mist；　but　an　earlier　downpour　had　left　the　banners　wet　as　dishrags；　sodden　and　unreadable。
　A　hedge　of　wagons　and　carts　had　been　drawn　up　along　the　perimeter　to　make　a　crude　wooden　wall　against　any　attack。　That　was　where　the　guards　stopped　them。　The　lantern　their　sergeant　carried　shed　enough　light　for　Arya　to　see　that　his　cloak　was　a　pale　pink；　spotted　with　red　teardrops。　The　men　under　him　had　the　Leech　Lord's　badge　sewn　over　their　hearts；　the　flayed　man　of　the　Dreadfort。　Sandor　Clegane　gave　them　the　same　tale　he'd　used　on　the　outriders；　but　the　Bolton　sergeant　was　a　harder　sort　of　nut　than　Ser　Donnel　Haigh　had　been。　〃Salt　pork's　no　fit　meat　for　a　lord's　wedding　feast；〃　he　said　scornfully。
　〃Got　pickled　pigs'　feet　too；　ser。〃
　〃Not　for　the　feast；　you　don't。　The　feast's　half　done。　And　I'm　a　northman；　not　some　milksuck　southron　knight。〃
　〃I　was　told　to　see　the　steward；　or　the　cook　。　。　。〃
　〃Castle's　closed。　The　lordlings　are　not　to　be　disturbed。〃　The　sergeant　considered　a　moment。　〃You　can　unload　by　the　feast　tents；　there。〃　He　pointed　with　a　mailed　hand。　〃Ale　makes　a　man　hungry；　and　old　Frey　won't　miss　a　few　pigs'　feet。　He　don't　have　the　teeth　for　such　anyhow。　Ask　for　Sedgekins；　he'll　know　what's　to　be　done　with　you。〃　He　barked　a　mand；　and　his　men　rolled　one　of　the　wagons　aside　for　them　to　enter。
　The　Hound's　whip　spurred　the　team　toward　the　tents。　No　one　seemed　to　pay　them　any　mind。　They　splashed　past　rows　of　brightly　colored　pavilions；　their　walls　of　wet　silk　lit　up　like　magic　lanterns　by　lamps　and　braziers　inside；　pink　and　gold　and　green