grrm.astormofswords-第76节

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　that　second　day；　as　the　shadows　grew　long；　a　mystery　knight　appeared　in　the　lists。〃
　Bran　nodded　sagely。　Mystery　knights　would　oft　appear　at　tourneys；　with　helms　concealing　their　faces；　and　shields　that　were　either　blank　or　bore　some　strange　device。　Sometimes　they　were　famous　champions　in　disguise。　The　Dragonknight　once　won　a　tourney　as　the　Knight　of　Tears；　so　he　could　name　his　sister　the　queen　of　love　and　beauty　in　place　of　the　king's　mistress。　And　Barristan　the　Bold　twice　donned　a　mystery　knight's　armor；　the　first　time　when　he　was　only　ten。　〃It　was　the　little　crannogman；　I　bet。〃
　〃No　one　knew；〃　said　Meera；　〃but　the　mystery　knight　was　short　of　stature；　and　clad　in　ill…fitting　armor　made　up　of　bits　and　pieces。　The　device　upon　his　shield　was　a　heart　tree　of　the　old　gods；　a　white　weirwood　with　a　laughing　red　face。〃
　〃Maybe　he　came　from　the　Isle　of　Faces；〃　said　Bran。　〃Was　he　green？〃　In　Old　Nan's　stories；　the　guardians　had　dark　green　skin　and　leaves　instead　of　hair。　Sometimes　they　had　antlers　too；　but　Bran　didn't　see　how　the　mystery　knight　could　have　worn　a　helm　if　he　had　antlers。　〃I　bet　the　old　gods　sent　him。〃
　〃Perhaps　they　did。　The　mystery　knight　dipped　his　lance　before　the　king　and　rode　to　the　end　of　the　lists；　where　the　five　champions　had　their　pavilions。　You　know　the　three　he　challenged。〃
　〃The　porcupine　knight；　the　pitchfork　knight；　and　the　knight　of　the　twin　towers。〃　Bran　had　heard　enough　stories　to　know　that。　〃He　was　the　little　crannogman；　I　told　you。〃
　〃Whoever　he　was；　the　old　gods　gave　strength　to　his　arm。　The　porcupine　knight　fell　first；　then　the　pitchfork　knight；　and　lastly　the　knight　of　the　two　towers。　None　were　well　loved；　so　the　mon　folk　cheered　lustily　for　the　Knight　of　the　Laughing　Tree；　as　the　new　champion　soon　was　called。　When　his　fallen　foes　sought　to　ransom　horse　and　armor；　the　Knight　of　the　Laughing　Tree　spoke　in　a　booming　voice　through　his　helm；　saying；　'Teach　your　squire　honor；　that　shall　be　ransom　enough。'　Once　the　defeated　knights　chastised　their　squires　sharply；　their　horses　and　armor　were　returned。　And　so　the　little　crannogman's　prayer　was　answered　。　。　。　by　the　green　men；　or　the　old　gods；　or　the　children　of　the　forest；　who　can　say？〃
　It　was　a　good　story；　Bran　decided　after　thinking　about　it　a　moment　or　two。　〃Then　what　happened？　Did　the　Knight　of　the　Laughing　Tree　win　the　tourney　and　marry　a　princess？〃
　〃No；〃　said　Meera。　〃That　night　at　the　great　castle；　the　storm　lord　and　the　knight　of　skulls　and　kisses　each　swore　they　would　unmask　him；　and　the　king　himself　urged　men　to　challenge　him；　declaring　that　the　face　behind　that　helm　was　no　friend　of　his。　But　the　next　morning；　when　the　heralds　blew　their　trumpets　and　the　king　took　his　seat；　only　two　champions　appeared。　The　Knight　of　the　Laughing　Tree　had　vanished。　The　king　was　wroth；　and　even　sent　his　son　the　dragon　prince　to　seek　the　man；　but　all　they　ever　found　was　his　painted　shield；　hanging　abandoned　in　a　tree。　it　was　the　dragon　prince　who　won　that　tourney　in　the　end。〃
　〃Oh。〃　Bran　thought　about　the　tale　awhile。　〃That　was　a　good　story。　But　it　should　have　been　the　three　bad　knights　who　hurt　him；　not　their　squires。　Then　the　little　crannogman　could　have　killed　them　all。　The　part　about　the　ransoms　was　stupid。　And　the　mystery　knight　should　win　the　tourney；　defeating　every　challenger；　and　name　the　wolf　maid　the　queen　of　love　and　beauty。〃
　〃She　was；〃　said　Meera；　〃but　that's　a　sadder　story。〃
　〃Are　you　certain　you　never　heard　this　tale　before；　Bran？〃　asked　Jojen。　〃Your　lord　father　never　told　it　to　you？〃
　Bran　shook　his　head。　The　day　was　growing　old　by　then；　and　long　shadows　were　creeping　down　the　mountainsides　to　send　black　fingers　through　the　pines。　If　the　little　crannogman　could　visit　the　Isle　of　Faces；　maybe　I　could　too。　All　the　tales　agreed　that　the　green　men　had　strange　magic　powers。　Maybe　they　could　help　him　walk　again；　even　turn　him　into　a　knight。　They　turned　the　little　crannogman　into　a　knight；　even　if　it　was　only　for　a　day；　he　thought。　A　day　would　be　enough。
　
　CHAPTER　25
　DAVOS
　
　The　cell　was　warmer　than　any　cell　had　a　right　to　be。
　It　was　dark；　yes。　Flickering　orange　light　fell　through　the　ancient　iron　bars　from　the　torch　in　the　sconce　on　the　wall　outside；　but　the　back　half　of　the　cell　remained　drenched　in　gloom。　It　was　dank　as　well；　as　might　be　expected　on　an　isle　such　as　Dragonstone；　where　the　sea　was　never　far。　And　there　were　rats；　as　many　as　any　dungeon　could　expect　to　have　and　a　few　more　besides。
　But　Davos　could　not　plain　of　chill。　The　smooth　stony　passages　beneath　the　great　mass　of　Dragonstone　were　always　warm；　and　Davos　had　often　heard　it　said　they　grew　warmer　the　farther　down　one　went。　He　was　well　below　the　castle；　he　judged；　and　the　wall　of　his　cell　often　felt　warm　to　his　touch　when　he　pressed　a　palm　against　it。　Perhaps　the　old　tales　were　true；　and　Dragonstone　was　built　with　the　stones　of　hell。
　He　was　sick　when　they　first　brought　him　here。　The　cough　that　had　plagued　him　since　the　battle　grew　worse；　and　a　fever　took　hold　of　him　as　well。　His　lips　broke　with　blood　blisters；　and　the　warmth　of　the　cell　did　not　stop　his　shivering。　I　will　not　linger　long；　he　remembered　thinking。　I　will　die　soon；　here　in　the　dark。
　Davos　soon　found　that　he　was　wrong　about　that；　as　about　so　much　else。　Dimly　he　remembered　gentle　hands　and　a　firm　voice；　and　young　Maester　Pylos　looking　down　on　him。　He　was　given　hot　garlic　broth　to　drink；　and　milk　of　the　poppy　to　take　away　his　aches　and　shivers。　The　poppy　made　him　sleep　and　while　he　slept　they　leeched　him　to　drain　off　the　bad　blood。　Or　so　he　surmised；　by　the　leech　marks　on　his　arms　when　he　woke。　Before　very　long　the　coughing　stopped；　the　blisters　vanished；　and　his　broth　had　chunks　of　whitefish　in　it；　and　carrots　and　onions　as　well。　And　one　day　he　realized　that　he　felt　stronger　than　he　had　since　Black　Betha　shattered　beneath　him　and　flung　him　in　the　river。
　He　had　two　gaolers　to　tend　him。　One　was　broad　and　squat；　with　thick　shoulders　and　huge　strong　hands。　He　wore　a　leather　brigantine　dotted　with　iron　studs；　and　once　a　day　brought　Davos　a　bowl　of　oaten　porridge。　Sometimes　he　sweetened　it　with　honey　or　poured　in　a　bit　of　milk。　The　other　gaoler　was　older；　stooped　and　sallow；　with　greasy　unwashed　hair　and　pebbled　skin。　He　wore　a　doublet　of　white　velvet　with　a　ring　of　stars　worked　upon　the　breast　in　golden　thread。　It　fit　him　badly；　being　both　too　short　and　too　loose；　and　was　soiled　and　torn　besides。　He　would　bring　Davos　plates　of　meat　and　mash；　or　fish　stew；　and　once　even　half　a　lamprey　pie。　The　lamprey　was　so　rich　he　could　not　keep　it　down；　but　even　so；　it　was　a　rare　treat　for　a　prisoner　in　a　dungeon。
　Neither　sun　nor　moon　shone　in　the　dungeons；　no　windows　pierced　the　thick　stone　walls。　The　only　way　to　tell　day　from　night　was　by　his　gaolers。　Neither　man　would　speak　to　him；　though　he　knew　they　were　no　mutes；　sometimes　he　heard　them　exchange　a　few　brusque　words　as　the　watch　was　changing。　They　would　not　even　tell　him　their　names；　so　he　gave　them　names　of　his　own。　The　short　strong　one　he　called　Porridge；　the　stooped　sallow　one　Lamprey；　for　the　pie。　He　marked　the　passage　of　days　by　the　meals　they　brought；　and　by　the　changing　of　the　torches　in　the　sconce　outside　his　cell。
　A　man　grows　lonely　in　the　dark；　and　hungers　for　the　sound　of　a　human　voice。　Davos　would　talk　to　the　gaolers　whenever　they　came　to　his　cell；　whether　to　bring　him　food　or　change　his　slops　pail。　He　knew　they　would　be　deaf　to　pleas　for　freedom　or　mercy；　instead　he　asked　them　questions；　hoping　perhaps　one　day　one　might　answer。　〃What　news　of　the　war？〃　he　asked；　and　〃Is　the　king　well？〃　He　asked　after　his　son　Devan；　and　the　Princess　Shireen；　and　Salladhor　Saan。　〃What　is　the　weather　like？〃　he　asked；　and　〃Have　the　autumn　storms　begun　yet？　Do　ships　still　sail　the　narrow　sea？〃
　It　made　no　matter　what　he　asked；　they　never　answered；　though　sometimes　Porridge　gave　him　a　look；　and　for　half　a　heartbeat　Davos　would　think　that　he　was　about　to　speak。　With　Lamprey　there　was　not　even　that　much。　I　am　not　a　man　to　him；　Davos　thought；　only　a　stone　that　eats　and　shits　and　speaks。　He　decided　after　a　while　that　he　liked　Porridge　much　the　better。　Porridge　at　least　seemed　to　know　he　was　alive；　and　there　was　a　queer　sort　of　kindness　to　the　man。　Davos　suspected　that　he　fed　the　rats；　that　was　why　there　were　so　many。　Once　he　thought　he　heard　the　gaoler　talking　to　them　as　if　they　were　children；　but　perhaps　he'd　only　dreamed　that。
　They　do　not　mean　to　let　me　die；　he　realized。　They　are　keeping　me　alive；　for　some　purpose　of　their　own。　He　did　not　like　to　think　what　that　might　be。　Lord　Sunglass　had　been　confined　in　the　cells　beneath　Dragonstone　for　a　time；　as　had　Ser　Hubard　Rambton's　sons；　all　of　them　had　ended　on　the　pyre。　I　should　have　given　myself　to　the　sea；　Davos　thought　as　he　sat　staring　at　the　torch　beyond　the　bars。　Or　let　the　sail　pass　me　by；　to　perish　on　my　rock。　I　would　sooner　feed　crabs　than　flames。
　Then　one　night　as　he　was　finishing　his　supper；　Davos　felt　a　queer　flush　e　over　him。　He　glanced　up　through　the　bars；　and　there　she　stood　in　shimmering　scarlet　with　her　great　ruby　at　her　throat；　her　red　eyes　gleaming　as　bright　as　the　torch　that　bathed　her。　〃Melisandre；〃　he　said；　with　a　calm　he　did　not　feel。
　〃Onion　Knight；〃　she　replied；　just　as　calmly；　as