ggk.asongforarbonne-第13节

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　　In　such　a　mood；　with　so　many　e　willingly　in　a　spirit　of　shared　sorrow　and　memory；　Signe　had　felt　profoundly　unwilling　to　pel　the　presence　of　anyone；　even　two　of　the　most　powerful…and　therefore　most　dangerous…men　in　her　land。　How　could　she　be　blamed　for　wanting　the　spirit　of　the　yearfast　and　its　rituals　to　be　unmarred　by　the　long　wrangle　between　Miraval　and　Talair？
　　The　problem；　and　the　reason　she　was　still　dwelling　upon　this；　was　that　she　knew　what　Guibor　IV；　count　of　Arbonne；　would　have　done　in　her　place。　In　terms　admitting　of　no　possible　ambiguity　her　husband　would　have　demanded　their　presence　before　him　during　any　remotely　similar　event；　whether　of　mourning　or　celebration；　in　Barbentain　itself　or　in　the　temples　of　god　or　goddess　in　Lussan　town　beside　the　river。
　　On　the　other　hand；　she　thought；　and　the　smile　on　her　still…lovely　face　deepened　almost　imperceptibly；　had　she　herself　been　the　one　being　mourned　instead　of　Guibor；　Bertran　de　Talair　would　have　been　with　the　others　in　Barbentain　for　her　yearfast；　e　feud　or　river　flood　or　fire　or　blight　to　the　grapes。　He　would　have　been　there。　She　knew。　He　was　a　troubadour　as　much　as　he　was　anything　else；　and　it　had　been　Signe　de　Barbentain　who　had　begun　the　Court　of　Love　and　shaped　with　her　own　personality　the　graceful；　elegant　world　that　had　let　the　poets　and　the　singers　flourish。
　　Aelis　her　daughter　might　have　inspired　Bertran's　passion　and　his　youthful　springtime　song；　still　sung　after　more　than　twenty　years；　Ariane　her　niece　might　be　queen　of　the　Court　of　Love　now；　but　Signe　had　had　a　hundred　verses　and　more　written　for　her　in　fire　and　exaltation　by　a　score　of　troubadours　who　mattered　and　at　least　twice　as　many　who　didn't；　and　every　song　written　for　every　noblewoman　in　Arbonne　was；　at　least　in　part；　a　song　for　her。
　　But　this　was　unworthy；　she　thought　wryly；　shaking　her　head。　A　sign　of　old　age；　of　pettiness；　peting　in　this　way…even　in　her　own　mind…with　Ariane　and　the　other　ladies　of　Arbonne；　even　with　her　poor；　long…dead　daughter。　Was　she　feeling　unloved；　she　wondered；　and　knew　there　was　truth　in　that。　Guibor　was　dead。　She　ruled　a　court　of　the　world　now；　not　a　simulated；　stylized　court　named　for　love　and　devoted　to　its　nuances。　There　were　differences；　great　differences　that　had　altered；　and　not　subtly；　the　way　the　world　dealt　with　her　and　she　with　it。
　　She　should　have　ordered　the　two　dukes　to　e　last　month；　Roban；　as　usual；　had　been　right。　And　it　might　even　have　been　good　for　her；　in　the　usual；　strange；　slightly　hurtful　way；　to　see　Bertran　again。　It　was　never　a　wise　idea　in　any　case　to　let　him　go　too　long　without　a　reminder　that　she　was　watching　him　and　expecting　things　of　him。　No　one　alive　could　truthfully　claim　to　have　a　large　influence　on　the　duke　of　Talair　and　what　he　chose　to　do；　but　Signe　thought　she　had　some。　Not　a　great　deal；　but　some；　for　many　reasons。　Most　of　which　led　back　those　twenty…three　years　or　so。
　　He　was　said　to　be　in　Baude　Castle　now；　of　all　places；　high　in　the　south…western　hills。　The　situation　had　stabilized…for　the　moment…between　Talair　and　Miraval；　and　Signe　could　guess　how　the　story　of　Evrard　of　Lussan　and　Soresina　de　Baude　would　have　been　irresistible　for　Bertran　in　his　endless；　disruptive　career。
　　It　was　a　delicious　piece　of　gossip。　Beatritz　had　already　sent　private　word　of　what　Mallin　de　Baude　had　done；　abducting　the　aggrieved　poet　from　Rian's　Island。　She　should　have　been　outraged　at　the　tidings；　Signe　knew…and　Beatritz　should　certainly　have　been…but　there　was　something　so　amusing　in　the　sequence　of　events；　and　the　poet　had　clearly　been　wearing　out　his　wele　on　the　island　by　the　time　the　corans　had　e　and　taken　him　away。
　　Not　that　any　of　that　tale　would　reach　the　ears　of　most　of　the　people　in　Arbonne。　Mallin　would　hardly　want　word　of　his　impiety　to　spread…which　is　undoubtedly　why　he'd　not　led　the　mission　himself…and　Evrard　of　Lussan　would　scarcely　be　thrilled　with　a　public　image　of　himself　knocked　unconscious　and　carried　back　like　so　much　milled　grain　in　a　sack　to　the　castle　from　which　he'd　fled　in　such　high　dudgeon。
　　On　the　other　hand；　the　story　of　Soresina's　very　public　contrition　and　her　open…armed；　kneeling　wele　of　the　poet　was　certainly　going　the　rounds　of　the　castles　and　towns。　That　part　of　the　tale　Evrard　would　encourage　for　all　he　was　worth。　Signe　wondered　if　he'd　bedded　the　woman　after　all。　It　was　possible；　but　it　didn't　much　matter。　On　the　whole；　and　however　improbably；　it　looked　as　if　everyone　might　end　up　happy　in　this　affair。
　　Although　that　optimistic　thought　certainly　didn't　factor　in　the　moods　and　caprices　of　En　Bertran　de　Talair；　who　was；　for　reasons　of　his　own；　currently　bestowing　the　honour　of　his　presence　on　the　doubtlessly　overwhelmed　young　couple　in　Castle　Baude。　Mallin　de　Baude　was　reported　to　be　a　man　of　some　ambition；　he　wanted　to　rise　in　the　world；　to　move　among　the　circles　and　the　councils　of　the　great；　not　remain　mewed　up　in　his　eyrie　among　the　sheep　and　goats　and　terraced　olive　trees　of　his　family　estates。　Well；　the　great　of　the　world；　or　one　of　them　at　any　rate；　had　e　to　him　now。　Mallin　was　probably　about　to　discover　some　of　the　implications　of　his　dreaming。
　　Signe　shook　her　head。　There　was　folly　at　work　here；　she　had　no　doubt。　Bertran　often　essayed　his　wilder　escapades　in　the　spring；　she　had　e　to　that　realization　long　ago。　On　the　other　hand；　she　supposed　it　was　better　that　he　pursue　whatever　it　was　that　had　drawn　him　to　those　high　pastures　near　the　Arimondan　passes　than　the　killing　matters　of　earlier　in　the　year。
　　In　any　case；　she　had　no　real　leisure　to　spend　dwelling　on　such　affairs。　Ariane　ruled　the　Court　of　Love　now。　Signe　had　Gorhaut　to　deal　with；　a　dangerous　peace　signed　in　the　north　and　rather　a　great　deal　more。　And　she　had　to　do　it　alone　now；　with　only　the　memory…the　harvest　and　the　torment　of　my　days…of　Guibor's　voice　to　guide　her　along　the　increasingly　narrow　paths　of　statesmanship。
　　There　was　a　new　fashion　among　the　younger　troubadours　and　nobles…she　even　thought　Ariane　might　approve　of　it：　they　were　writing　and　saying　now　that　it　was　ill…bred；　in　bad　taste　if　not　actually　impossible；　for　a　wife　to　love　her　husband。　That　true　love　had　to　flow　freely　from　choices　made　willingly；　and　marriage　could　never　be　a　matter　of　such　free　choice　for　men　or　women　in　the　society　they　knew。
　　The　world　was　changing。　Guibor　would　have　laughed　at　that　new　conceit　with　her；　and　said　exactly　what　he　thought　of　it；　and　then　he　might　have　taken　her　in　his　arms　and　she　could　have　laced　her　hands　in　his　hair　and　they　would　have　proven　the　young　ones　wrong　in　this；　as　in　so　many　other　things；　within　the　private；　enchanted；　now…broken　circle　of　their　love。
　　She　turned　from　the　window；　from　the　view　of　the　river　below；　from　memories　of　the　past；　and　nodded　to　the　two　young　girls。　It　was　time　to　dress　and　go　down。　Roban　would　be　waiting；　with　all　the　needs　of　the　present；　imperious　in　their　clamour　to　be　addressed；　drowning…as　in　a　flooding　of　the　river…the　lost；　murmuring　voices　of　yesterday。
　　
　　There　was；　of　course；　no　light　where　he　had　chosen　to　keep　watch；　though　there　were　brackets　for　torches　on　the　walls　of　the　stairwell。　It　would　have　been　a　waste　of　illumination；　no　one　had　any　business　ing　up　these　stairs　after　nightfall。
　　Blaise　settled　himself　on　one　of　the　benches　in　the　window　recess　nearest　the　second…floor　landing。　He　could　see　the　stairs　and　hear　any　movement　on　them　but　would　be　hidden　from　anyone　ing　up。　Some　men　would　have　preferred　to　be　visible；　even　torchlit；　here　on　guard；　to　have　their　presence　known　and　so　function　as　a　deterrent　to　anyone　even　contemplating　an　ascent。　Blaise　didn't　think　that　way：　it　was　better；　to　his　mind；　to　have　such　designs　exposed。　If　anyone　was　planning　to　make　their　way　towards　Soresina　de　Baude's　chambers　he　wanted　them　to　try；　so　he　could　see　them　and　know　who　they　were。
　　Though；　in　fact；　he　knew　exactly　who　such　a　person　would　be　tonight　if　there　was　to　be　an　attempt；　and　so　did　Mallin　de　Baude…which　is　why　Blaise　was　on　guard　here；　and　Hirnan；　equally　trusted；　equally　discreet；　was　outside　the　walls　beneath　the　baroness's　window。
　　Bertran　de　Talair　had　a　twenty…year　reputation　for　being　exceptionally　determined　and　resourceful　in　pursuit　of　his　seductions。　Also　successful。　Blaise　had　no　real　doubt　that　if　the　troubadour　duke　of　Talair　did　manage　to　make　his　way　to　Soresina's　bed　his　reception　would　be　considerably　different　from　what　Evrard　of　Lussan's　had　been　earlier　in　the　year。
　　He　made　a　sour　face；　thinking　about　that；　and　leaned　back；　putting　his　booted　feet　up　on　the　opposite　bench。　He　knew　it　was　unwise　on　guard　duty　at　night　to　make　himself　too　fortable；　but　he　was　used　to　this　and　didn't　think　he　would　fall　asleep。　He　had　kept　night　watch　over　a　number　of　different　things　in　his　time；　including；　as　it　happened；　the　women's　quarters　in　more　than　one　castle。　Guarding　the　womenfolk；　virtually　imprisoning　them　at　night；　was　a　part　of　the　ordinary　round　of　life　in　Gorhaut。　No　hint　there；　not　even　a　trace；　of　this　subversive　Arbonnais　custom　of　encouraging　poets　to　woo　and　exalt　the　women　of　the　land。　The　lords　of　Gorhaut　knew　how　to　protect　what　was　theirs。
　　Blaise　had　even　felt　a　carefully　concealed　sati