ggk.asongforarbonne-第20节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


d　this　be　a　thought　you　and　your　son　have　devised　together？〃
　　Galbert；　the　only　clean…shaven　man　in　the　room；　turns　to　look　at　his　son　for　the　first　time　as　the　king　finishes　speaking。　Ranald　de　Garsenc；　though　very　pale；　meets　his　father's　gaze　without　flinching。　With　a　contemptuous　twist　of　his　mouth；　Galbert　turns　back　to　the　king。
　　〃It　would　not；〃　he　says　heavily。　〃Of　course　it　is　not；　my　liege。　I　do　not　devise　with　such　as　he。　My　son　is　fit　for　nothing　but　spilling　ale　on　himself　and　occupying　tavern　sluts。〃
　　The　king　of　Gorhaut　laughs；　a　curiously　joyous；　high…pitched　sound　in　the　dark…beamed；　shadowed　room。　〃Tavern　sluts？　In　the　name　of　our　blessed　god！　What　a　way　to　speak　of　the　noble　lady　his　wife；　my　lord　Galbert！　The　woman　bearing　your　grandchild！　Surely　you　do　not　think…〃
　　The　king　stops；　hilarity　vivid　in　his　face；　as　a　flagon　of　ale　hurtles　across　the　room　to　strike　the　High　Elder　of　Corannos　full　on　his　broad　chest。　Galbert　stumbles　heavily　backwards　and　almost　falls。　At　the　long　table　Ranald　rises；　hastily　pushing　his　semi…erect　member　back　into　his　clothing。　Two　guards　step　belatedly　forward　but　pause　at　a　gesture　from　the　king。　Breathing　heavily；　Ranald　de　Garsenc　points　a　shaking　finger　at　his　father。
　　〃Next　time　I　might　kill　you；〃　he　says。　His　voice　trembles。　〃Next　time　it　may　be　a　knife。　Take　note　for　your　life。　If　you　speak　so　of　me　again；　anywhere　where　I　might　hear　of　it；　it　may　mean　your　death　and　I　will　submit　myself　to　whatever　judgment　of　that　deed　Corannos　makes　when　I　leave　the　world。〃
　　There　is　a　shocked　silence。　Even　in　a　court　not　unused　to　this　sort　of　thing；　especially　from　the　de　Garsenc　clan；　the　words　are　sobering。　Galbert's　rich　blue　robe　is　stained　with　dark　ale。　He　fixes　his　son　with　a　glance　of　icy　contempt；　easily　a　match　for　Ranald's　impassioned　rage；　before　turning　back　to　the　king。　〃Will　you　allow　such　an　assault　upon　your　High　Elder；　my　liege？　An　attack　upon　my　person　is　an　insult　to　the　god　above　us　all。　Will　you　sit　by　and　let　this　impiety　go　unpunished？〃　The　deep　voice　is　still　controlled；　resonantly　pitched；　soberly　aggrieved。
　　Ademar　does　not　immediately　reply。　He　leans　back　once　more　against　the　heavy　wooden　seat…back　of　the　throne；　stroking　his　beard　with　one　hand。　Father　and　son　remain　on　their　feet；　rigid　and　intense。　The　hatred　between　them　lies　heavy　and　palpable　in　the　room；　seeming　denser　than　the　smoke　of　the　fires。
　　〃Why；〃　says　King　Ademar　of　Gorhaut；　at　length；　his　voice　sounding　even　higher　and　more　querulous　after　the　High　Elder's　deep　tones；　〃is　it　such　a　foolish　idea　for　me　to　wed　Signe　de　Barbentain？〃
　　Abruptly　Duke　Ranald　sits　again；　a　tiny　smile　of　vindication　playing　about　his　lips。　Impatiently　he　moves　a　knee　to　forestall　an　obedient　attempt　by　the　woman　beneath　the　table　to　resume　her　intentions。　On　the　far　side　of　the　room　he　notices　that　his　wife　has　turned　away　again　and　is　staring　out　the　windows　with　her　back　to　the　king　and　the　court。　It　has　begun　to　rain。　He　looks　at　Rosala's　profile　for　a　moment；　and　a　curious　expression　crosses　his　own　features。　After　a　moment　he　lifts　his　flask　and　drinks　again。
　　The　only　thing　I　really　don't　know；　Rosala　de　Garsenc　is　thinking　just　then；　looking　out　at　the　cold；　steady；　slating　rain　and　the　mist…wrapped　eastern　moors；　is　which　of　them　I　despise　most。
　　It　is　not　a　new　thought。　She　has　spent　a　remarkable　amount　of　time　trying　to　decide　whether　she　more　hates　the　erratic；　usually　inebriated　man　she'd　been　forced　to　wed　by　the　late　King　Duergar；　or　the　dangerously　cunning；　Corannos…obsessed　High　Elder　of　the　god；　her　husband's　father。　If　she　chooses；　as　today；　to　take　the　thoughts　one　small；　very　natural　step　further；　it　is　easy　to　include　Duergar's　son；　now　King　Ademar　of　Gorhaut；　in　that　blighted　pany。　In　part　because　she　is　uneasily；　constantly　aware　that　when　the　child　she　now　carries　is　born　she　is　going　to　have　to　contend　with　the　king　in　a　very　particular　way。　She　doesn't　know　why　he　has　singled　her　out；　why　her　manner　seems　to　have　captivated　him…goaded　him；　more　likely；　she　sometimes　thinks…but　there　is　no　denying　the　import　of　Ademar's　flat；　pale　gaze　and　the　way　it　lingers　on　her；　especially　in　that　dangerous　time　of　night　here　in　Cortil　after　too　much　ale　has　been　drunk　around　the　banquet　tables　but　before　the　women　are　permitted　to　leave。
　　One　of　the　reasons；　perhaps　unfairly；　that　she　despises　her　husband　is　for　the　way　in　which　he　will　notice　the　king　staring　at　her　and　indifferently　turn　away　to　his　dice　cup　or　his　flagon。　The　duke　of　Garsenc　ought　surely；　Rosala　had　thought；　in　the　early　months　of　her　marriage；　to　have　more　pride　in　him　than　that。　It　appeared；　though；　that　the　only　people　who　could　arouse　Ranald　to　anything　resembling　passion　or　spirit　were　his　father　and　brother；　and　that；　of　course；　was　its　own　old；　bleak　story。　It　sometimes　seems　to　Rosala　that　she　has　been　part　of　their　tale　forever；　it　is　hard　to　remember　clearly　back　to　a　time　when　the　lords　of　Garsenc　have　not　trammelled　her　tightly　about　with　their　festering　family　griefs。　It　had　been　different　at　home　in　Savaric；　but　Savaric　was　a　long　time　ago。
　　The　wind　is　rising　now；　ing　about　to　the　east；　sending　droplets　and　then　a　gusty　sheet　of　rain　through　the　window　to　strike　her　face　and　the　bodice　of　her　gown。　She　doesn't　mind　the　cold；　she　even　weles　it；　but　there　is　a　child　to　think　of　now。　Reluctantly　she　turns　away；　back　to　the　smoky；　stale；　crowded　room；　to　hear　her　husband's　father　begin　to　speak　to　the　issue　of　forced　marriages　and　conquest　in　the　warm　bright　south。
　　〃My　liege；　you　know　the　reasons　as　well　as　I；　so；　indeed　does　every　man　in　this　room；　save　one　perhaps。〃　The　glance　flicked　sideways　at　Ranald　is　so　brief　as　to　carry　its　own　measure　of　bone…deep　contempt。　〃Even　the　women　know　my　son's　folly　when　they　hear　it。　Even　the　women。〃　Beside　Rosala；　Adelh　de　Sauvan；　who　is　venal　and　corrupt　and　newly　widowed；　smiles。　Rosala　sees　that　and　looks　away。
　　〃To　wed　the　countess　of　Arbonne；〃　Galbert　goes　on；　his　rich　voice　filling　the　room；　〃we　would　need　her　consent。　This；　she　will　not　give。　Ever。　If　she　did；　for　whatever　reason；　maddened　by　woman's　desire　perhaps；　she　would　be　deposed　and　slain　by　the　assembled　dukes　of　Arbonne　before　any　wedding　could　take　place。　Think　you　that　the　lords　of　Carenzu　or　Malmount　or　Miraval　would　sit　by　and　watch　us　so　easily　stake　a　claim　to　their　land？　Even　a　woman　should　be　able　to　see　the　folly　in　such　a　fatuous　thought。　What；　my　liege；　do　you　think　the　troubadour　lord　of　Arbonne　would　do　at　such　a　time　。。。　think　you　that　Bertran　de　Talair　would　stand　by　and　let　such　a　marriage　take　place？〃
　　〃That　name　is　forbidden　here！〃　Ademar　of　Gorhaut　says　quickly；　leaning　abruptly　forward。　Two　spots　of　unnatural　colour　show　in　his　cheeks　above　the　beard。
　　〃And　so　it　should　be；〃　Galbert　says　smoothly；　as　if　he'd　expected　exactly　that　response。　〃I　have　as　much　reason　as　you　my　liege　to　hate　that　schemer　and　his　godless；　discordant　ways。〃
　　Rosala　smiles　inwardly　at　that；　keeping　her　features　carefully　schooled。　It　was　little　over　a　month　ago　that　de　Talair's　latest　song　had　reached　the　court　of　Gorhaut。　She　remembers　the　night；　wind　and　rain　then；　too；　a　trembling；　whey…faced　bard　obeying　Ademar's　mand；　singing　the　duke　of　Talair's　verses　in　a　voice　like　rasping　iron：
　　Shame　then　in　springtime　for　proud　Gorhaut；　
　　Betrayed　by　a　young　king　and　his　counsellor。
　　And　more；　much　more；　and　worse；　in　the　creaking；　barely　audible　mumblings　of　the　terrified　singer　while　a　wind　blew　on　the　moors　outside：
　　Where　went　the　manhood　of　Gorhaut　and　Valensa　
　　When　war　was　abandoned　and　pale　peace　bought
　　By　weak　kings　and　sons　long　lost　to　their　lineage？
　　Rosala　can　almost　find　a　kind　of　warmth　in　her　heart　at　the　memory　of　the　torchlit　faces　around　her　that　night。　The　expressions　of　the　king；　of　Galbert；　the　furtive　glances　that　flitted　about　the　hall　from　one　newly　landless　lord　or　coran　to　another　as　the　driving　music　brought　the　force　of　the　words　home；　even　in　the　timid　voice　of　the　singer。　The　bard；　a　young　trovaritz　from　Gotzland；　had　almost　certainly　owed　his　continued　life　to　the　presence　in　the　great　hall　of　Cortil　that　evening　of　the　envoy　from　his　own　country　and　the　undeniable　importance　of　keeping　peace　with　King　Jorg　of　Gotzland　at　this　juncture　of　the　world's　affairs。　Rosala　had　no　doubt　what　Ademar　would　have　liked　to　do　when　the　music　ended。
　　Now　he　leans　urgently　forward　again；　almost　rising　from　the　throne；　the　two　bright　spots　vivid　in　his　cheeks　and　says；　〃No　man　has　as　much　reason　as　we　do；　Galbert。　Do　not　exalt　yourself。〃
　　The　High　Elder　gently　shakes　his　head。　Again　the　rich　voice　enpasses　the　room；　so　warm；　so　caring；　it　can　so　easily　deceive　one　into　thinking　the　man　is　profoundly　other　than　he　is。　Rosala　knows　about　that；　she　knows　almost　everything　about　that　by　now。
　　〃It　is　not　in　my　own　name　that　I　take　umbrage；　my　liege；〃　says　Galbert。　〃I　am　as　nothing；　nothing　at　all　in　myself。　But　I　stand　before　you　and　before　the　eyes　of　all　those　in　the　six　countries　as　the　voice　of　the　god　in　Gorhaut。　And　Gorhaut　is　the　Heartland；　the　place　where　Corannos　of　the　Ancients　was　born　in　the　days　before　m