ggk.asongforarbonne-第5节

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heir　voyage。
　　It　was　ridiculous；　Blaise　thought；　pulling　hard　at　his　oar；　remembering　how　he'd　been　forced　to　give　in　on　those　issues。　In　fact　this　whole　night　journey　smacked　of　the　absurd。　The　problem　was；　it　was　as　easy　to　be　killed　on　a　foolish　quest　in　the　pany　of　fools　as　on　an　adventure　of　merit　beside　men　one　respected　and　trusted。
　　Still；　he　had　been　hired　by　En　Mallin　de　Baude　to　train　the　man's　household　corans；　and　it　had　suited　his　own　purposes　for　his　first　months　in　Arbonne　to　serve　a　lesser　baron　while　he　quietly　sized　up　the　shape　of　things　here　in　this　goddess…worshipping　land　and　perfected　his　grasp　of　the　language。　Nor　could　it　be　denied…as　Mallin　had　been　quick　to　point　out…that　tonight's　endeavour　would　help　to　hone　the　corans　of　Baude　into　a　better　fighting　force。　If　they　survived。
　　Mallin　was　not　without　ambition；　nor　was　he　entirely　without　merits。　It　was　his　wife；　Blaise　thought；　who　had　turned　out　to　be　the　problem。　Soresina；　and　the　utterly　irrational　customs　of　courtly　love　here　in　Arbonne。　Blaise　had　no　particular　affection；　for　good　and　sufficient　reasons；　for　the　current　way　of　things　in　his　own　home　of　Gorhaut；　but　nothing　in　the　north　struck　him　as　quite　so　impractical　as　the　woman…driven　culture　here　of　the　troubadours　and　their　joglars；　wailing　songs　of　love　for　one　lord's　wife　or　another。　It　wasn't　even　the　maidens　they　sang　of；　in　Corannos's　name。　It　seemed　a　woman　had　to　be　wed　to　bee　the　proper　object　of　a　poet's　passion　in　Arbonne。　Maffour；　the　most　talkative　of　the　household　corans；　had　started　to　explain　it　once；　Blaise　hadn't　cared　enough　to　listen。　The　world　was　full　of　things　one　needed　to　know　to　survive；　he　didn't　have　the　time　to　fill　his　brain　with　the　useless　chaff　of　a　patently　silly　culture。
　　The　island　lights　were　nearer　now　across　the　water。　From　the　front　of　the　skiff　Blaise　heard　one　of　the　corans…Luth；　of　course…offer　a　fervent；　nervous　prayer　under　his　breath。　Behind　his　beard　Blaise　scowled　in　contempt。　He　would　have　gladly　left　Luth　back　on　the　mainland。　The　man　would　be　next　to　useless　here；　good　for　nothing　but　guarding　the　skiff　when　they　brought　it　ashore；　if　he　could　manage　to　do　even　that　much　without　wetting　himself　in　fear　at　owl　noises　or　a　falling　star　or　a　sudden　wind　in　the　leaves　at　night。　It　had　been　Luth　who　had　begun　the　talk　earlier；　back　on　shore；　about　sea　monsters　guarding　the　approaches　to　Rian's　Island…great；　hump…backed；　scaly　creatures　with　teeth　the　size　of　a　man。
　　The　real　dangers；　as　Blaise　saw　it；　were　rather　more　prosaic；　though　none　the　less　acute　for　that：　arrows　and　blades；　wielded　by　the　watchful　priests　and　priestesses　of　Rian　against　falsely　consecrated　men　e　in　secret　in　the　night　to　the　goddess's　holy　island　with　a　purpose　of　their　own。
　　Said　purpose　being　in　fact　extremely　specific：　to　persuade　one　Evrard；　a　troubadour；　to　return　to　Castle　Baude　from　his　self…imposed　exile　on　Rian's　Island　in　the　depths　of　righteous　indignation。
　　It　was　all　genuinely　ridiculous；　Blaise　thought　again；　pulling　at　the　oar；　feeling　the　salt　spray　in　his　hair　and　beard。　He　was　glad　that　Rudel　wasn't　here。　He　could　guess　what　his　Portezzan　friend　would　have　had　to　say　about　this　whole　escapade。　In　his　mind　he　could　almost　hear　Rudel's　laughter　and　his　acerbic；　devastating　assessment　of　the　current　circumstances。
　　The　story　itself　was　straightforward　enough…an　entirely　natural　consequence；　Blaise　had　been　quick　to　declare　in　the　hall　at　Baude；　of　the　stupidity　of　the　courtly　rituals　here　in　the　south。　He　was　already　not　much　liked　for　saying　such　things；　he　knew。　That　didn't　bother　him；　he　hadn't　been　much　liked　in　Gorhaut；　either；　the　last　while　before　he'd　left　home。
　　Still；　what　was　an　honest　man　to　make　of　what　had　happened　in　Castle　Baude　last　month？　Evrard　of　Lussan；　who　was　said　to　be　a　modestly　petent　troubadour…Blaise　was　certainly　not　in　a　position　to　judge　one　man's　scribblings　against　another's…had　elected　to　take　up　residence　at　Baude　in　the　high　country　of　the　south…western　hills　for　a　season。　This　had　rebounded；　in　the　way　of　things　down　here；　to　the　greater　renown　of　En　Mallin　de　Baude：　lesser　barons　in　remote　castles　seldom　had　troubadours；　modestly　petent　or　otherwise；　living　with　them　for　any　length　of　time。　That　much；　at　least；　made　sense　to　Blaise。
　　But；　of　course；　once　settled　in　the　castle；　Evrard　naturally　had　to　fall　in　love　with　Soresina　and　begin　writing　his　dawn…songs　and　liensennes；　and　his　cryptic　trobars　for　her。　That；　also　in　the　way　of　such　things　here；　was　precisely　why　he　had　e；　with　the　less　romantic　incentive；　Blaise　had　caustically　observed；　of　a　handsome　monthly　payment　out　of　Mallin's　wool　revenues　from　last　autumn's　fair　in　Lussan。　The　troubadour　used　a　made…up　name　for　his　Lady…another　rule　of　the　tradition…but　everyone　in　the　vicinity　of　the　castle；　and　surprisingly　soon　everyone　in　Arbonne　who　mattered　at　all；　seemed　to　know　that　Evrard　of　Lussan；　the　troubadour；　was　heart…smitten　by　the　beauty　and　grace　of　young　Soresina　de　Baude　in　her　castle　tucked　in　a　fold　of　the　high　country　leading　to　the　mountain　passes　and　Arimonda。
　　Mallin　was　enormously　pleased；　that　too　was　part　of　the　game。　A　lovestruck　troubadour　exalting　the　baron's　wife　enhanced　Mallin's　own　ardently　pursued　images　of　power　and　largess。
　　Soresina；　of　course；　was　thrilled　beyond　words。　She　was　vain；　pretty　and　easily　silly　enough；　in　Blaise's　jaundiced　opinion；　to　have　precipitated　exactly　the　sort　of　crisis　with　which　they　now　found　themselves　dealing。　If　it　hadn't　been　the　one　incident；　it　would　have　been　another；　he　was　sure　of　it。　There　were　women　like　Soresina　at　home；　too；　but　they　were　rather　better　kept　in　hand　in　Gorhaut。　For　one　thing；　their　husbands　didn't　invite　strangers　into　their　castles　for　the　express　purpose　of　wooing　them。　However　Maffour　might　try　to　explain　the　strict　rules　of　this　courtly　game　of　love；　Blaise　knew　an　attempt　at　seduction　when　he　saw　one。
　　Soresina；　manifestly　uninterested　in　the　newly　resident　poet　in　any　genuinely　romantic　way…which　no　doubt　reassured　her　husband　more　than　somewhat…nonetheless　contrived　to　lead　Evrard　on　in　every　manner　possible；　given　the　constraints　imposed　by　the　extremely　crowded　spaces　of　a　small　baronial　castle。
　　Mallin's　yellow…haired　wife　had　a　ripe　body；　an　infectious　laugh　and　a　lineage　substantially　more　distinguished　than　her　husband's：　something　that　always　added　fuel　to　the　fires　of　troubadour　passion　Blaise　had　been　told　by　the　discursive　Maffour。　He'd　had　to　laugh；　it　was　all　so　artificial；　the　whole　process。　He　could　guess；　too　easily；　what　acid…tongued　Rudel　would　have　said　about　this。
　　In　the　meantime；　the　celebrated　southern　spring　came　to　Arbonne；　with　many…coloured　wildflowers　appearing　almost　overnight　in　the　meadows　and　the　high　slopes　about　Castle　Baude。　The　snows　were　reported　to　be　receding　from　the　mountain　pass　to　Arimonda。　As　the　poet's　verses　grew　in　heat　and　passion　with　the　quickening　season；　so　did　the　throbbing　voices　of　the　joglars　who　had　begun　arriving　in　Baude　as　well；　knowing　a　good　thing　when　they　saw　one。　More　than　one　of　the　corans　and　castle　servants　had　private　cause　to　thank　the　troubadour　and　the　singers　and　the　erotic　atmosphere　they'd　induced　for　amorous　interludes　in　kitchen　and　meadow　and　hall。
　　Unfortunately　for　him；　Evrard's　own　cause　was　not　aided　by　the　all…too…evident　reality　that　he　was　short；　yellow…toothed　and　prematurely　losing　what　thin　hair　he'd　once　had。　Still；　according　to　the　great　tradition；　troubadours　were　supposed　to　be　loved　by　the　high　ladies　of　culture　and　grace　for　their　art　and　their　fierce　dedication；　not　for　their　height　or　hair。
　　Trouble　was；　Soresina　de　Baude　didn't　seem　to　care　much　for　the　great　tradition；　or　that　part　of　it；　at　any　rate。　She　liked　her　men　to　look　like　the　warlike　corans　of　the　great　days　past。　Indeed；　she'd　made　a　point　of　telling　Blaise　as　much　shortly　after　he'd　arrived；　looking　artlessly　up　at　his　tall；　muscled　form　and　then　glancing　down　and　away　in　transparently　feigned　shyness。　Blaise；　somewhat　used　to　this　sort　of　thing；　had　been　neither　surprised　nor　tempted。　He　was　being　paid　by　Mallin　and　had　shaped　his　own　code　in　such　matters。
　　What　Evrard　of　Lussan　shaped；　later　that　spring；　was　something　else。　In　brief；　the　little　troubadour；　having　downed　a　considerable　quantity　of　unmixed　Miraval　red　wine　with　the　corans　one　night；　finally　elected　to　translate　his　fiercely　impassioned　verses　into　modestly　passionate　action。
　　Inflamed　by　a　joglar's　fervid　rendition　of　one　of　his　own　ballads　earlier　that　evening；　the　troubadour　had　left　his　sleeping　place　late　at　night　and　stumbled　along　dark　and　silent　corridors　and　stairways　to　Soresina's　door；　which　happened；　unfortunately　for　all　concerned；　to　be　unlocked：　Mallin；　young；　healthy；　tall　enough；　and　rather　urgently　seeking　heirs；　had　but　lately　left　his　wife　for　his　own　chamber　nearby。
　　The　intoxicated；　verse…enraptured　poet　had　entered　the　pitch…black　chamber；　felt　his　way　over　to　the　canopied　bed　and　planted　a　lover's　kiss　upon　the　lips　of　the　satiated；　sleeping　woman　he　was　busily　making　famous　throughout　Arbonne　that　spring。
　　There　were　a　good　many　schools　of　thought　evo