ggk.asongforarbonne-第60节

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he　name　of　any　of　these　women；　but　in　his　passion　and　desire　he　began　posing　songs　for　them；　and　this　was　the　beginning　of　the　troubadours　of　Arbonne。〃
　　The　music　beneath　the　spoken　words　was　beautiful；　delicate　as　lace　or　the　gems　of　a　master　jeweller；　precise；　many…faceted。　Ramir　said；　〃I　could　sing　a　song　of　love　of　Anselme　of　Cauvas　tonight；　I　could　sing　his　love　songs　all　night　long　until　the　dawn　came　to　draw　us　out　the　doors；　but　we　have　been　given　a　different　kind　of　challenge　here；　and　so　I　will　sing　a　different　kind　of　song。　With　the　permission　and　by　the　grace　of　all　those　gathered　here；　I　will　sing　a　song　Anselme　wrote　once　when　he　was　far　from　home。〃
　　The　music　changed　and　was　alone　then；　creating　room　for　beauty　by　candle　and　lantern　light　in　a　thronged　tavern；　with　the　first　cold　breezes　of　autumn　beginning　to　blow　outside。　Lisseut　knew　the　tune　immediately。　Everyone　at　their　table　knew　this　tune。　She　waited；　feeling　close　to　tears；　wanting　to　close　her　eyes　but　wanting　also　to　watch　Ramir；　every　movement　he　made；　and　a　moment　later　she　heard　the　jongleur　sing：
When　the　wind　that　es　from　Arbonne
Sweeps　north　across　the　mountains；
Then　my　heart　is　full　again；　even　in　far　Gorhaut；
Because　I　know　that　spring　has　e　to　Tavernel　and　Lussan；
To　the　olive　groves　above　Vezét　
And　the　vineyards　of　Miraval；　
And　nightingales　are　singing　in　the　south。
　　Ramir's　rich　voice　paused　again；　as　he　let　the　simple；　sweet　notes　of　the　music　take　them　away　with　it。　There　was　an　old；　plain　roughness　to　the　song；　words　and　music　both。　It　was　worlds　removed　from　Jourdain's　intricate　melodies　or　the　subtle　interplay　of　thought　and　image　and　changing　form　in　Remy's　best　work　or　Alain's　new　songs。　This；　though；　was　the　authentic　voice　of　something　at　its　very　beginning。　Lisseut　knew　her　own　origins　were　here；　those　of　all　the　joglars　and　troubadours；　and；　yes；　of　that　table　of　Gotzland　trovaritz；　and　all　the　Arimondan　singers　and　Portezzan；　and　of　those　men　in　Gorhaut　and　Valensa　who　might　actually　venture　to　shape　music　of　a　different　sort　from　the　interminably　thunderous　battle　hymns　of　those　northern　lands。
　　As　if　in　answer　to　the　flow　of　her　thoughts；　Ramir's　voice　was　lifted　again；　not　so　vibrant　perhaps　as　it　once　had　been；　but　purified　by　years　and　the　wisdom　of　those　years　into　an　instrument　rare　and　fine　as　his　lute：
　　Here　in　Gorhaut；　so　distant　from　my　home；　
　　Among　men　who　care　nothing　for　music；　
　　And　ladies　who　utter　little　of　courtesy　to　poets　
　　And　even　less　of　love；　the　memory　of　songbirds　
　　In　the　branches　of　trees；　of　gardens　watered　
　　By　the　sweetness　of　the　Arbonne　itself；　
　　Flowing　from　the　mountains　to　the　sea…
　　Such　a　vision…a　blessing　of　Rian！…guides　
　　Me　to　my　rest　at　night　with　the　promise　of　return。
　　The　singing　ended。　Ramir　continued　the　music　for　only　a　little　longer；　after　the　old　fashion　again；　and　then　his　fingers　on　the　lute；　too；　were　still。　It　was　silent　in　the　tavern。　Lisseut　looked　slowly　around　at　her　friends。　They　had　all　heard　this　song　before；　they　had　all　sung　it　themselves；　but　not　like　this。　Not　ever　like　this。　She　saw　that　of　all　those　sitting　there　it　was　Remy　who　had　tears　in　his　eyes。　Her　own　heart　was　full；　there　was　an　ache　in　it。
　　His　head　lowered；　Ramir　was　carefully　slipping　his　lute　back　into　its　case。　It　took　him　a　long　moment　to　deal　with　the　thong　again。　No　one　yet　had　made　a　sound。　He　finished　putting　away　his　instrument。　With　a　grimace；　he　awkwardly　shifted　his　bad　leg　and　rose　from　the　low　stool。　He　bowed　gravely　towards　the　table　of　Gotzlanders。　Of　course；　Lisseut　realized：　they　were　the　ones　who　had；　after　a　fashion；　called　for　his　song。　He　turned　to　leave；　but　then；　as　if　a　new　thought　had　just　e　to　him；　he　looked　back　at　the　Gotzlanders。
　　〃I　am　sorry；〃　he　said。　〃Will　you　permit　me　to　correct　something　I　said　before？〃　His　voice　was　soft　again；　they　had　to　lean　forward　to　hear。　And　Lisseut　heard　him　say　then；　would　ever　after　remember　hearing　Ramir　of　Talair　say；　with　his　gentle；　muted　sadness；　〃I　told　you　I　would　not　sing　one　of　Anselme's　songs　of　love。　That　is　not　true；　on　reflection。　I　did　sing　a　love　song　after　all。〃
　　It　was　Ariane　de　Carenzu；　a　moment　later；　from　her　place　on　the　upper　level　of　the　inn；　who　was　first　on　her　feet　to　begin　the　applause。　Everyone　at　the　troubadours'　table　stood　as　the　noise　in　The　Senhal　began　to　grow　and　grow。　And　then　Lisseut　saw　the　Gotzlanders　rise；　as　one　man；　and　begin　pounding　their　fists　and　pewter　mugs　upon　the　dark　oak　wood　of　their　table；　shouting　a　fierce　approval。　She　began　to　cry。　Through　the　blurring　rainfall　of　her　sorrow　and　her　pride　she　saw　Ramir；　clutching　his　lute　in　its　case　with　both　hands　to　his　chest；　walk　slowly　away。　He　didn't　go　back　to　his　corner　after　all。　He　left　the　lights　and　the　thunderous　noise　of　the　tavern　and　walked　out　into　the　autumn　night　under　the　stars。
　　
　　There　were　some　among　the　taverns　and　inns　within　and　around　Lussan　that　did　their　own　highly　successful　business　in　the　month　of　the　fair　by　not　remaining　open　during　this　lucrative　season。　The　proprietor　of　The　Silver　Tree；　a　well…regarded　country　inn　among　fig　and　olive　groves　about　three　miles　outside　the　city　walls；　had　been　surprised　and　more　than　pleased　to　join　this　small　but　select　group。　He　accepted　a　considerable　sum　from　Duke　Bertran　de　Talair　to　house　a　number　of　the　duke's　corans　and　household　during　the　fair。　En　Bertran　himself　would　obviously　spend　most　of　his　time　in　Lussan　in　his　city　palace　there；　or；　indeed；　in　Barbentain　itself　with　the　countess；　but　he　clearly　found　it　useful　to　have　a　less　conspicuous　residence　at　his　disposal；　perhaps　one　where　approaches　to　and　from　could　be　more　closely　monitored。　The　innkeeper　speculated；　but　kept　his　thoughts　to　himself。
　　Sitting　in　the　smaller；　more　fortably　furnished　of　the　two　ground…level　rooms　of　that　inn；　with　a　fire　blazing　and　the　night　wind　blowing　outside；　Blaise　fingered　his　wine　glass　and　looked　over　again　at　Valery。　He　raised　his　eyebrows　pointedly。　Bertran's　cousin　merely　shrugged。　The　duke　himself　was　sitting　at　a　table　scribbling　on　a　parchment；　at　times　consulting　other　crumpled　documents　at　hand。　If　Blaise　hadn't　known　better　he　would　have　assumed　that　Bertran　was　dealing　with　affairs　of　importance。　In　fact；　the　duke　was　writing　a　song　and　had　told　them　as　much　when　he'd　asked　for　silence　some　time　ago。
　　They　were　waiting　for　someone。　Corans　were　posted　outside　to　warn　them　of　an　impending　arrival。　Bertran；　needless　to　say；　hadn't　bothered　to　tell　them　who　it　was　he　was　expecting。　A　surprise；　he'd　said　blandly。　Blaise　didn't　like　surprises。　He　didn't　like　waiting。　There　were　times　when　he　wasn't　sure　if　he　liked　Bertran　de　Talair。
　　The　Talair　wine；　at　least；　was　superb；　and　Blaise　was　fortably　warm　in　a　deep…cushioned　chair　by　the　fire。　There　was　food　on　a　second；　long　table；　and　tapestries　offered　warmth　and　colour　on　the　stone　walls。　He　should；　he　told　himself；　be　grateful　for　these　blessings　of　continued　life　and　give　thanks　to　Corannos。　He　might　so　easily　have　died　on　the　road　four　days　ago。　The　talk　since　their　arrival　in　Lussan　was　all　about　the　banning　of　the　Andoria　from　the　fair。　Blaise　didn't　normally　spend　much　time　listening　to　gossip　and　he　didn't　linger　in　places　where　he　might　hear　it；　but　this　was　rather　close　to　his　own　interests；　and　they　had　been　given　the　details　by　Valery　as　soon　as　they'd　entered　the　city。
　　They'd　spent　the　first　night　in　the　Talair　palace　in　town。　Or　rather；　Blaise　and　Valery　had。　Bertran　had　had　a　nocturnal　tryst　he　was　characteristically　unwilling　to　forego　or　postpone。　There　had　been　a　curious　incident　when　Roban；　the　chancellor　of　Arbonne…a　hollow…cheeked；　peremptory　man　Blaise　had　not　met　before…came　looking　for　the　duke　in　the　hour　before　dawn。　Valery；　roused　from　sleep；　had　reluctantly　named　a　house　where　Bertran　might　be　found。　The　chancellor　had　grimaced　in　dismay。　Valery　had　offered　to　go　with　the　small　party；　but　Roban；　wrapped　in　fur　against　the　cold；　had　declined。　He'd　looked　over　at　Blaise　with　an　expression　of　poorly　concealed　misgiving　before　riding　off。　Valery；　seeing　that　look　and　catching　Blaise's　eye；　had　shrugged　then；　too。　They'd　yawned　together　and　had　gone　back　to　their　beds　for　what　little　remained　of　the　night。
　　When　they　descended　the　stairs　again　Bertran　had　not　yet　returned。　He　came　back　later　in　the　morning　in　a　silent　mood　and　had　remained　that　way　all　day；　venturing　out　alone　twice　for　brief　periods。　He　didn't　enlighten　them　as　to　why。　He　went　out　again　that　night；　smiling　and　scented；　to　a　different　house　in　the　city。　Blaise　didn't　bother　asking　Valery　who　lived　there；　he　didn't　want　to　know。
　　Towards　the　end　of　the　next　afternoon；　the　three　of　them　had　taken　their　horses　and　ridden　out　of　Lussan　and　then　along　a　winding　country　lane　to　The　Silver　Tree；　where　the　larger　part　of　the　duke's　men　were　staying。　Bertran　had　again　been　silent　during　that　ride。　〃We're　meeting　someone；〃　was　all　he'd　said　when　they　set　out。　〃After　dark。〃　Valery　had　only　shrugged　when　Blaise　looked　at　him。　Blaise　had　decided　that　he　was　growing　tired　of　Valery's　shrugs；　too。
　　He　was　gazing　into　the　fire；　trying　with　only　marginal