ggk.asongforarbonne-第95节

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itted　by　a　stone…faced　woman　from　Cauvas。　He　had　never　liked　people　from　Cauvas…or　anywhere　inland；　he　suddenly　thought。　It　took　folk　raised　by　the　sea　to　understand　the　rhythms　of　life　on　the　water。　He　wondered　if　he　could　say　that　to　the　High　Priestess。　She　was　from　Barbentain；　though；　he　didn't　think　it　would　be　a　prudent　notion　to　present　her　with　this　particular　proposition。
　　He　waited　in　gloomy　silence；　alone　in　the　antechamber；　dabbing　futilely　at　intervals　at　the　tell…tale　streaks　on　his　robe。　He　sniffed　his　hands　suddenly　and　grimaced。　He　ought　to　have　had　a　wash；　he　realized。　He　was　carrying　the　evidence　of　his　sin　right　into　Rian's　temple。　And　this　was　the　third　time　in　a　year。　He　was　going　to　be　sent　north；　Roche　decided　with　real　despair。　He　deserved　to　be　sent　to　the　mountains；　far　from　his　beloved　ocean　waters　and　their　seductive　bounty。　He　had　no　self…control　at　all；　he　reproached　himself；　no　proper　respect　for　the　traditions　of　holy　Rian　which　he　had　vowed　to　uphold　for　life；　no　true　sense　of　his　own　solemn　responsibility　to　set　an　example　for…
　　The　door　opened。　Another　grim…faced　servant　nodded　coldly　to　him。　The　lay…folk　always　loved　it　when　a　priest　or　priestess　was　in　trouble。　Roche　wiped　his　hands　on　his　robe　one　last　time　and　walked　in；　with　what　dignity　he　could　mand　while　smelling　of　lampfish　and　charcoal；　to　be　told　his　fate　by　the　High　Priestess　of　Rian　in　Arbonne。
　　He　came　out　of　the　room　shortly　afterwards　seriously　unsettled。　The　High　Priestess　had　barely　even　bothered　to　take　note　of　his　transgression。　She　had　reprimanded　him　briefly；　never　even　turning　to　him　or　taking　her　blind　gaze　from　the　fire　on　the　hearth。　She　had　pardoned　him　almost　absently；　with　a　ritually　phrased　injunction　to　pray　in　the　temple　for　the　strength　to　resist　his　weaknesses。　That　had　been　all。　For　the　third　offense　in　a　year。　He'd　been　dismissed。　Not　even　her　white　owl　had　seemed　to　care　enough　to　look　over　at　him。
　　Roche　couldn't　understand　it。　His　had　been　a　fairly　serious　malfeasance；　a　terrible　example　for　the　lay　workers。　How　could　the　High　Priestess　take　an　indifferent　view　of　such　a　thing；　he　wondered？　How　could　the　customs　of　the　goddess　be　properly　preserved　if　the　great　ones　of　the　temple　paid　so　little　attention　to　them？　He　felt　almost　indignant　at　his　casual　reprieve。　Why；　he　deserved　a　temporary　exile　at　the　very　least！　Though　he　would　have　felt　miserable　at　such　a　punishment；　he　had　certainly　deserved　it。　But　what　was　this…an　absent…minded　lecture　and　a　quick　dismissal？
　　Something；　Roche　decided；　was　seriously　wrong。　He　was　only　a　lowly　priest；　but　he　couldn't　help　wondering　if　the　upper　hierarchies　of　Rian's　clergy　were　serving　her　properly　these　days。　He　shook　his　head。　What　was　the　world　ing　to？
　　On　the　way　out；　though；　he　couldn't　forebear　grinning　broadly　at　the　dour…faced　woman　at　the　door；　and　as　he　walked　back　past　the　bakehouse　through　the　crisp　afternoon　sunshine　he　offered　the　woodsman　a　positively　cheerful　wave。　Not；　perhaps；　the　most　judicious　thing　to　do；　but　some　temptations；　Roche　had　learned；　he　was　ill…equipped　to　resist。
　　When　he　finished　his　tour　of　duty　in　the　sanctuary　that　evening；　he　washed　himself　carefully；　hands　and　face　and　body；　in　the　growing　chill　of　evening　after　the　sun　had　gone　down；　and　he　donned　clean　raiment　before　going　back　to　pray　in　the　temple　for　two　full　watches　of　the　evening。　As　he　had　been　admonished　to　do；　Roche　humbly　asked　the　goddess　to　vouchsafe　him　the　strength　to　resist　his　inappropriate　desires；　and　then；　as　an　afterthought；　he　prayed　for　Rian　to　lend　her　holy　wisdom　and　eternal　presence　to　the　High　Priestess；　who　seemed　troubled　of　late　by　burdens　beyond　his　own　poor　understanding。
　　He　felt　better　when　he　finally　rose；　though　his　knees　and　back　creaked　stiffly　in　the　cold。　He　left　the　temple　to　return　to　the　dormitory　and　his　bed　under　the　winter　stars　and　both　moons。
　　On　the　way　out　from　the　dome　he　saw　a　cluster　of　his　fellow　priests　and　priestesses　standing　together　in　the　atrium　around　the　one　small　fire　there。　It　was　very　late；　this　was　unusual。　He　went　over　to　join　them；　and　as　they　made　room　for　him　in　their　midst　it　was　Maritte；　very　near　now　to　delivering　the　child　he　and　she　had　conceived　last　spring；　who　told　Roche　that　word　had　just　arrived　that　the　army　of　Gorhaut　had　been　seen　two　days　ago　in　the　High　Road　Pass　through　the　mountains　ing　south　into　Arbonne　with　the　engines　of　war。
　　
　　It　had　always　been　likely；　more　than　that；　even。
　　From　the　moment　the　Treaty　of　Iersen　Bridge　had　been　signed；　Beatritz　had　been　certain　Gorhaut　would　be　ing　to　them。　Until　the　sun　falls　and　the　moons　die；　Gorhaut　and　Arbonne　shall　not　lie　easily　beside　each　other。　That　was　the　ancient　saying…in　both　countries。　The　sun　had　not　fallen　and　both　moons　were　in　the　winter　sky　tonight　she　knew；　aware　of　them　as　presences　though　she　could　not　see　their　light。
　　Deep　in　her　cushioned　chair　she　was　also　aware　of　the　fire　on　the　hearth；　as　a　warmth　certainly；　and　a　wele　one；　but　also　as　something　else；　not　sound　or　heat；　certainly　not　light…a　source　of　danger　and　knowledge；　both。　It　was　such　a　plex　world　she　had　walked　into　on　the　night　she　had　given　up　her　eyes　for　this　other　sight　of　Rian。　She　saw　so　differently　now；　better　in　the　darkness；　best　on　the　island；　not　at　all　without　Brissel　on　her　shoulder。　She　reached　up　and　stroked　the　owl；　she　could　feel　his　disquiet；　or　rather；　she　could　feel　him　reacting　to　her　own。　She　tried　to　send　calming　thoughts；　to　go　with　the　gentling　hand；　but　it　was　hard。　It　was　hard　tonight。
　　Aubry　had　been　a　blow　to　her　heart；　heavy　as　a　descending　hammer；　and　it　had　only　been　an　opening　move；　no　more　than　a　small　number　of　Gorhaut　corans　writing　a　first　message　in　fire　last　autumn。　There　was　an　army　now；　and　it　seemed　Galbert　de　Garsenc's　long　dream　of　burnings　in　Arbonne　was　about　to　be　fulfilled。
　　And　there　was　next　to　nothing　she　could　do　about　it。　She　had　already　done　what　she　could；　keeping　her　lines　of　knowledge　flung　far；　leaving　the　island　more　than　she　ought　to　have　done；　neglecting　the　localized　but　vital　needs　of　her　priests　and　priestesses　to　meet　with　her　mother　and　Roban　and　the　most　important　of　the　nobility…Bertran；　Thierry　and　Ariane；　Urté。　It　had　been　Beatritz；　feeling　the　rare　pulse　of　the　goddess　within　her；　who　had　counselled　that　a　careful　approach　be　made　to　Blaise　de　Garsenc；　who　was　known　to　have　left　Gorhaut　in　anger。　She　remembered　the　first　reactions　to　that：　he　was　the　son　of　the　High　Elder；　their　purest　enemy。　An　ignorant；　unpleasant　mercenary　soldier；　Roban　the　chancellor　had　named　him　derisively。
　　He　is　more　than　that；　Beatritz　had　told　them；　trusting　her　intuition　and　the　silence　of　her　owl。　Bertran　was　the　one　who　had　agreed　with　her；　though　almost　in　spirit　of　amusement；　and　also　because…as　they　only　afterwards　understood…her　proposal　coincided　neatly　with　a　seduction　he　was　then　pursuing。　It　was　that　way　with　Bertran；　sometimes。　You　took　him　for　what　he　was；　which　was　not　inconsiderable；　and　tried　to　keep　private　the　inward　lament　for　how　much　more　he　might　have　been。
　　She　had　known　she　was　right　about　Blaise　de　Garsenc　when　Rian；　in　holy　intercession；　had　acted　to　bring　the　man　to　the　island　even　before　Bertran　went　to　Castle　Baude。　Beatritz　had　done　what　she　could　here；　too；　trying　to　frighten　him　out　of　the　grim　placency　that　was　obvious　and　reach　past　his　barriers　to　touch　the　shielded　thing　she　sensed　within。　Brissel　had　let　her　know　that　he；　too；　felt　something　there；　and　long　ago　she　had　learned　to　listen　when　the　owl　told　her　such　things。
　　She　remembered　Brissel　flying　from　her　shoulder　on　Midsummer　Night　in　Tavernel　when　Blaise　had　first　spoken　of　the　crown　of　Gorhaut。　She　had　not　expected　that；　either　the　man's　words　or　the　white　owl's　sudden　flight　to　him。　She　was　truly　blind　when　Brissel　was　not　with　her；　but　her　mother　had　reached　up　to　take　her　hand　and　had　told　her　quietly　where　the　bird　had　gone；　and　Beatritz　had　felt　the　presence　of　Rian　in　that　moment。
　　If　only　it　were　a　presence　she　could　invoke　more　often。　If　only　she　had　a　tenth　of　the　magic　and　the　mental　powers　the　superstitious　attributed　to　her。　But　magic　in　Arbonne　was　a　tenuous；　very　nearly　non…existent　thing…whatever　it　might　be　in　those　uncharted　countries　storm…blown　mariners　had　told　her　lay　beyond　the　deserts　to　the　south。　Magic　here　was　wholly　confined　to　small　things；　the　coinage　of　hearth　and　heart。　Control　of　conception；　foreknowledge　of　a　child's　sex…and　that　last　not　always　with　certainty。　Knowledge　of　sorrows；　some　access　to　easing　them。　A　skill　with　the　gifts　of　the　earth：　herbs；　flowers；　fruits；　trees。　A　certain　awareness　Beatritz　herself　had…though　only　here　on　the　island　or　the　isle　in　Lake　Dierne；　and　only　since　her　blinding…of　inward　life；　in　matters　of　love　and　hate。　Some　powers　of　healing；　though　these　as　much　a　matter　of　herbal　and　other　lore　handed　down　as　anything　else。
　　That　was　the　sum　of　their　magic；　that　was　their　dangerous　power。　It　had　been　useful　to　have　others　think　there　was　more；　a　fear　of　the　clergy　of　Rian　and　their　night　gatherings　could　be　a　kind　of　defence。
　　Until　that　fear　became　so　deep　and　cold　a　terror　that　it　became