ggk.asongforarbonne-第99节

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　　〃My　lady！〃　began　Ariane　de　Carenzu；　her　own　colour　high。　〃Countess；　this　is　something　that…〃　She　stopped　abruptly　at　a　swift；　imperious　gesture　from　the　countess。
　　Signe　hadn't　even　bothered　to　look　at　her。　She　was　still　gazing　at　Bertran　de　Talair；　daring　him　to　speak　again。　〃You　lead　our　armies；　my　lord；〃　she　said　flatly。　〃This　is　a　mand。〃　And　then；　very　clearly；　with　an　emphasis　on　each　word：　〃Fail　me　not。〃
　　Urté　de　Miraval　rose　slowly；　heavily；　to　his　feet。　Rosala；　watching　him；　felt　an　oppressive　burden　settling　upon　her　like　a　weight　of　stones。　It　wasn't　even　her　history；　her　country；　but　she　thought　she　knew　what　was　ing　and　what　it　would　mean。　The　whole　room；　all　those　gathered　here　in　Barbentain；　seemed　somehow　to　be　caught　and　suspended　in　a　dark；　entangling　web　spun　long　ago。
　　〃He　leads　those　armies　then　without　the　men　of　Miraval；〃　Urté　said　with　a　grave；　unnatural　calm　that　was　somehow　a　match　for　Signe's　own　manner。　〃And　so　on　your　shoulders；　countess；　must　lie　the　burden　of　that。　You　might　perhaps　have　remembered；　since　you　chose　to　speak　so　freely　of　the　dead；　that　in　this　room　I　am　the　nearest　thing　to　a　son　that　you　have。〃　And　turning　on　his　heel　he　strode　to　the　door。　
　　〃My　lord；　wait！〃　called　Thierry　de　Carenzu。　Urté　did　not　turn。　He　opened　the　door　and　passed　through　and　they　heard　it　close　with　a　reverberant　finality　behind　him。
　　Echoes；　Rosala　thought；　swallowing　hard。　Echoes　of　a　past　that　threatened　to　destroy　the　present。　She　looked　about　the　room；　registering　nuances　of　grave　apprehension。　Only　the　countess　seemed　immune；　only　Signe　showed　no　fear　or　doubt。
　　〃How　many　men　does　this　mean？〃　It　was　Fulk；　her　brother's　first　words　spoken　and；　characteristically；　addressing　the　most　prosaic　aspect　of　all　of　this。
　　〃Fifteen　hundred；　somewhat　more。　Almost　all　of　them　trained。〃　Thierry　de　Carenzu；　who　had　been　the　only　man　to　try　to　stay　Urté's　departure；　gave　the　answer。　It　was　a　very　large　number　and　Rosala　had　been　in　Arbonne　long　enough　to　know　why：　two　decades　of　clashes　between　Talair　and　Miraval　had　led　both　dukes　to　gather　around　them　substantial　armies　of　fighting　men。　And　this　morning　those　same　bone…deep　hostilities　had　just　cost　them　half　those　men。
　　〃I　see；〃　said　Fulk　quietly。　Her　brother　was　not　a　man　prone　to　elaboration　of　his　thoughts。　They　were　not　needed　here；　every　man　and　woman　in　the　room　knew　the　implications　of　Urté's　leaving　them。　〃Are　you　going　to　have　him　arrested？〃　Fulk　asked。
　　No　one　answered　him。　Bertran　was　staring　out　the　window；　visibly　shaken。　Rosala　saw　the　chancellor；　Roban。　leaning　against　the　wall；　as　if　for　desperately　needed　support；　he　was　white　as　a　bone。　So　were　most　of　the　others　in　the　room；　she　saw。　Only　the　countess；　small；　rigidly　erect；　seemed　to　have　retained　her　posure。
　　Rosala　cleared　her　throat。　〃Will　he　really　stay　away？〃　she　asked。　It　seemed　incredible　to　her；　and　yet　somehow；　in　some　terrifying　way；　predestined　at　the　same　time。　For　some　reason　she　found　herself　turning　to　Ariane　de　Carenzu　as　she　spoke。
　　Ariane's　face　was　also　pale。　In　a　thin　voice　far　removed　from　her　customary　crisp　authority；　she　said；　〃I'm　afraid　he　will。　If　he　doesn't　do　even　more　than　that。〃
　　〃That　is　unfair！〃　her　husband　said　quickly；　gesturing　sharply。　Thierry　de　Carenzu　shook　his　head。　〃He　is　not　a　traitor。〃
　　〃No？〃　It　was　Blaise　again。　Still　with　that　slight　unsettling　new　control　in　his　tone。　〃What　would　you　call　a　man　who　does　what　he　just　did；　regardless　of　what　course　he　takes　afterwards？〃
　　It　was　a　fair　question；　if　a　harsh　one。　It　was　what　Fulk　had　been　asking。　The　answer　was　easy　enough：　you　called　such　a　man　a　traitor。
　　Rosala　looked　at　her　brother　and　saw　that　he　was　gazing　steadily　back　at　her　for　the　first　time　that　morning。　In　his　eyes；　identical　to　her　own；　she　read　the　same　answer。　Were　this　Gorhaut；　she　thought　suddenly；　Urté　de　Miraval　would　never　have　been　allowed　to　leave　this　room　alive。
　　There　was　something　genuinely　frightening　about　that　thought。　She　was　beginning　to　glimpse　a　part　of　the　price　Arbonne　paid　for　its　freedoms　and　its　subtle　graces。
　　She　wondered　how　much　of　that　price　was　yet　to　be　paid。
　　And　it　was　at　that　precise　moment；　Rosala　remembered　afterwards；　that　the　knocking　came　at　the　door　and　the　guards　opened　it　to　admit　two　exhausted；　travel…stained　troubadours；　one　fair…haired；　one　dark；　with　a　message　from　Rian's　Island　in　the　sea：　a　message　that　the　High　Priestess　had　had　a　vision　from　the　goddess　of　a　battle　by　Lake　Dierne。
　　
　　CHAPTER　17
　　The　identical　message　by　a　different　messenger　came　to　the　lake　isle　that　same　morning。　Lisseut；　who；　wisely　or　otherwise；　had　not　gone　home　for　the　winter　to　her　mother　after　all；　heard　the　tidings　when　she　came　across　the　green　towards　the　dining　hall　for　breakfast。
　　It　was　not　a　great　surprise。　They　had　known　that　the　army　of　Gorhaut　was　likely　to　be　ing　to　them。　This　isle　was　the　holiest　sanctuary　of　Rian　in　the　north　of　Arbonne　and　by　now　everyone　knew　that　the　warriors　of　Gorhaut　were　on　a　crusade　in　the　name　of　the　god。　It　didn't　matter　that　Corannos　was　worshipped　here　as　well。　Had　such　things　mattered；　Lisseut　thought　bitterly；　then　priestesses　and　children　and　those　who　had　tried　to　defend　them　would　not　now　be　lying　charred　and　dead。
　　She　moved　a　little　distance　away　from　the　knot　of　anxiously　talking　priests　and　priestesses。　It　was　not　easy　to　find　privacy　within　the　narrow　confines　of　the　isle　and；　perhaps　surprisingly　for　someone　who　had　e　to　adulthood　within　the　intensely　social　world　of　the　troubadours；　she　seemed　to　be　drawn　to　solitude　of　late。　More　precisely；　since　the　night　she'd　sung　Blaise　de　Garsenc　to　sleep　with　lullabies　of　childhood　and　then　left　his　room　to　walk　back　with　Alain　to　their　inn。　There　was　no　fierce　turmoil　in　her　any　more；　however；　no　sharp　pain。　That　seemed　to　be　behind　her　now　that　winter　had　e。　A　stone　makes　a　splash　when　it　strikes　the　water；　Lisseut　had　thought；　standing　by　this　same　shore　on　the　day　she'd　arrived　near　the　end　of　autumn；　but　no　sound　at　all　as　it　sinks　down　to　the　lake's　deep　bed。　That　was　how　she　felt；　she　had　decided…or　how　she　had　been　feeling；　until　war　came　with　the　harrowing　reports　of　deaths　and　burnings　and　thoughts　of　such　private　matters　were　trivialized　and　driven　far　away。
　　She　looked　out　across　the　choppy　waters　of　Lake　Dierne；　past　the　honey…coloured　stones　of　Talair　on　the　northern　shore　and　up　beyond　the　grass　of　the　valley　to　the　winter　vineyards　and　the　forest　rising　in　the　distance。　Somewhere　out　there　an　army　was　ing；　axes　and　swords　and　brands；　severed　heads　dancing　on　pikes　above　them。　The　survivors；　fleeing　south　before　the　fury　of　Gorhaut；　had　brought　tales　of　such　horrors　with　them。
　　Lisseut　plunged　her　hands　into　the　folds　of　the　vest　she'd　been　given　by　Ariane　in　Carenzu。　It　was　a　cold　morning；　diamond…bright；　the　stiff　wind　pushing　the　three　plumes　of　smoke　almost　due　south。　The　air　was　fresh　and　clean　and　she　could　see　a　long　way。　To　the　west；　when　she　turned；　the　massive　stones　of　the　Arch　of　the　Ancients　showed　clearly　at　the　end　of　the　row　of　marching　elms。　Lisseut　hated　that　arch。　She　had　from　the　moment　she'd　first　seen　it　years　ago：　there　was　too　much　oppressive　power　stamped　upon　it；　the　sculptor's　undeniable　art　wholly　given　over　to　the　brutally　explicit　message。　The　arch　reminded　her　now；　every　day；　of　what　was　ing。
　　She　would　have　been　safer　at　home；　she　knew。　Vezét　couldn't　be　reached　by　an　invading　army　for　a　long　time　yet　and；　if　it　came　to　that；　a　well…known　joglar　could　take　ship　from　the　coast　and　find　a　ready　wele　in　Portezza　or　Arimonda。
　　That　last　thought　hadn't　even　lingered　long　enough　to　be　seriously　considered。　Even　when　it　had　bee　clear　that　the　flattering　invitation　she　and　Alain　had　accepted…to　winter　on　Rian's　Isle…had　brought　them　squarely　into　the　path　of　death；　Lisseut　knew　she　would　not　leave。
　　There　was　a　reason　she　could　have　offered　if　anyone　had　asked；　but　no　one　did　ask。　It　had　been　Ramir's　song　though；　in　Lussan　at　the　Autumn　Fair　that；　more　than　any　other　single　thing；　had　shaped　her　feelings　now。　If　there　was　a　role；　any　role　at　all　for　her　to　play　in　this　appalling　time　it　would　not　lie　in　hiding　away　south　by　the　sea　or　fleeing　across　the　water。　The　imagined　presence　of　that　stone　inside　her；　sinking　silently　down　as　through　dark；　still　lake　waters；　might　have　had　something　to　do　with　it；　too。　She　would　have　admitted　that；　she　was　usually　honest　with　herself；　and　the　worst　part　of　that　pain　seemed　to　be　gone　now。　It　had　been　months　since　the　Lussan　Fair；　she　didn't　even　know　where　Blaise　was。　She　called　him　by　his　name　in　her　mind　now。　Surely　that　much　could　be　allowed？
　　Alain　had　stayed　on　the　isle　as　well。　She　had　thought　he　would。　Her　affection　for　the　little　troubadour　had　grown　with　each　passing　day。　He　had　even　begun　practising　with　a　sword；　rowing　across　to　join　the　corans　of　Talair　every　afternoon。　He　was　not　very　good。　Lisseut　had　gone　to　watch　him　one　day；　and　foreboding　had　lain　within　her　like　a　different　kind　of　weight。
　　That　grim　sense　of　premonition　was　with　her　again　now　as　she　gazed　out　across　the　whitecaps　at　the　stones　of　the　arch　beyond