ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第39章

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。　No　one　had　known　where　he　was。
　　His　steward　was　dead。　He　had　learned　that　from　the　prince　some　time　ago：　one　of　the　closely　questioned　figures　the　ka'id　had　mentioned　this　morning。
　　They　ought　to　have　known　better；　he　thought。　They　probably　had；　actually：　no　one；　not　even　the　Muwardis；　could　really　have　imagined　he'd　have　told　the　steward　who　managed　his　country　home　where　he　was　hiding。　Ibn　Ruhala　had　needed　dead　bodies；　though；　evidence　of　zeal　in　his　search。　It　occurred　to　him　that；　ironically；　the　ka'id　was　someone　who　probably　owed　him　his　life　now；　with　the　death　of　the　king。　Another　possible　source　of　amusement。　He　really　couldn't　seem　to　summon　up　his　usual　manner　today；　however。
　　It　wasn't　the　unexpected　exile；　the　prince's　turning　upon　him。　There　were　reasons　for　that。　He'd　have　been　happier　had　he　been　the　one　to　plan　and　implement　this　twist；　as　he'd　planned　all　the　others；　but　truth　was；　however　he　felt　about　it；　the　new　king　was　not　about　to　be　a　puppet；　for　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　or　anyone　else。　Probably　a　good　thing；　he　thought；　dismounting　in　the　courtyard。　A　tribute　to　my　own　training；　that　I'm　banished　from　the　country　by　the　man　I've　just　made　king。
　　That　ought　to　have　been　diverting；　too。　The　problem　was；　he　finally　acknowledged；　looking　about　the　forecourt　of　the　home　he　most　loved；　diversion　and　amusement　were　going　to　be　a　little　hard　to　e　by　for　the　next　while。　Memories；　and　the　associations　they　brought；　were　rather　too　insistent　just　now。
　　Fifteen　years　ago　he　had　killed　the　last　khalif　of　Al…Rassan　for　the　man　he'd　killed　today。
　　Wasn't　it　the　Jarainids　of　the　farthest　east；　beyond　the　homelands；　who　believed　that　a　man's　life　was　an　endlessly　repeating　circle　of　the　same　acts　and　deeds？　It　wasn't　a　philosophy　that　mended　itself　to　him；　but　he　was　aware　that　after　this　morning　his　own　life　might　fairly　be　held　up　as　an　illustration　of　their　creed。　He　didn't　much　like　the　idea　of　being　a　ready　example　of　anything。　It　was　too　uninspired　a　role；　and　he　considered　himself　a　poet　before　anything　else。
　　Though　that；　too；　was　a　half…truth；　at　best。　He　walked　into　the　low；　sprawling　house　he'd　built　with　the　generous　ine　Almalik　had　always　allowed　him。　Never　leave　a　man　without　an　alternative；　he'd　said　carefully　in　the　audience　chamber　this　morning；　to　make　certain　the　cleverest　among　those　assembled　would　begin　to　spell　out　the　tale　as　he　wanted　it　told。
　　But　there　had　been　alternatives。　There　almost　always　were。　Almalik　had　indeed　administered　a　stringent；　deeply　humiliating　rebuke　to　his　son's　independence　and　ibn　Khairan's　pride　on　the　Day　of　the　Moat。　The　prince　had　been　rendered　a　hapless　observer　of　butchery；　no　more　than　a　symbol　of　his　father's　watchfulness；　and　Ammar　。。。　？
　　Ammar　ibn　Khairan；　who；　on　behalf　of　the　ambitious　governor　of　Cartada　fifteen　years　ago；　had　not　scrupled　to　murder　a　man　named　Khalif　in　the　holy　succession　of　Ashar…and　who　had　been　branded　by　that　deed　ever　since…had　been　defined　anew　for　the　peninsula　and　the　world　as　the　coarse；　blood…sodden　architect　of　an　ugly　slaughter。
　　What　he　had　seen　in　that　Fezanan　castle　courtyard　in　the　broiling　heat　of　summer　had　sickened　him…and　he　was　a　man　who　had　seen　and　decreed　death　in　a　great　many　guises　in　the　service　of　Cartada。　He　detested　excess　though；　and　the　degree　of　it　in　that　courtyard　was　appalling。
　　Over　and　above　all　this；　of　course；　there　was　pride。　There　was　always　pride。　He　might　loathe　what　had　been　done　to　the　citizens　of　Fezana　but　he　loathed；　just　as　much；　what　had　been　done　to　his　own　name；　to　his　image　and　place　in　the　world。　He　knew　he　was　the　servant　of　a　king；　however　lofty　his　titles。　Kings　could　rebuke　their　servants；　they　could　strip　them　of　their　worldly　goods；　kill　them；　exile　them。　They　could　not　take　a　man…if　the　man　was　Ammar　ibn　Khairan…and　present　him　to　the　whole　of　Al…Rassan　and　the　world　beyond　mountain　and　sea　as　an　agent　of　。。。　ugliness。
　　No　alternative？
　　Of　course　there　had　been　alternatives；　had　he　wanted　them　badly　enough。　He　could　have　left　the　world　of　power　and　its　atrocities。　He　could　even　have　left　this　beloved；　diminished　land　of　Al…Rassan　and　its　puffed…up　petty…kings。　He　could　have　gone　straight　from　Fezana　to　Ferrieres　across　the　mountains；　or　to　any　of　the　great　cities　of　Batiara。　There　were　cultivated；　princely　courts　there　where　an　Asharite　poet　would　be　made　wele　as　a　glittering　enhancement。　He　could　have　written　for　the　rest　of　his　days　in　luxury　among　the　most　civilized　of　the　Jaddites。
　　He　could　even　have　gone　farther　east；　taking　ship　all　the　way　back　to　Soriyya；　to　visit　the　stone　tombs　of　his　ancestors；　which　he　had　never　seen；　perhaps　even　rediscover　his　faith　at　Ashar's　Rock；　make　a　vigil　under　the　god's　stars　in　the　desert；　finish　his　life　far　from　Al…Rassan。
　　Of　course　there　had　been　alternatives。
　　Instead　he　had　taken　revenge。　Had　disguised　himself　and　e　back　to　Cartada。　Made　himself　known　to　the　prince　and　then　bribed　a　palace　steward　to　admit　him　into　the　retinue　of　the　court　as　a　slave。　The　largest　single　bribe　he　had　ever　given　in　his　life。　And　he　had　killed　the　king　today；　with　fijana　smeared　on　a　muslin　cloth。
　　Twice　now；　then。　Twice　in　fifteen　years　he　had　murdered　the　most　powerful　monarch　in　the　land。　A　khalif　and　a　king。
　　I　am　increasingly　unlikely　to　be　best　remembered；　ibn　Khairan　decided　ruefully；　entering　his　home；　for　my　poetry。
　　〃You　have　a　visitor；　Excellence；〃　the　under…steward　said；　hovering　inside　the　doorway。　Ibn　Khairan　sat　on　the　low　bench　by　the　door　and　the　man　knelt　to　help　remove　his　boots　and　replace　them　with　jewelled　slippers。
　　〃You　had　someone　admitted　without　my　presence？〃
　　The　man　was　now　the　steward；　actually。　New　to　his　duties　in　a　terrible　time；　he　looked　down　at　the　ground。　〃I　may　have　erred；　Excellence。　But　she　was　insistent　that　you　would　see　her。〃
　　〃She？〃
　　But　he　already　knew　who　this　had　to　be。　Amusement　briefly　resurfaced　before　being　succeeded　by　something　else。　〃Where　have　you　put　her？〃
　　〃She　awaits　you　on　the　terrace。　I　hope　I　acted　rightly；　Excellence？〃
　　He　rose　and　the　steward　did　the　same。　〃Only；　ever；　admit　a　woman　this　way。　Have　dinner　prepared　for　two　and　a　room　readied　for　a　guest。　You　and　I　will　speak　later；　there　is　much　to　be　done。　I　am　leaving　Cartada　for　a　time；　by　the　king's　decree。〃
　　〃Yes；　Excellence；〃　the　man　said　expressionlessly。
　　Ammar　turned　to　go　within。　He　paused。　〃The　new　king。　The　old　king　is　dead；〃　he　added。　〃This　morning。〃
　　〃Alas；〃　said　his　steward；　with　no　evident　sign　of　surprise。
　　A　petent　man；　ibn　Khairan　decided。　Dropping　his　riding　gloves　on　a　marble　table；　he　walked　a　sequence　of　corridors　to　the　wide　terrace　he'd　had　built　on　the　west　side　of　the　house　where　his　own　chambers　were。　He　had　always　preferred　sunset　to　sunrise。　The　view　overlooked　red　hills　and　the　blue　curve　of　the　river　to　the　south。　Cartada　was　invisible；　just　beyond　the　hills。
　　The　woman；　his　visitor；　was　standing　with　her　back　to　him；　admiring　that　view。　She　was　barefoot　on　the　cool　flagstones。
　　〃The　architect　didn't　want　to　build　this　for　me；〃　he　said；　ing　to　stand　beside　her。　'〃Open　spaces　go　inside　a　house；'　he　kept　telling　me。〃
　　She　glanced　up　at　him。　She　would　have　been　veiled　for　the　ride　here；　but　the　veil　was　lifted　now。　Her　dark；　accented　eyes　held　his　a　moment　and　then　she　turned　away。
　　〃It　does　feel　exposed；〃　she　said　quietly。
　　〃But　see　where　we　are。　From　what　am　I　hiding　here　in　the　country；　I　asked　my　architect　and　myself。〃
　　〃And　what　did　you　answer　yourself？〃　she　asked；　looking　at　the　terraced　slopes　towards　the　river　and　the　setting　sun。　〃And　your　architect？〃　She　was　extremely　beautiful；　in　profile。　He　remembered　the　day　he　had　first　seen　her。
　　〃Not　this；〃　he　said；　after　a　moment；　gesturing　at　the　land　stretching　before　them。　She　was　clever；　he　would　do　well　to　remember　that。　〃I　will　admit　I　am　surprised；　Zabira。　I　am　seldom　surprised；　but　this　is　unexpected。〃
　　The　foremost　lady　of　King　Almalik's　court；　the　courtesan　who　was　the　mother　of　his　two　youngest　children；　effectively　the　queen　of　Cartada　for　the　past　eight　years；　looked　back　at　him　again　and　smiled；　her　small；　perfect