grrm.astormofswords-第24章

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　〃A　crow　e　over；〃　said　Rattleshirt；　who　preferred　to　be　called　the　Lord　of　Bones；　for　the　clattering　armor　he　wore。　〃He　was　afraid　I'd　take　his　bones　as　well　as　Halfhand's。〃　He　shook　his　sack　of　trophies　at　the　other　wildlings。
　〃He　slew　Qhorin　Halfhand；〃　said　Longspear　Ryk。　〃Him　and　that　wolf　o'　his。〃
　〃And　did　for　Orell　too；〃　said　Rattleshirt。
　〃The　lad's　a　warg；　or　close　enough；〃　put　in　Ragwyle；　the　big　spearwife。　〃His　wolf　took　a　piece　o'　Halfhand's　leg。〃
　The　Weeper's　red　rheumy　eyes　gave　Jon　another　look。　〃Aye？　Well；　he　has　a　wolfish　cast　to　him；　now　as　I　look　close。　Bring　him　to　Mance；　might　be　he'll　keep　him。〃　He　wheeled　his　horse　around　and　galloped　off；　his　riders　hard　behind　him。
　The　wind　was　blowing　wet　and　heavy　as　they　crossed　the　valley　of　the　Milkwater　and　rode　singlefile　through　the　river　camp。　Ghost　kept　close　to　Jon；　but　the　scent　of　him　went　before　them　like　a　herald；　and　soon　there　were　wildling　dogs　all　around　them；　growling　and　barking。　Lenyl　screamed　at　them　to　be　quiet；　but　they　paid　him　no　heed。　〃They　don't　much　care　for　that　beast　o'　yours；〃　Longspear　Ryk　said　to　Jon。
　〃They're　dogs　and　he's　a　wolf；〃　said　Jon。　〃They　know　he's　not　their　kind。〃　No　more　than　I　am　yours。　But　he　had　his　duty　to　be　mindful　of；　the　task　Qhorin　Halfhand　had　laid　upon　him　as　they　shared　that　final　fire…to　play　the　part　of　tumcloak；　and　find　whatever　it　was　that　the　wildlings　had　been　seeking　in　the　bleak　cold　wilderness　of　the　Frostfangs。
　〃Some　power；〃　Qhorin　had　named　it　to　the　Old　Bear；　but　he　had　died　before　learning　what　it　was；　or　whether　Mance　Rayder　had　found　it　with　his　digging。
　There　were　cookfires　all　along　the　river；　amongst　wayns　and　carts　and　sleds。　Many　of　the　wildlings　had　thrown　up　tents；　of　hide　and　skin　and　felted　wool。　Others　sheltered　behind　rocks　in　crude　lean…tos；　or　slept　beneath　their　wagons。　At　one　fire　Jon　saw　a　man　hardening　the　points　of　long　wooden　spears　and　tossing　them　in　a　pile。　Elsewhere　two　bearded　youths　in　boiled　leather　were　sparring　with　staffs；　leaping　at　each　other　over　the　flames；　grunting　each　time　one　landed　a　blow。　A　dozen　women　sat　nearby　in　a　circle；　fletching　arrows。
　Arrows　for　my　brothers；　Jon　thought。　Arrows　for　my　father's　folk；　for　the　people　of　Winterfell　and　Deepwood　Motte　and　the　Last　Hearth。　Arrows　for　the　north。
　But　not　all　he　saw　was　warlike。　He　saw　women　dancing　as　well；　and　heard　a　baby　crying；　and　a　little　boy　ran　in　front　of　his　garron；　all　bundled　up　in　fur　and　breathless　from　play。　Sheep　and　goats　wandered　freely；　while　oxen　plodded　along　the　riverbank　in　search　of　grass。　The　smell　of　roast　mutton　drifted　from　one　cookflre；　and　at　another　he　saw　a　boar　turning　on　a　wooden　spit。
　In　an　open　space　surrounded　by　tall　green　soldier　pines；　Rattleshirt　dismounted。　〃We'll　make　camp　here；〃　he　told　Lenyl　and　Ragwyle　and　the　others。　〃Feed　the　horses；　then　the　dogs；　then　yourself。　Ygritte；　Longspear；　bring　the　crow　so　Mance　can　have　his　look。　We'll　gut　him　after。〃
　They　walked　the　rest　of　the　way；　past　more　cookflres　and　more　tents；　with　Ghost　following　at　their　heels。　Jon　had　never　seen　so　many　wildlings。　He　wondered　if　anyone　ever　had。　The　camp　goes　on　forever；　he　reflected；　but　it's　more　a　hundred　camps　than　one；　and　each　more　vulnerable　than　the　last。　Stretched　out　over　long　leagues；　the　wildlings　had　no　defenses　to　speak　of；　no　pits　nor　sharpened　stakes；　only　small　groups　of　outriders　patrolling　their　perimeters。　Each　group　or　clan　or　village　had　simply　stopped　where　they　wanted；　as　soon　as　they　saw　others　stopping　or　found　a　likely　spot。　The　free　folk。　If　his　brothers　were　to　catch　them　in　such　disarray；　many　of　them　would　pay　for　that　freedom　with　their　life's　blood。　They　had　numbers；　but　the　Night's　Watch　had　discipline；　and　in　battle　discipline　beats　numbers　nine　times　of　every　ten；　his　father　had　once　told　him。
　There　was　no　doubting　which　tent　was　the　king's。　It　was　thrice　the　size　of　the　next　largest　he'd　seen；　and　he　could　hear　music　drifting　from　within。　Like　many　of　the　lesser　tents　it　was　made　of　sewn　hides　with　the　fur　still　on；　but　Mance　Rayder's　hides　were　the　shaggy　white　pelts　of　snow　bears。　The　peaked　roof　was　crowned　with　a　huge　set　of　antlers　from　one　of　the　giant　elks　that　had　once　roamed　freely　throughout　the　Seven　Kingdoms；　in　the　times　of　the　First　Men。
　Here　at　least　they　found　defenders；　two　guards　at　the　flap　of　the　tent；　leaning　on　tall　spears　with　round　leather　shields　strapped　to　their　arms。　When　they　caught　sight　of　Ghost；　one　of　them　lowered　his　spearpoint　and　said；　〃That　beast　stays　here。〃
　〃Ghost；　stay；〃　Jon　manded。　The　direwolf　sat。
　〃Longspear；　watch　the　beast。〃　Rattleshirt　yanked　open　the　tent　and　gestured　Jon　and　Ygritte　inside。
　The　tent　was　hot　and　smoky。　Baskets　of　burning　peat　stood　in　all　four　corners；　filling　the　air　with　a　dim　reddish　light。　More　skins　carpeted　the　ground。　Jon　felt　utterly　alone　as　he　stood　there　in　his　blacks；　awaiting　the　pleasure　of　the　tumeloak　who　called　himself　King…beyond…the…Wall。　When　his　eyes　had　adjusted　to　the　smoky　red　gloom；　he　saw　six　people；　none　of　whom　paid　him　any　mind。　A　dark　young　man　and　a　pretty　blonde　woman　were　sharing　a　hom　of　mead。　A　pregnant　woman　stood　over　a　brazier　cooking　a　brace　of　hens；　while　a　grey…haired　man　in　a　tattered　cloak　of　black　and　red　sat　crosslegged　on　a　pillow；　playing　a　lute　and　singing：
　The　Dornishman's　wife　was　as　fair　as　the　sun；　and　her　kisses　were　warmer　than　spring。
　But　the　Dornishman's　blade　was　made　of　black　steel；　and　its　kiss　was　a　terrible　thing。
　Jon　knew　the　song；　though　it　was　strange　to　hear　it　here；　in　a　shaggy　hide　tent　beyond　the　Wall；　ten　thousand　leagues　from　the　red　mountains　and　warm　winds　of　Dome。
　Rattleshirt　took　off　his　yellowed　helm　as　he　waited　for　the　song　to　end。　Beneath　his　bone…and…leather　armor　he　was　a　small　man；　and　the　face　under　the　giant's　skull　was　ordinary；　with　a　knobby　chin；　thin　mustache；　and　sallow；　pinched　cheeks。　His　eyes　were　close…set；　one　eyebrow　creeping　all　the　way　across　his　forehead；　dark　hair　thinning　back　from　a　sharp　widow's　peak。
　The　Dornishman's　wife　would　sing　as　she　bathed；　in　a　voice　that　was　sweet　as　a　peach；
　But　the　Dornishman's　blade　had　a　song　of　its　own；　and　a　bite　sharp　and　cold　as　a　leech。
　Beside　the　brazier；　a　short　but　immensely　broad　man　sat　on　a　stool；　eating　a　hen　off　a　skewer。　Hot　grease　was　running　down　his　chin　and　into　his　snow…white　beard；　but　he　smiled　happily　all　the　same。　Thick　gold　bands　graven　with　runes　bound　his　massive　arms；　and　he　wore　a　heavy　shirt　of　black　ringmail　that　could　only　have　e　from　a　dead　ranger。　A　few　feet　away；　a　taller；　leaner　man　in　a　leather　shirt　sewn　with　bronze　scales　stood　frowning　over　a　map；　a　two…handed　greatsword　slung　across　his　back　in　a　leather　sheath。　He　was　straight　as　a　spear；　all　long　wiry　muscle；　clean…shaved；　bald；　with　a　strong　straight　nose　and　deepset　grey　eyes。　He　might　even　have　been　ely　if　he'd　had　ears；　but　he　had　lost　both　along　the　way；　whether　to　frostbite　or　some　enemy's　knife　Jon　could　not　tell。　Their　lack　made　the　man's　head　seem　narrow　and　pointed。
　Both　the　white…bearded　man　and　the　bald　one　were　warriors；　that　was　plain　to　Jon　at　a　glance。　These　two　are　more　dangerous　than　Rattleshirt　by　far。　He　wondered　which　was　Mance　Rayder。
　As　he　lay　on　the　ground　with　the　darkness　around；　and　the　taste　of　his　blood　on　his　tongue；
　His　brothers　knelt　by　him　and　prayed　him　a　prayer；　and　he　smiled　and　he　laughed　and　he　sung；
　〃Brothers；　oh　brothers；　my　days　here　are　done；　the　Dornishman's　taken　my　life；
　But　what　does　it　matter；　for　all　men　must　die；　and　I've　tasted　the　Dornishman's　wife！〃
　As　the　last　strains　of　〃The　Dornishman's　Wife〃　faded；　the　bald　earless　man　glanced　up　from　his　map　and　scowled　ferociously　at　Rattleshirt　and　Ygritte；　with　Jon　between　them。　〃What's　this？〃　he　said。　〃A　crow？〃
　〃The　black　bastard　what　gutted　Orell；〃　said　Rattleshirt；　〃and　a　bloody　warg　as　well。〃
　〃You　were　to　kill　them　all。〃
　〃This　one　e　over；〃　explained　Ygritte。　〃He　slew　Qhorin　Halfhand　with　his　own　hand。〃
　〃This　boy？〃　The　earless　man　was　angered　by　the　news。　〃The　Halfhand　should　have　been　mine。　Do　you　have　a　name；　crow？〃
　〃Jon　Snow；　Your　Grace。〃　He　wondered　whether　he　was　expected