ggk.asongforarbonne-第13章

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hat　from　him。　We　might　need　each　other；　in　a　time　not　far　from　tonight。〃
　　Struggling　to　absorb　all　of　this；　Blaise　asked　the　only　question　he　could　think　to　ask。　〃Who　was　he？　Your　father？〃
　　She　shook　her　head；　amused　again。　〃Northerner；　you　seek　to　lead　men　in　Arbonne。　You　will　have　to　grow　less　bitter　and　more　curious；　I　think；　though　it　might　be　a　long　road　for　you。　You　should　have　known　who　was　High　Priestess　on　Rian's　Island　before　you　came。　I　am　Beatritz　de　Barbentain；　my　father　was　Guibor；　count　of　Arbonne；　my　mother　is　Signe；　who　rules　us　now。　I　am　the　last　of　their　children　yet　alive。〃
　　Blaise　was　actually　beginning　to　feel　as　if　he　might　fall　down；　so　buffeted　did　he　feel　by　all　of　this。　The　skiff；　he　thought。　The　mainland。　He　urgently　needed　to　be　away　from　here。
　　〃Go；〃　she　said；　as　if　reading　his　thoughts　again。　She　raised　her　hand　very　slightly　and　the　torch　instantly　went　out。　In　the　suddenly　enveloping　darkness；　Blaise　heard　her　say　in　her　earlier　voice…the　sound　of　a　priestess；　speaking　with　power：　〃One　last　thing；　Blaise　of　Gorhaut。　A　lesson　for　you　to　learn　if　you　can：　anger　and　hatred　have　limits　that　are　reached　too　soon。　Rian　exacts　a　price　for　everything；　but　love　is　hers　as　well；　in　one　of　her　oldest　incarnations。〃
　　Blaise　turned　then；　stumbling　over　a　root　in　the　close　night　shadows。　He　left　the　wood；　feeling　moonlight　as　a　blessing。　He　crossed　the　plateau　and　remembered；　somehow；　to　untie　Maffour's　rope　and　loop　it　about　himself。　Finding　handholds　in　the　rock　face；　he　descended　the　cliff　to　the　sea。　The　skiff　was　still　there；　waiting　some　distance　away　from　shore。　They　saw　him　by　the　light　of　the　high；　pale　moon。　He　was　going　to　swim　out；　almost　prepared　to　wele　the　cold　shock　of　the　water　again；　but　then　he　saw　them　rowing　back　for　him　and　he　waited。　They　came　in　to　the　edge　of　the　rocks　and　Blaise　stepped　into　the　boat　helped　by　Maffour　and　Giresse。　He　saw　that　Evrard　of　Lussan　was　still　unconscious；　slumped　at　the　back　of　the　skirl。　Vanne　was　sitting　up；　though；　at　the　front。　He　looked　a　little　dazed。　Blaise　was　not　surprised。
　　〃They　have　kept　Luth；〃　he　said　briefly　as　they　looked　at　him。　〃One　man　for　one　man。　But　they　will　do　him　no　harm。　I　will　tell　you　more　on　land；　but　in　Corannos's　name；　let's　go。　I　need　a　drink　very　badly；　and　we've　a　long　way　to　row。〃
　　He　stepped　over　to　his　own　bench　and　unwrapped　the　rope　from　his　body。　Maffour　came　and　sat　beside　him　again。　They　took　their　oars；　and　with　no　other　words　spoken；　backed　quietly　out　of　the　inlet　Hirnan　had　found　and　turned　the　skiff　towards　land；　towards　Arbonne；　rowing　steadily　in　the　calm；　still　night。
　　To　the　east；　not　long　afterwards；　well　before　they　reached　the　shore；　the　waning　crescent　of　the　blue　moon　rose　out　of　the　sea　to　balance　the　silver　one　setting　westward　now；　changing　the　light　in　the　sky　and　on　the　water　and　on　the　rocks　and　trees　of　the　island　they　were　leaving　behind。
　　
　　CHAPTER　2
　　Some　mornings；　as　today；　she　woke　feeling　amazingly　young；　happy　to　be　alive　to　see　the　spring　return。　It　wasn't　altogether　a　good　thing；　this　brief　illusion　of　youth　and　vitality；　for　its　passage…and　it　always　passed…made　her　too　achingly　aware　that　she　was　lying　alone　in　the　wide　bed。　She　and　Guibor　had　shared　a　room　and　a　bed　after　the　older　fashion　until　the　very　end；　a　little　over　a　year　ago。　Arbonne　had　observed　the　yearfast　for　its　count　and　the　ceremonies　of　remembrance　scarcely　a　month　past。
　　A　year　wasn't　very　long　at　all；　really。　Not　nearly　enough　time　to　remember　without　pain　private　laughter　or　public　grace；　the　sound　of　a　voice；　resonance　of　a　tread；　the　keen　engagement　of　a　questioning　mind　or　the　well…known　signs　of　kindled　passion　that　could　spark　and　court　her　own。
　　A　passion　that　had　lasted　to　the　end；　she　thought；　lying　in　bed　alone；　letting　the　morning　e　to　her　slowly。　Even　with　all　their　children　long　since　grown　or　dead；　with　an　entirely　new　generation　of　courtiers　arising　in　Barbentain；　and　younger　dukes　and　barons　taking　power　in　strongholds　once　ruled　by　the　friends…and　enemies…of　their　own　youth　and　prime。　With　new　leaders　of　the　city…states　of　Portezza；　a　young；　reckless…sounding　king　in　Gorhaut；　and　an　unpredictable　one　as　well；　though　not　young；　in　Valensa　far　in　the　north。　All　was　changing　in　the　world；　she　thought：　the　players　on　the　board；　the　shape　of　the　board　itself。　Even　the　rules　of　the　game　she　and　Guibor　had　played　together　against　them　all　for　so　long。
　　There　had　been　mornings　in　the　year　gone　by　when　she　had　awakened　feeling　ancient　and　bone　cold；　wondering　if　she　had　not　outlived　her　time；　if　she　should　have　died　with　the　husband　she'd　loved；　before　the　world　began　to　change　around　her。
　　Which　was　weak　and　unworthy。　She　knew　that；　even　on　the　mornings　when　those　chill　thoughts　came；　and　she　knew　it　more　clearly　now；　with　the　birds　outside　her　window　singing　to　wele　the　spring　back　to　Arbonne。　Change　and　transience　were　built　into　the　way　Corannos　and　Rian　had　made　the　world。　She　had　accepted　and　gloried　in　that　truth　all　her　life；　it　would　be　shallow　and　demeaning　to　lament　it　now。
　　She　rose　from　her　bed　and　stood　on　the　golden　carpet。　Immediately　one　of　the　two　girls　who　slept　by　the　door　of　her　chamber　sprang　forward…they　had　been　waiting　for　her…carrying　her　morning　robe。　She　smiled　at　the　young　one；　slipped　into　the　robe　and　walked　to　the　window；　drawing　back　the　curtains　herself　on　the　view　to　the　east　and　the　rising　sun。
　　Barbentain　Castle　lay　on　an　island　in　the　river　and　so　below　her；　down　past　the　tumbling　rocks　and　forbidding　cliffs　that　guarded　the　castle；　she　could　see　the　flash　and　sparkle　of　the　river　rushing　away　south　in　its　high　spring　torrent；　through　vineyard　and　forest　and　grainland；　by　town　and　hamlet　and　lonely　shepherd's　hut；　past　castle　and　temple　and　tributary　stream　to　Tavernel　and　the　sea。
　　The　Arbonne　River　in　the　land　named　for　it…the　warm；　beloved；　always　coveted　south；　sung　by　its　troubadours　and　joglars；　celebrated　through　the　known　world　for　its　fruitfulness　and　its　culture；　and　for　the　beauty　and　grace　of　its　women。
　　Not　the　least　of　which　women；　not　by　any　means　the　least；　had　been　she　herself　in　the　lost　days　of　youth　and　fire。　The　nights　of　music；　with　a　many…faceted　power　in　her　every　glance　and　lifted　eyebrow；　when　candlelight　cast　a　warming　glow　on　silver　and　gold　and　a　glittering　pany；　when　the　songs　were　always　of　love；　and　almost　always　about　love　of　her。
　　Signe　de　Barbentain；　countess　of　Arbonne；　stood　at　her　bedchamber　window　on　a　morning　in　spring；　looking　out　over　the　sunlit　river　of　the　land　she　ruled；　and　the　two　other　women　in　the　room　with　her；　preparing　to　attend　to　her　needs；　were　far　too　young；　both　of　them；　to　have　even　a　hope　of　understanding　the　smile　that　crossed　her　face。
　　In　fact；　for　no　reason　she　really　knew　herself；　Signe　was　thinking　of　her　daughter。　Not　of　Beatritz；　wielding　power　within　her　own　domain　on　Rian's　Island　in　the　sea；　not　of　Beatritz；　her　last　child　living；　but　of　Aelis；　her　young　one；　so　long　dead。
　　Even　the　birds　above　the　lake　
　　Are　singing　of　my　love；　
　　And　even　the　flowers　along　the　shore　
　　Are　growing　for　her　sake。
　　Twenty…two；　no；　twenty…three　years　now　since　young　Bertran　de　Talair…and　he　had　been　very　young　then…had　written　those　lines　for　Aelis。　They　were　still　being　sung；　remarkably；　in　spite　of　all　the　verses　the　troubadours　had　spun　since　those　days；　all　the　new　rhyme　schemes　and　metres　and　the　increasingly　plex　harmonies　and　fashions　of　today。　More　than　two　decades　after；　Bertran's　song　for　long…dead　Aelis　was　still　heard　in　Arbonne。　Usually　in　springtime；　Signe　thought；　and　wondered　if　that　had　been　the　early…morning　half…awake　chain　of　associations　that　had　led　her　to　remember。　The　mind　did　strange　things　sometimes；　and　memory　wounded　at　least　as　often　as　it　healed　or　assuaged。
　　Which　led　her；　predictably；　to　thoughts　of　Bertran　himself；　and　what　memory　and　loss　and　the　unexpected　shapes　they　had　taken　had　done　to　him　in　twenty…odd　years。　What　sort　of　man；　she　wondered；　would　he　have　bee　had　the　events　of　that　long…ago　year　fallen　out　differently？　Though　it　was　hard；　almost　impossible　really；　to　imagine　how　they　c