ggk.asongforarbonne-第33章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　〃Overreach？〃　she　said　now；　very　quietly。　〃I　don't　think　I　allow　language　like　that　even　from　a　friend；　Bertran。　I　wasn't　aware　that　I　needed　permission　from　you　to　visit　The　Liensenne。　〃
　　〃You　need　no　such　thing。　But　you　also　know　that…〃
　　〃I　know　only　that　the　duke　of　Miraval　was　kind　enough　to　invite　me　to　join　his　pany　this　evening　to　observe　the　delights　of　Carnival；　and　I　was　happy　to　accept。　I　would　also　have　thought；　evidently　wrongly；　that　two　high　lords　of　Arbonne　might；　for　tonight　at　least；　lay　down　a　petty　feud　they　carry；　at　least　enough　to　be　civil　in　the　pany　of　women　and　on　the　night　dedicated　to　the　goddess。〃
　　〃A　petty　feud？〃　Bertran　echoed；　incredulity　in　his　voice。
　　Urté　de　Miraval　laughed。　〃This　is　being　tedious　in　the　extreme；〃　he　said。　〃I　came　to　hear　what　passes　for　music　this　season　in　Tavernel；　not　to　bandy　words　in　a　doorway　with　a　choleric　degenerate。　Whose　songs　are　we　hearing　tonight？〃
　　There　was　a　stiff；　short　silence；　then：
　　〃Mine；〃　said　Alain　of　Rousset　clearly。　〃We　will　hear　my　songs；　if　you　like。　Lisseut；　will　you　be　good　enough　to　sing　for　us？〃
　　It　was；　she　thought　much　later；　when　she　had　space　for　calmer　reflection　on　the　turbulent　events　of　that　night；　not　so　greatly　surprising　when　looked　at　in　a　certain　light。　Remy　and　Aurelian　were　both　out　of　the　room；　and　Bertran　was　certainly　not　going　to　have　his　own　verses　sung　at　Urté　de　Miraval's　request；　of　the　troubadours　who　remained；　Alain　had　more　ambition　than　most　and　as　much　right　to　step　forward　as　any；　and　since　she'd　just　finished　a　season　of　touring　with　him　it　was　perfectly　logical　that　he　ask　her　to　perform。
　　All　such　clear　thinking　came　afterwards；　though。　At　the　moment；　Lisseut　was　aware　only　that　she　had　just　been　humiliatingly　inverted　in　a　tub　of　Cauvas　gold　wine；　that　there　was　a　spreading　puddle　beneath　her　feet；　that　her　clothing　was　ruined；　her　hair　soaked；　and　in　such　a　resplendent　condition　she　was　now　being　asked　to　sing…for　the　first　time　…　in　the　presence　of　three　of　the　most　powerful　personages　in　Arbonne；　one　of　whom　also　happened　to　be　the　most　celebrated　troubadour　of　their　day。
　　She　made　a　small；　gulping　sound　in　her　throat；　hoping　immediately　after　that　no　one　had　heard。　The　big　coran　from　Gorhaut　turned；　though；　and　favoured　her　with　an　ironic　scrutiny　from　behind　his　thick；　reddish　beard。　She　glared　fiercely　up　at　him；　and　that　brief　surge　of　anger；　as　much　as　anything　else；　calmed　her　momentary　attack　of　fright。　With　what　she　hoped　was　a　casual　gesture　she　tossed　the　towel　she　was　still　holding　to　the　bearded　man　and　turned　to　Alain。
　　〃I　would　be　honoured；〃　she　said；　as　calmly　as　she　could。
　　Alain's　face；　visibly　contending　with　anxieties　of　his　own；　didn't　much　help　her　to　relax。　She　understood；　of　course：　the　troubadour　was　boldly　seizing　an　unexpected　chance　to　make　a　bid　for　wider　renown…and　was　handing　her　the　opportunity　to　do　the　same。　A　moment　such　as　this；　singing　in　The　Liensenne　at　Midsummer　Carnival　before　the　dukes　of　Talair　and　Miraval　and　the　reigning　queen　of　the　Court　of　Love　。。。　Lisseut　blinked　and　swallowed。　If　she　thought　too　much　about　the　potential　implications　of　what　seemed　about　to　happen　she　would　probably　make　herself　sick。
　　Fortunately；　the　next　face　she　focused　on　was　Marotte's；　and　the　delighted　encouragement　she　read　in　the　innkeeper's　visage　was　exactly　what　she　needed。　Someone　brought　her　a　harp；　someone　else　placed　a　low　stool　and　a　floor　cushion　in　the　usual　place　near　the　booths　on　the　left…hand　wall；　and　somehow　Lisseut　found　herself　sitting　there；　holding　and　tuning　the　harp；　even　as　she　adjusted　the　cushion　for　fort。
　　She　was　still　wet；　if　not　actually　dripping　any　more；　and　she'd　had　no　time　at　all　to　prepare。　Glancing　up；　she　saw　Duke　Bertran　walking　over；　a　thin　smile　playing　about　his　lips。　It　didn't　reach　his　eyes；　though。　With　Urté　de　Miraval　in　the　room；　Lisseut　doubted　if　En　Bertran　could　actually　be　amused　by　anything。　The　duke　removed　his　lightweight　summer　cloak　and　draped　it　loosely　over　her　shoulders。
　　〃You'll　catch　a　chill　otherwise；〃　he　said　mildly。　〃If　you　leave　it　draped　so；　it　won't　get　in　the　way　of　your　hands。〃　The　first　words　he'd　ever　spoken　to　her。　He　turned　and　walked　away；　to　sink　gracefully　into　one　of　the　three　cushioned　chairs　Marotte　had　hastily　provided　near　the　performing　area。　Lisseut　had　a　moment　to　absorb　the　fact　that　she　was　now　wearing　the　midnight…blue　cloak　of　the　duke　of　Talair　before　Alain　of　Rousset；　two　spots　of　excitement　showing　on　his　cheeks；　came　over　and　said；　softly；　for　her　ears　alone；　〃The　'Garden　Song；'　I　think。　Sing　it；　don't　shout　it；　Lisseut。〃
　　The　troubadours'　ancient；　standard　injunction　to　their　joglars　rang　almost　unheard　in　Lisseut's　ears。　What　registered　was　that　in　his　choice　of　song　Alain　was　offering　her　another　gift。　She　smiled　up　at　him；　confidently　she　hoped。　He　hesitated　a　moment；　as　if　about　to　say　more；　but　then　he　too　withdrew；　leaving　her　alone　in　the　space　where　music　was　made。
　　Lisseut　thought　of　her　father；　as　she　always　did　when　she　needed　to　find　serenity　and　sureness；　then　she　looked　out　over　the　slowly　quieting　crowd　and　said；　pitching　her　voice　carefully；　〃Here　is　a　liensenne　of　the　troubadour　Alain　of　Rousset。　I　sing　it　tonight　in　honour　of　the　goddess　and　of　the　Lady　Ariane　de　Carenzu；　who　has　graced　us　with　her　presence　here。〃　Better　that；　she　thought；　than　trying　to　sort　out　some　kind　of　precedence。　She　was　conscious　though；　very　conscious；　that　she　was　wearing　En　Bertran's　cloak。　It　was　scented　with　an　elusive　fragrance。　She　didn't　have　time　to　decipher　what　it　was。　What　she　did　realize；　as　she　always　did　before　she　sang…a　fleeting　awareness　but　real　as　the　stones　of　a　wall…was　that　moments　like　this；　with　music　about　to　follow；　were　why　she　lived；　what　made　her　feel　most　truly　alive。
　　She　began　with　the　harp　alone；　as　Gaetan；　her　father's　brother；　had　taught　her　years　ago；　letting　the　audience　settle；　and　then；　when　the　stillness　was　deep　enough；　she　sang。
　　When　you　came　into　my　garden；
　　When　you　came　to　tell　me　of　your　love；
　　The　one　moon　in　the　sky
　　Seemed　brighter　than　the　sun
　　And　a　white　light　was　shining　in　my　heart。
　　When　you　took　me　in　your　arms；　
　　To　whisper　words　of　a　long　desire；　
　　The　scents　of　the　garden　
　　Were　my　garments　in　the　dark　
　　And　day　a　distant　rumour　of　despair
　　It　was　a　well…made　song；　if　not　a　brilliant　one。　Alain　knew　his　craft　and　he　was　young　enough　to　be　maturing　still。　The　special　thing　though…the　gift　this　song　offered　Lisseut…was　that　it　was　written　for　a　woman's　voice。　There　weren't　many；　which　was　why　the　female　joglars　of　Arbonne　spent　much　of　their　time　transposing　tunes　written　for　male　voices　and　ignoring　as　best　they　could　the　obvious　inappropriateness　of　most　of　the　themes。
　　In　this　piece　Alain　had　changed　a　great　many　elements　of　the　traditional　liensenne；　shifting　the　narrative　to　the　woman's　point　of　view；　while　keeping　enough　of　the　familiar　motifs　to　leave　the　audience　in　no　doubt　as　to　what　they　were　hearing　and　appraising。　Lisseut；　keeping　her　instrumental　ornamentation　to　a　minimum；　took　them　through　it；　serving　the　song　as　best　she　could；　in　simplicity。　It　was　a　long　tune…most　of　the　formal　liensennes　were；　for　audiences　would　balk　and　plain　at　the　absence　of　elements　they　were　expecting。　The　troubadour's　challenge　in　this　kind　of　song　lay　in　using　all　of　the　familiar　motifs　while　making　them　vivid　and　new；　in　whatever　ways　his　art　allowed。　Lisseut　sang　the　rising　of　the　second　moon；　the　customary　menace　of　jealous；　prying　eyes；　a　formulaic；　if　rather　clever　stanza　on　the　three　flowers　that　traditionally　sheltered　lovers；　another　on　the　trusted　friend　watching　out　from　beyond　the　wall　with　his　mood…shattering　warning　of　sunrise；　and　the　lovers'　parting　words。
　　It　was　honest；　professional　work；　and　she　knew　she　had　the　listeners　with　her。　Even　here；　with　an　audience　as　profoundly　versed　as　this　one　was；　Lisseut　knew；　the　way　she　sometimes　did　in　the　midst　of　performing；　that　she　was　doing　justice　to　Alain's　words　and　music。　She　was　holding　something　in　reserve；　though；　for　the　ending；　for　the　place　where　Alain　of　Rousset　ha