ggk.asongforarbonne-第84章

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ap　in　the　tent　flap　behind　their　bent　heads　Blaise　could　glimpse　the　dazzling　colours　of　the　pavilions　in　the　morning　sunlight；　and　the　green　grass　where　he　would　be　fighting　soon。
　　They　hadn't　raised　the　banner　above　his　tent　yet；　following　his　instructions　of　yesterday。　For　most　of　the　people　in　the　pavilions　or　in　the　moners'　standing　ground　on　the　other　side　he　was　simply　a　Gorhautian　coran　enmeshed　in　some　quarrel　with　an　Arimondan。　A　quarrel　that　was　about　to　offer　them　the　most　exciting　entertainment　there　was。　A　handful　of　people　knew　more；　and　there　would　be　rumours　of　course；　there　were　usually　rumours　at　a　time　like　this。
　　He　felt　very　calm。　He　was　always　calm　before　fighting　now；　though　it　hadn't　been　that　way　in　the　beginning；　years　ago。　He　had　prayed　last　night；　kneeling　on　the　cold　stone　floor　in　the　surprisingly　handsome　chapel　of　Corannos　in　Lussan。　He　had　not　asked　for　victory；　a　coran　never　did。
　　Before　the　two　tall　candles　above　the　frieze　he　had　offered　the　ancient　prayers　for　sunrise　and　sunset　and　for　the　strength　of　the　god's　life…giving　golden　light。　The　frieze　itself　had　been　masterfully　done；　a　rendering　of　Corannos　bestowing　fire　upon　the　first　men；　that　the　nights　might　hold　less　terror　than　before。
　　Perhaps　he　shouldn't　have　been　so　surprised　by　the　serene　grace　of　the　god's　houses　here。　They　worshipped　Corannos　in　Arbonne。　He　had　always　known　that；　there　were　corans　here；　after　all；　with　the　same　rituals　of　initiation　and　invocation　that　he　had　passed　through　in　Gorhaut；　the　same　ones　used　in　all　six　countries。　It　had　been　difficult；　though；　when　he　first　arrived；　in　those　early　days　at　Castle　Baude　in　the　highlands；　to　overe　a　lifetime　of　prejudice　and　vicious　innuendo；　much　of　it　ing；　of　course；　from　his　father。　It　was　odd　how　often　he　was　thinking　about　his　father　of　late。　Or　perhaps　not　so　odd　after　all；　given　what　he　was　about　to　do。　They　said　the　mind　reached　backwards　when　one's　life　was　in　extreme　peril。
　　Galbert　de　Garsenc　had　stipulated　that　his　younger　son　follow　him　into　the　clergy　of　Corannos。　It　was　not　a　matter　for　discussion；　what　the　High　Elder　wanted；　he　was　accustomed　to　receive。　Blaise's　repeated　flights　as　a　boy　from　the　chapel　school　near　Cortil；　his　silent　endurance　of　the　whippings　he　was　given；　both　at　home　by　Galbert's　heavy　hand　and　again　when　he　returned　to　the　Elders；　and　then　his　obdurate；　absolute　refusal　to　speak　the　vows　of　consecration　when　he　turned　sixteen　had　represented　a　colossal　thwarting　of　the　High　Elder's　carefully　laid　plans。
　　They　had　tried　to　starve　him　into　submitting　to　the　vows…on　his　father's　orders。　Blaise　had　never　forgotten　those　weeks。　He　woke　sometimes　in　the　night　remembering　them。　Even　today　pangs　of　hunger　made　him　panic　irrationally；　and　he　could　not　lash　a　man。
　　Would　your　mother　have　made　a　difference？　Signe　de　Barbentain　had　asked　the　first　night　he　met　her。　He　didn't　know。　He　would　never　know。　No　man；　with　only　the　one　life　to　live；　could　answer　such　a　question。　He　remembered　learning；　when　still　a　small　boy；　not　to　cry　because　there　was　no　one　in　the　world　who　would　e　with　fort　if　he　did。　The　brethren　in　the　chapel　school　were　terrified　of　his　father；　none　dared　offer　succour　to　the　unworthy；　ingrate　son。　Not　ever。　Once；　in　Garsenc；　Ranald　had　slipped　into　Blaise's　room　at　night　with　a　salve　for　his　brother's　lacerated　back。　In　the　morning；　when　Galbert　saw　the　healing　ointment　he　had　whipped　Ranald　and　then　Blaise　a　second　time。　Ranald　never　tried　to　intervene　in　his　punishments　after　that。　Blaise　could　have　stopped　running　away。　He　could　have　taken　the　vows　they　demanded　of　him。　Neither　possibility　ever　occurred　to　him；　not　even　as　options　to　be　considered。　When　it　became　clear　that　Blaise　would　die　of　starvation　before　he　broke　in　this；　Galbert　calmly　proposed　to　have　him　publicly　executed　for　his　disobedience。　It　was　King　Duergar　himself；　being　aware　of　this　savage　family　drama　playing　itself　out；　who　had　forbidden　that　execution；　who　had　insisted　on　food　and　drink　being　brought　for　the　starving　boy；　and　it　was　Duergar　who　accepted　the　sworn　fealty　of　a　gaunt；　silent；　hollow…eyed　sixteen…year…old　one　month　later；　and　named　him　a　coran　of　Gorhaut。
　　Duke　Ereibert　de　Garsenc；　doughty　and　hoar；　had　died　childless　when　his　two　nephews　were　twenty…one　and　nineteen；　his　stern　mastery　in　war　allowing　him　to　outface　lifelong　rumours　about　his　lack　of　heirs。　Ranald　inherited。　He　withdrew；　of　necessity；　from　his　position　as　King's　Champion　and　became　duke　of　Garsenc　instead；　lord　of　the　richest；　most　powerful　estates　in　Gorhaut。　Blaise　should　by　then　have　been；　by　his　father's　careful　designs；　firmly　placed　in　the　hierarchy　of　the　god's　brotherhood；　ready　for　a　smooth　ascent　all　the　way　to　the　ultimate　station　Galbert　held；　as　High　Elder　of　Corannos；　with　kings　and　princes　subject　to　his　fiat。　The　Garsenc　family　should　have　been　poised　for　generations　of　power　in　Gorhaut…the　country　held　as　if　between　the　paws　of　the　rampant　bear　that　was　on　their　escutcheon…whomever　might　nominally　have　been　sitting　on　the　throne。
　　Ranald　would　have　sons　to　succeed　him　at　Garsenc　and　to　follow　Blaise　into　the　clergy；　there　would　be　daughters　to　bind　other　families　with　the　hoops　of　marriage　vows。　And　eventually；　perhaps　not　so　far　in　the　future；　there　might　be　even　more　than　all　of　this…there　might　be　the　throne　itself。　A　Garsenc　ruling　in　Cortil；　and　the　borders　of　Gorhaut　itself　stretching　all　the　time；　though　first…first　of　all　things；　of　course…reaching　across　the　mountain　passes　to　the　south；　to　Arbonne；　where　they　were　godless　and　heretical；　ruled　by　women　and　womanish　men　steeped　in　their　blood…soaked　rites。
　　Blaise　had　known　almost　all　of　this　from　very　early　in　his　life。　He　had　been　the　one　Galbert　talked　to　when　the　boys　were　young。　There　had　been　a　brief　time　when　he　hadn't　understood　why　that　was　so；　and　then　a　longer　period　when　he'd　felt　sorry　for　Ranald。　It　had　all　been　long　ago。　
　　
　　〃Boots；〃　said　Rudel。
　　Blaise　lifted　first　his　left　leg　and　then　his　right。　
　　〃All　right；〃　said　Valery。　Blaise　stood　up；　and　Rudel　reached　around　his　waist　and　buckled　on　the　long；　Aulensburg…forged　sword　in　its　plain　soldier's　scabbard。　From　the　table　he　hefted　the　light　helmet。　Blaise　took　it　from　him　and　set　it　on　his　head。　Valery　was　waiting　with　the　round；　unornamented　shield。　Blaise　took　that　too。　
　　〃Where　do　you　want　your　knives？〃　Valery　asked。　
　　〃One　for　the　belt。　I　have　the　other。〃　Valery　asked　no　further　questions；　neither　did　Rudel。　They；　too；　had　both　been　through　this　before。　Rudel；　his　face　and　manner　sober；　lifted　a　sleek　black　knife　from　the　trunk　beside　the　tent　flap　and　handed　it　to　Blaise。
　　Blaise　smiled　briefly　at　him。　〃Do　you　remember？　You　gave　me　this　one？〃
　　Rudel　made　a　quick；　warding　sign。　〃I　did　no　such　thing。　I　found　it　for　you。　You　paid　me　a　copper　piece　for　it。　We　don't　give　knives　as　gifts；　you　ignorant　northerner。〃
　　Blaise　laughed。　〃Forgive　me。　I　forgot　that　you　are　a　superstitious　Portezzan　farmer　at　heart。　However　did　you　get　permission　to　leave　your　hoe　in　the　vineyards　to　travel　among　men　of　rank？〃
　　A　frivolous　gibe；　not　worthy　of　a　response　and　receiving　none；　for　the　trumpets　sounded　then。
　　Valery　and　Rudel　moved　to　stand　on　either　side　of　the　tent　flaps。　The　tradition　was　for　the　squires　to　say　nothing　at　this　time；　farewells　of　any　sort　were　thought　to　be　invitations　to　fate。　Blaise　knew　this。　He　looked　at　each　of　them　and　smiled。　He　was　still　calm；　but　there　was　a　slight　telltale　acceleration　to　his　pulsebeat　now；　as　silence　settled　like　a　bird　to　a　branch　outside。
　　He　nodded；　and　Valery　and　Rudel　each　drew　back　a　flap　of　the　tent。　He　stepped　past　the　two　of　them；　ducking　his　head；　and　he　came　out　into　sunshine　and　the　green　grass　of　the　battleground。
　　Quzman　of　Arimonda　was　the　first　person　he　saw；　standing　at　the　entrance　to　his　own　tent　on　the　far　side　of　the　field。　A　banner　was　flying　behind　him：　three　black　bulls　on　a　crimson　field。　Blaise　registered　the　curved　sword　worn　across　the　Arimondan's　back　in　the　western　fashion；　and　he　saw　the　polished　golden　shield。　He　glanced　east　to　check　and　remember　the　angle　of　the　rising　sun；　that　shiel