ggk.asongforarbonne-第30部分

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precipitate　descent　towards　a　watery　immersion；　was　negotiated　almost　as　easily　and　Valery；　unlike　the　troubadour；　kept　both　his　balance　and　his　control　of　the　boat；　paddling　strenuously　back　across　the　river　with　a　second　triumphant　torch　lofted　behind　him　and　screams　of　wild　approval　on　each　bank。
　　〃They　think　he's　the　duke；〃　little　Alain　said　suddenly；　and　Lisseut　realized　that　it　was　true。　The　word　that　En　Bertran　was　to　run　the　river　had　gone　racing　down　the　banks　before　the　clouds　had　e　and　Valery　had　taken　his　place。　These　screams　and　cries　were　those　the　people　of　Tavernel　reserved　for　their　favourites…and　the　troubadour　duke　of　Talair　had　been　one　of　those　for　most　of　his　life。
　　Meanwhile；　Valery；　approaching　the　third　of　the　moored　rafts；　stood　up　smoothly　in　his　bobbing　craft…making　a　perilous　feat　seem　easy…and　stretched　up　and　over　to　snatch　the　third　of　the　olive　laurels　from　its　pole。　He　dropped　back　down　into　the　boat　and　began　paddling　furiously　across　the　water；　leaning　into　the　task　as　the　people　watching　from　riverbank　and　overhanging　window　and　the　crowded　boats　moored　against　the　shore　stamped　and　roared　their　most　extreme　approval。
　　The　angle　back　to　the　fourth　and　final　raft　was　the　most　acute　by　far　and　Valery　was　working　for　all　he　was　worth　to　avoid　being　carried　downstream　past　the　ring；　Jourdain　had　jumped　for　the　laurel　here　and　smacked　into　the　water。　Valery　of　Talair　pulled　hard　to　the　upstream　edge　of　the　raft；　let　his　small　craft　turn　with　the　current　and　then　stood；　smoothly　again；　and　without　evident　haste　or　urgency　lifted　his　paddle　upward　and　swept　it　along　the　pole　suspended　high　above　the　raft　and　out　over　the　river…and　he　caught　the　olive　ring　thereby　dislodged　as　his　craft　went　hurtling　beneath。
　　That　is　what　it　looked　like　to　Lisseut；　a　long　way　upstream　with　swift　clouds　obscuring　the　moons　and　men　and　women　jostling　and　shouting　around　her　as　the　priest　of　Rian's　signifying　torch　was　thrust　triumphantly　skywards　far　down　along　the　Arbonne。　For　some　reason　she　glanced　over　at　the　coran　from　Gorhaut：　an　unconscious　grin；　an　almost　boyish　expression　of　pleasure；　showed　in　his　face；　making　him　look　different　suddenly；　less　austere　and　formidable。
　　〃My　cousin；　too；　is　worth　six　men…no；　a　dozen！〃　Bertran　de　Talair　said　happily；　looking　at　no　one　in　particular。　There　was　a　stirring　among　the　green…garbed　corans　of　Miraval。　Lisseut；　feeling　particularly　sharp　just　then；　doubted　that　En　Bertran　had　spoken　carelessly…there　were　verbal　daggers　in　almost　everything　he　and　the　duke　of　Miraval　said　in　each　other's　presence。　Ariane；　her　hair　swept　up　again　and　hidden　beneath　her　hood；　said　something　to　Urté　that　Lisseut　could　not　hear。　Ariane　stepped　forward　beside　Bertran；　the　better　to　see　Valery　approach　the　end　of　the　course。
　　The　rope　across　the　river　was　the　last　obstacle。　An　enormous　round　shield　with　a　hole　drilled　in　its　centre　hung　exactly　halfway　across　with　the　rope　passing　through　it。　Whichever　side　of　the　shield　his　boat　passed　under；　the　petitor's　task　was　to　leap　up；　seize　the　rope　and　then　pull　his　way　hand　over　hand　under　or　over　or　around　the　shield…an　exceptional　achievement　in　itself…and　then　all　the　way　to　the　opposite　bank。
　　Every　one　of　the　men　who　had　made　it　this　far　would　be　formidably　agile　and　strong。　Ropes　across　water　would　not　customarily　faze　them。　This　one　was　different。　This　one　was　virtually　impossible。　It　had；　for　a　start；　been　coated　with　attentive；　careful　malice　in　layers　of　beeswax。　Just　before　being　strung　across　the　water　it　had　also　been　oiled　extravagantly　with　the　purest　olive　oil　from　the　celebrated　groves　and　presses　in　the　hills　above　Vezét。　Then　it　was　strung　across　the　Arbonne　in　such　a　fashion　that　it　sagged　just　low　enough　in　the　middle　to　force　the　hapless　adventurer　who　had　adroitly　made　it　this　far　to　pull　his　way　hand　over　slippery　hand　along　a　cruelly　upward　inclination　towards　the　dismally　remote　platform　on　the　bank　where　triumph　and　glory　awaited。
　　Lisseut；　in　three　years　of　watching　this　contest　on　the　river　at　Midsummer　Carnival；　had　never　seen　anyone　e　close；　she'd　never　even　seen　anyone　cross　the　shield。　She　had　seen　quite　a　few　undeniably　graceful　men　made　to　look　ically　helpless　as　they　struggled　to　find　a　way　across　the　shield　in　the　middle；　or　found　themselves　hanging　on　grimly；　as　if　pinned　down　by　the　bright　watching　moons；　unable　to　move　at　all　while　their　legs　kicked　helplessly　above　the　racing　river。
　　There　was　a　point　to　all　this；　she　knew；　during　Carnival　there　was　a　point　to　everything；　even　the　most　apparently　trivial　or　licentious　activities。　All　the　inversions　and　reversals　of　this　night　of　the　goddess；　suspended　outside　the　rhythms　and　the　round　of　the　year；　found　their　purest　emblem　in　these　torchlit　and　moonlit　images　of　gifted　men　rendered　helpless　and　inept；　forced　either　to　laugh　at　their　own　predicament　while　themselves　suspended　on　a　slick　rope　or；　if　too　grimly　serious　to　share　the　hilarity；　bear　the　mockery　of　a　shrieking　crowd。
　　No　one；　though；　was　mocking　Valery　of　Talair　that　night；　and　there　was　nothing　even　faintly　hilarious　about　him　as　he　guided　his　tiny　boat　straight　towards　the　shield。　Approaching　the　rope；　he　stood　up　again　and；　without　hesitation；　with　a　neat；　precise；　economic　movement；　hurled　himself　up　towards　it　just　to　the　left　of　the　shield。　Tucking　his　knees　in　tight　to　his　chest　like　a　tumbler　performing　at　a　banquet　he　let　his　momentum　swing　him　around　in　an　arc　at　the　top　of　which　he　released　his　precarious　grip　on　the　slippery　rope　and　rose　gracefully　into　the　air…to　e　angling　back　down；　as　if　it　were　the　easiest；　most　natural　thing　in　the　world　on　this　night　or　any　other　night；　on　the　other　side　of　the　shield　barrier。
　　For　all　the　relished　anticipation　of　ic　failure；　the　people　of　Tavernel　and　those　assembled　in　the　city　for　its　Carnival　knew　excellence　when　they　saw　it。　They　exploded　with　exultant　approval　of　such　stylish　mastery。　The　shouts　and　applause　assaulted　the　ears。　Lisseut；　back　on　the　launching　pier；　heard　a　bark　of　delighted；　surprised　laughter　beside　her　and　turned　in　time　to　see　the　Gorhautian　coran's　bearded　face　pletely　unguarded　now　with　pleasure。　He　caught　her　quick　glance　this　time　though；　their　eyes　met　for　an　instant　and　then　his　flicked　away；　as　if　he　were　embarrassed　to　have　been　so　observed。　Lisseut　thought　of　saying　something　but　changed　her　mind。　She　turned　back　to　watch　Valery　deal　with　the　rope。
　　And　so　saw；　by　a　trick；　an　angle；　a　flaring　of　torchlight　far　down　the　dark　river；　how　the　arrow…white…feathered；　she　would　remember；　white　as　innocence；　as　winter　in　midsummer；　as　death…fell　from　the　summit　of　its　long；　high　arc　to　take　the　coran　in　the　shoulder；　driving　him；　slack　and　helpless；　from　the　rope　into　the　river　and　laughter　turned　to　screaming　in　the　night。
　　
　　Blaise　saw　it　too；　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye。　He　even　marked；　purely　by　reflex；　with　a　professional's　instinct；　the　two　tall；　dark…timbered　merchant　houses　along　the　bank　whence　an　arrow　descending　at　that　angle　could　have　been　let　fly。　And　he；　too；　saw；　by　torchlight　and　the　elusive　gleam　of　the　blue　moon　now　riding　free　of　the　clouds；　the　white　feathers　Lisseut　had　seen。　There　was　a　difference；　though。　The　difference　was　that　he　knew　what　those　feathers　meant；　and　the　nagging　thought　from　the　tavern　earlier　in　the　evening　grew　fully　formed　and　terrifying　in　his　mind。　By　then　he　was　running。　A　mistake；　because　the　Carnival　crowd　was　densely　packed　along　the　water's　edge；　and　the　rope　from　which　Valery　had　fallen　was　a　long　way　down　the　river。　Pushing　and　swearing；　using　elbows　and　fists；　Blaise　forced　his　way　through　the　shouting；　roiling　mass　of　people。　Halfway　down　he　glanced　over　at　the　river　and　saw　Bertran　de　Talair　paddling　furiously　in　one　of　the　small　boats…which；　of　course；　is　what　he　ought　to　have　done　himself。　Blaise's　curses　turned　inward　and　he　redoubled　his　efforts。　One　man；　drunken；　masked；　snarled　an　oath　and　pushed　back　hard　as　Blaise　elbowed　his　way　past。　Without　even　looking；　unbalanced　by　fear；　Blaise　sent　the　man　reeling　with　a　forearm　to　the　side　of　his　head。　He　couldn't　even　be　sorry；　though　he　did　wonder…a　reflex　again…about　the　possibility　of　a　knife　in　the　back。　Such　things　happened　in　frightened　crowds。
　　By　the　time　he　reached　the　pier　by　the　rope　the　boatmen　had　taken　Valery　of　Talair　from　the　river。　He　was　lying　on　the　dock。　Bertran　was　there　already；　kneeling　beside　his　cousin　with　a　priestess　and　a　man　who　looked　to　be　a　physician。　The　arrow　was　embedded　in　Valery's　shoulder；　not；　in　fact；　a　killing　wound。
　　Except　that　the　feathers　and　the　upper　shaft　of　the　arrow　were　white　and　the　lower　shaft；　Blaise　now　saw；　ing　up　to　the　pier；　was　of　night…black　ash；　and　he　had　seen　black…and…white　leggings　above　him　on　the　second…floor　landing　of　The　Liensenne　when　the　singer　had　finished　her　music　and　they　were　all　preparing　to　leave。　A　sickness　passed　through　him　like　a　churning　wave。
　　Valery's　eyes　were　open。　Bertran　had　his　cousin's　head　cradled　in　his　lap　now；　he　was　murmuring　steady；　reassuring　words。　The　physician；　a　thin；　beak…nosed　man　with　greying　hair　tied　back　with　a　ribbon；　was　conferring　tersely　with　the　priestess；　eyeing　the　black…and…white　shaft　with　resolution。　He　was　flexing　his　fingers。
　　〃Don't　pull　it；〃　Blaise　said　quietly；　ing　to　stand　above　the　four　of　them。
　　The　doctor　looked　up　quickly；　anger　in　his　eyes。　〃I　know　what　I'm　doing；〃　he　snapped。　〃This　is　a　flesh　wound。　The　sooner　we　have　the　arrow　out　the　sooner　we　can　treat　and　bind　it。〃
　　Blaise　felt　tired　suddenly。　Valery　had　turned　his　head　slightly　and　was　looking　up　at　him。　His　expression　was　calm；　a　little　quizzical。　Forcing　himself　to　meet　the　coran's　level　gaze；　Blaise　said；　still　softly；　〃If　you　pull　the　shaft　you'll　tear　more　flesh　and　the　poison　will　spread　the　faster。　You　may　also　kill　yourself。　Smell　the　arrow　if　you　like。　There　will　be　syvaren　on　the　head；　and　very　likely　on　the　lower　shaft。〃　He　looked　at　the　physician。
　　An　animal…like　fear　showed　in　the　man's　face。　He　recoiled　involuntarily。　In　the　same　moment；　with　a　small；　fierce　sound　of　denial；　Bertran　glanced　up　at　Blaise。　His　face　had　gone　white　and　there　was　horro