ggk.asongforarbonne-第42部分

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　　She　said；　〃It　is　all　right。　You　are　tired。　I　did　not　mean　to　offend　you。　I　will　leave。〃
　　Blaise　could　not　afterwards　have　said　what　sequence　of　movements　brought　them　together。　As　he　gathered　her　in　his　arms　he　was　aware　that　he　was　trembling；　he　had　not　touched　a　woman　since　Rosala；　and　that　night；　too；　carried　its　heavy　burden　of　anger　and　self…reproach；　both　during　and　afterwards。　Even　as　he　lowered　his　mouth　to　Ariane's；　breathing　deeply　of　the　scent　that　clung　to　her；　Blaise　was　bracing　himself　to　resist　the　alluring　ways　of　yet　another　sophisticated　woman　of　the　south。　Lucianna　had　surely　taught　him　that　much；　if　he　had　learned　nothing　from　a　spring　and　summer　in　Portezza　he　would　be　a　man　living　an　utterly　wasted　life。　Blaise　was　prepared；　defended。
　　He　was　not。　For　where　Lucianna　Delonghi　had　used　love　and　lovemaking　as　instruments；　weapons　in　subtle；　intricately　devised　campaigns；　a　pursuit　of　pleasure　and　power　through　binding　men's　spirits　helplessly　to　her；　Blaise　was　given　a　gift　that　night　in　Tavernel　of　a　strong　soul's　love…making；　without　eluding；　fierce　as　wind；　with　grace　yet　at　the　heart　of　it　and　needs　of　her　own；　offered　honestly　and　without　holding　back。
　　And　in　the　turning；　interwoven　movements　of　that　night　upon　his　bed　in　the　city　palace　of　Bertran　de　Talair；　Blaise　found；　for　a　short　while　in　the　darkness　after　the　one　candle　burned　out；　an　easing　of　his　own　twin　pains；　the　old　one　and　the　new；　and　an　access　to　sharing　hitherto　denied　him。　He　offered　her　what　he　had　to　give；　and　even；　towards　the　end；　with　irony　pushed　back　far　away；　some　of　the　things　he'd　learned　in　Portezza；　the　skills　and　patterns　of　what　men　and　women　could　do　lying　with　each　other　when　trust　and　desire　came　together。　Accepting　what　he　offered；　laughing　once；　breathlessly　as　if　in　genuine　surprise；　Ariane　de　Carenzu　bestowed　upon　him　in　turn　something　rich　and　rare；　as　a　tree　that　flowers　at　night　without　a　leaf；　and　Blaise　was；　for　all　the　bitterness　that　lay　within　him；　yet　wise　enough　and　deep　enough　to　accept　it　as　such　and　let　her　sense　his　gratitude。
　　In　the　end　he　slept；　holding　her　in　his　arms；　breathing　the　scent　of　her；　slaked　of　hunger　and　need；　returned　to　his　weariness　as　to　a　garden；　through　the　thickets　and　brambles　of　his　history。
　　He　woke　some　time　later；　disturbed　by　a　sound　outside　in　the　street。　She　was　still　with　him；　head　on　his　chest；　her　dark　hair　spread　like　a　curtain　to　cover　them　both。　He　moved　one　hand　and　stroked　it；　marvelling。
　　〃Well；〃　said　Ariane。　〃Well；　well；　well　。。。　〃
　　He　laughed　quietly。　She　had　meant　him　to　laugh。　He　shook　his　head。　〃This　has　been　the　longest　night　I　can　remember。〃　It　was　hard　to　believe　how　much　had　happened；　in　so　many　different　ways；　since　they　had　arrived　in　Tavernel　in　the　afternoon　and　walked　through　the　thronged　streets　to　The　Liensenne。
　　〃Is　it　over？〃　Ariane　de　Carenzu　asked　in　a　whisper。　Her　hand　began　moving　slowly；　fingernails　barely　brushing　his　skin。　〃If　the　songs　tell　true　we　have　until　the　lark　sings　at　dawn。〃
　　He　felt　desire　returning；　inexorable　as　the　first　beginning　of　a　wave　far　out　at　sea。　〃Wait；〃　he　said　awkwardly。　〃I　have　a　question。〃
　　〃Oh　dear。〃
　　〃No；　nothing　terrible　or　very　difficult。　Just　something　about　Arbonne；　about　people　we　know。　Something　I　should　have　asked　about　a　long　time　ago。〃
　　Her　hand　was　still；　resting　on　his　thigh。　〃Yes？〃
　　〃What　is　it　between　Talair　and　Miraval？　The　hatred　there？〃
　　It　was　true；　what　he'd　said；　what　he'd　e　to　realize　earlier　tonight：　there　was　something　unnatural　about　the　refusal　to　learn　that　had　carried　him　through　his　months　here　in　Arbonne。
　　Ariane　was　silent　for　a　moment；　then　she　sighed。　〃That　is　a　terrible　question；　actually；　and　a　difficult　one。　You'll　have　me　chasing　my　own　memories。〃
　　〃Forgive　me；　I…〃
　　〃No；　it　is　all　right。　I　have　been　thinking　about　them　all　in　any　case。　The　memories　are　never　far　away。　They　have　shaped　so　much　of　what　we　are。〃　She　hesitated。　〃Have　you　at　least　heard　of　Aelis　de　Barbentain；　who　became　Aelis　de　Miraval？〃
　　He　shook　his　head。　〃I'm　sorry。　No。〃
　　〃The　youngest　child　of　Signe　and　Guibor。　Heir　to　Arbonne　because　her　sister　Beatritz　went　to　the　goddess　and　the　two　brothers　died　of　plague　quite　young。　Wedded　to　En　Urté　de　Miraval　when　she　was　seventeen　years　old。　My　cousin。〃　She　hesitated；　but　only　briefly。　〃Bertran's　lover；　and　I　think　the　only　real　love　of　his　life。〃
　　There　was　a　silence　again。　In　it；　Blaise　heard　once　more；　as　if　the　speaker　was　actually　in　the　room　with　them；　Bertran's　words　on　a　dark　stairway　in　the　depths　of　another　night：　The　god　knows；　and　sweet　Rian　knows　I've　tried；　but　in　twenty…three　years　I've　never　yet　found　a　woman　to　equal　her。
　　Blaise　cleared　his　throat。　〃I　think；　actually；　that　last　will　be　true。　He　said　something　to　me　in　Baude　Castle　that　would　fit　。。。　what　you　just　said。〃
　　Ariane　lifted　her　head　to　look　at　him。　〃He　must　have　been　in　a　strange　mood　to　say　anything　about　it　at　all。〃
　　Blaise　nodded　his　head。　〃He　was。〃
　　〃He　must　have　trusted　you；　too；　oddly　enough。〃
　　〃Or　known　the　words　would　mean　nothing　to　me。〃
　　〃Perhaps。〃
　　〃Will　you　tell　me　the　story？　It's　time　I　began　to　learn。〃
　　Ariane　sighed　again；　feeling　ambushed　almost　by　this　entirely　unexpected　question。　She　had　been　thirteen　that　year；　a　bright；　quick；　laughing　spirit；　still　a　child。　It　had　taken　her　a　long　time　to　recapture　laughter　afterwards；　and　the　child　in　her　had　been　lost　forever　the　night　Aelis　died。
　　She　was　a　grown　woman　now；　with　plex　roles　on　the　world　stage　and　the　burdens　that　came　with　those：　queen　of　the　Court　of　Love；　daughter　of　one　noble　house；　wedded　into　another。　She　was　not　a　risk…taker　by　nature；　not　like　Beatritz　or　Bertran；　she　thought　things　through　more　slowly　before　she　moved。　She　would　not　have　devised　the　scheme　they　had　for　this　son　of　Galbert　de　Garsenc；　nor　had　she　approved　when　she　was　told　of　it。　But　by　now　she　had　made　her　own　decisions　about　this　man　whose　hard　shell　of　bitterness　so　clearly　served；　like　armour　on　a　battlefield；　to　defend　something　wounded　underneath。
　　So　she　told　him　the　story；　lying　beside　him　after　love　on　a　bed　in　Bertran's　palace；　travelling　back　to　the　rhythm　and　cadence　of　her　own　words　into　the　past　as　darkness　outside　slowly　gave　way　to　grey　dawn。　She　told　him　all　of　it…quietly　spinning　the　tale　of　sorrow　from　that　long…ago　year…save　for　one　strand　of　the　old　weaving；　the　one　thing　she　never　told。　It　was　not　truly　hers；　that　last　secret；　not　hers　to　offer　anyone；　even　in　trust　or　by　way　of　binding　or　in　great　need。
　　In　the　end；　when　she　was　done　and　fell　silent；　they　did　not　make　love　again。　It　was　difficult；　Ariane　had　always　found；　to　sustain　any　desires　of　her　own　in　the　present　day　when　Aelis　was　remembered。
　　
　　Elisse　of　Cauvas　was　vain；　with；　perhaps；　some　reason　to　be。　She'd　a　ripe　figure　and　a　pleasing　voice　to　go　with　the　long…lashed；　laughing　eyes　that　made　men　feel　wittier　and　more　clever　in　her　pany　than　they　normally　did。　ing　from　the　town　that　prided　itself　on　being　the　birthplace　of　the　first　of　the　troubadours；　Anselme　himself；　she　often　felt　that　she'd　been　destined　to　be　a　joglar　and　follow　the　life　of　the　road；　castle　to　castle；　town　to　town。　She　considered　herself　miraculously　released…and　counted　her　blessings　almost　every　morning　when　she　awoke…from　the　tedium　and　premature　ageing　she　associated　with　the　life　she　might　have　expected　as　an　artisan's　daughter。　Marry　the　apprentice；　survive…if　you　were　fortunate…too　many　childbirths　in　too　few　years；　struggle　to　feed　a　family　and　keep　a　leaking　roof　intact　and　the　cold　lash　of　the　winter　wind　from　ing　in　through　chinks　in　the　walls。
　　Not　for　her；　that　life。　Not　now。　With　perhaps　a　single　irritating　exception　she　was　almost　certainly　the　best…known　of　the　women　joglars　following　the　musicians'　circuit　about　Arbonne。　As　for　that　single　exception；　until　very　recently　the　only　recognition　Lisseut　of　Vezét　ever　received　seemed　to　occur　because　her　name　was　similar　to　Elisse's！　Jourdain　had　told　an　amusing　story　about　that　a　year　ago；　and　they'd　laughed　together　over　it。
　　The　latest　touring　season　had　changed　things；　though；　or　started　to　change　them。　In　two　or　three　towns　and　a　highland　castle　in　the　hills　near　Gotzland　she　and　Jourdain　had　been　asked　their　opinion　of　the　wonderful　music　being　made　by　Alain　of　Rousset　and　the　girl　who　was　his　new　joglar。　And　then；　outrageously；　Elisse　had　been　asked　by　a　fatuous　village　reeve；　after　a　performance　in　a　wealthy　merchant's　home　in　Seiranne；　how　the　olive　trees　were　faring　back　home　in　Vezét。　When　she　realized　what　the　man's　mistake　was；　who　he　took　her　for；　she'd　been　so　furious　she'd　had　to　abandon　the　merchant's　hall　for　a　time；　leaving　Jourdain　to　amuse　the　guests　alone　while　she　regained　her　posure。
　　It　wouldn't　do；　she　thought；　lying　in　an　extremely　fortable　bed　on　Midsummer　Night；　to　dwell　upon　such　things；　or　the　unsettling　success　Lisseut　had　had　with　Alain's　song　earlier　that　evening…a　frankly　mediocre　piece；　Elisse　had　decided。　Where　had　Jourdain's　wits　been；　she　thought；　fighting　a　returning　fury；　when　that　glorious　opportunity　had　arisen？　Why　hadn't　he　been　quick　enough　to　propose　his　own　music　for　Ariane　and　the　dukes；　with　Elisse　to　sing　it？　Only　later；　on　the　river；　in　the　silly　games　men　insisted　upon　playing；　had　her　own　troubadour；　her　current　lover；　pushed　himself　forward…to　bee　an　object　of　general　amusement　shortly　afterwards；　as　he　splashed　into　the　water　downstream。
　　Though　'current　lover'　might…it　just　possibly　might…be　an　inappropriate　phrase　after　tonight。　Elisse　stretched　herself；　cat…like；　and　let　the　bedsheet　fall　away；　leaving　her　mostly　uncovered　in　her　nakedness。　She　turned　her　head　towards　the　window；　where　the　man　she'd　been　lying　with　in　the　aftermath　of　love　was　now　sitting　on　the　ledge；　picking　at　her　lute。　She　didn't　really　like　her　lovers　leaving　her　side　without　a　word；　as　this　one　had；　and　she　certainly　didn't　like　other　people　handling　the　lute　。。。　but　for　this　man　she　was　prepared　to　make　exceptions；　as　many　exceptions　and　in　whatever　dimensions　as　proved　necessary。
　　She'd　brought　the　lute　because　she　hadn't　been　entirely　sure　what　wa