ggk.asongforarbonne-第72部分

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。　The　duke；　he　was　certain；　had　fully　expected　to　find　Blaise　of　Gorhaut　already　dead　when　he　arrived　at　the　Delonghi　woman's　rooms　with　the　countess　two　nights　ago。　It　wasn't　any　particular　hatred　of　the　young　coran　that　would　have　driven　him…de　Miraval　very　possibly　hadn't　even　known　who　Blaise　really　was…it　would　have　been　simply　another　blow；　one　more　stupid；　trivial；　destructive　blow　in　the　endless　war　of　Miraval　and　Talair。　Bertran　valued　the　Gorhautian　and　kept　him　close：　therefore；　and　needing　no　other　reason；　Urté　de　Miraval　would　be　pleased　to　see　him　slain。　After　which　the　Arimondan　would　have　been　abandoned　to　his　fate；　exactly　as　he　had　been　in　any　event；　and　the　unsettling；　possibly　dangerous　lady　from　Portezza　left　to　the　countess。　And　to　Roban；　of　course；　the　hard　things　were　always　left　to　Roban。
　　He　watched　as　Blaise　de　Garsenc　approached；　walking　with　obvious　difficulty。　Some　distance　behind　him　the　two　green…garbed　Miraval　corans　were　running　across　the　grass　in　response　to　their　lord's　summons。　Roban　was　a　thoughtful　man；　and　it　had　long　struck　him　as　strange…and　did　so　again　now…that　none　of　the　blows　between　the　warring　dukes　were　ever　directed　at　each　other。　It　was　as　if…in　some　unspoken；　unacknowledged　fashion…they　needed　each　other　to　keep　alive　the　clear；　bitter　memories　of　that　long…ago　year；　to　give　each　other；　however　inexplicable　it　might　appear；　a　reason　to　continue　living。
　　It　was　ridiculous　to　Roban；　hopelessly　irrational；　dark　as　pagan　ritual；　but　at　the　same　time　something　the　countess　had　once　said　still　rang　true　for　him：　it　was　virtually　impossible　ever　to　think　of　either　man　without　immediately　calling　the　other　to　mind。　They　were　bound　and　grappled　together；　Roban　thought；　as　in　a　net；　by　the　death　of　Aelis　de　Miraval。　Roban　looked　over　and　saw　Bertran；　relaxed　and　at　ease　in　a　chair　under　the　countess's　golden　canopy。　He　was　smiling　broadly　as　he　watched　Urté　stalk　before　his　corans　as　they　bore　the　Arimondan's　body　from　the　field。
　　It　never　stopped。　It　would　not　ever　stop　while　the　two　of　them　lived。　And　who　knew　what　people…and　nations…they　would　draw　down　into　the　dark　net　with　them；　suspended　forever　in　that　time　more　than　twenty　years　ago　when　a　black…haired　woman　had　died　in　Miraval？
　　The　man　who　had　just　claimed　the　throne　of　Gorhaut　was　standing　before　the　countess　now。　He　looked；　Roban　thought；　somewhat　changed　from　before；　even　making　allowance　for　the　fact　that　he'd　been　bound　and　nearly　naked　on　a　woman's　bed　the　last　time　the　chancellor　had　seen　him。　The　Gorhautian；　for　all　the　evident　pain　of　his　wounds…the　gashed　ear　was　dripping　blood…carried　himself　with　posure　as　he　faced　the　two　reigning　ladies　of　Arbonne　and　the　king　of　Valensa。　He　wasn't　as　young　as　Roban　had　first　thought　him　to　be；　either。　The　look　in　his　face　just　now　included；　unexpectedly；　a　hint　of　sadness。　It　was　not　the　expression　of　a　youthful　man。
　　Behind　him　stood　Bertran's　cousin　and　Vitalle　Correze's　son；　and　a　third　coran　in　the　livery　of　Castle　Baude。　They　already　looked　like　an　entourage；　the　chancellor　thought。　Or　was　it　only　the　manner　of　the　Gorhautian　himself　that　made　that　seem　the　case？　Could　the　mere　assertion　of　a　claim　effect　so　much　of　a　change？　It　could；　Roban　decided；　if　the　claim　was　as　large　as　this　one　was。　Men　were　often　no　more　or　less　than　what　others　saw　in　them；　and　no　one　in　the　world　would　ever　look　at　this　tall　northern　coran　the　same　way　ever　again。　That　might；　he　thought　suddenly；　explain　the　sadness。
　　The　countess　rose；　gesturing　for　those　beside　her　to　remain　seated。　Roban　couldn't　see　her　face；　but　he　knew　she　would　not　be　smiling。　Not　now；　with　so　much　cast　into　hazard　this　morning。　She　said；　her　light；　clear　voice　carrying；　〃You　have　acquitted　yourself　on　this　field　with　honour　Blaise　de　Garsenc；　and　have　received　the　favour　of　Rian　and　Corannos。　We　call　upon　all　those　here　to　bear　witness　that　the　matter　of　blood　between　yourself　and　Quzman　di　Perano　is　ended　and　resolved　forever。〃　She　glanced　deliberately　over　to　where　the　banner　of　the　Gorhaut　kings　was　snapping　in　the　breeze　above　his　tent。　〃As　for　other　matters　that　have　emerged　this　morning；　we　will　have　much　to　say　to　each　other　in　the　days　to　e；　and　we　doubt　not　that　the　king　of　Valensa　will　wish　to　offer　his　wise　counsel　in　these　affairs。　Such　matters　will　be　dealt　with　soon。　For　the　moment；　we　offer　you　the　care　of　our　healers　in　Barbentain…〃　she　glanced　briefly　back　towards　Roban；　who　nodded　〃…and　we　shall　say　nothing　more　at　this　time　but　an　offered　prayer　that　holy　Rian　will　bless　you　with　her　grace。〃
　　Although　that；　Roban　thought　grimly；　was　a　great　deal　to　have　said。　The　countess　had　made　the　point　already　when　she　rose　to　salute　the　Gorhautian　at　the　first　running　up　of　his　banners；　but　this　was　signalling　it　again；　and　quite　unmistakably。　The　chancellor　looked　over　his　shoulder。　The　physician　and　the　priestess　had　arrived；　they　were　ing　swiftly　over；　almost　running。　But　there　was　one　more　thing　to　be　done；　Roban　knew；　before　Blaise　de　Garsenc　could　be　released　from　the　public　gaze　into　their　care。　This　was　theatre；　and　he　was　on　the　stage。
　　As　the　countess　took　her　seat　again　it　was　Ariane　who　rose；　beautiful　in　autumn　hues　of　russet　and　pale　gold。　Sunrise　and　sunset；　the　chancellor　thought；　looking　at　the　two　women；　or；　since　Ariane　was　not　really　young　any　more；　perhaps　noontide　and　twilight　would　better　suit　as　images。　The　beauty　of　the　lady　of　Carenzu　was　almost　dazzling　in　the　clear　light。　His　own　love；　though；　was　for　the　older　woman；　for　the　grace　of　the　ending　day；　and　it　would　be　until　he　died。
　　There　was　a　rose　to　be　given　now。　Mildly　curious；　in　fact；　as　to　what　the　Gorhautian　would　do；　Roban　heard　Ariane's　formal　words　spoken　to　invoke　the　symbolic　rituals　of　the　Court　of　Love。　He　was　not　a　troubadour；　not　a　coran；　not　a　dancer　or　a　wit　or　the　sort　of　man　who　set　styles　of　fashion　at　court　among　ladies。　Even　so；　Roban　the　chancellor　loved　his　country　with　his　own　enduring　passion；　with　an　inward；　private　flame；　and　he　knew　that　these　rituals；　frivolous　as　they　might　seem；　were　what　defined　Arbonne　and　set　it　apart　from　the　rest　of　the　world。　And　he　too；　prosaic　and　dry　and　sober　as　he　might　be　in　the　castle　corridors　of　day；　had　had　his　own　dreams　of　winning　this　rose　and　offering　it…of　course…to　the　countess　before　cheering　multitudes。　Not　for　some　time　had　he　had　that　dream；　but　it　was　not　so　very　long　ago；　either。
　　〃We　have　our　traditions　here　in　Arbonne；〃　Ariane　was　saying。　〃Here；　where　Rian　the　goddess　is　so　much　more　than　merely　Corinna；　maiden　daughter　of　the　god。　She　has　many　incarnations；　our　goddess；　and　both　death　and　life　are　contained　in　her。　Which　is　why；〃　she　said；　her　clear；　strong　voice　now　the　only　sound　among　the　pavilions；　〃which　is　why；　at　the　end　of　a　death　challenge；　there　is　a　ceremony　to　honour　Rian　and　the　mortal　women　who　are　all　her　daughters。　We　ask　the　victor；　the　chosen　of　the　goddess　and　the　god；　to　give　a　rose。〃　She　paused。　〃Sometimes；　as　a　higher　recognition　of　his　worth；　we　invite　him　to　offer　three。〃
　　She　opened　the　coffer　they　had　given　her；　and　Roban　saw　that　she　had　indeed　chosen　to　invoke　the　full　ceremony　this　morning。　It　was　seldom　done；　but　it　was　obvious　that　Signe　and　Ariane　were　marking　this　moment　and　this　man　as　indelibly　as　they　could。　He　wondered　if　the　Gorhaut　coran　could　possibly　be　aware　of　how　much　he　had　taken　upon　himself　today。　He　wondered　how　long　the　man　would　live…but　that；　of　course；　was　bound　up　in　how　long　any　of　them　could　expect　to　live　with　a　war　ing；　certain　as　winter　and　the　spring　to　follow。
　　〃White　is　for　fidelity；〃　Ariane　said；　holding　the　coffer　up　to　be　seen。　There　was　a　murmuring　all　along　the　pavilions；　of　anticipation　and　speculation。　The　morning　was　offering　more　than　anyone　could　have　imagined。　〃Yellow　is　for　love；　and　red　is　for　desire。〃　She　smiled。　〃You　may　bestow　them　as　you　choose；　my　lord　de　Garsenc。　We　will　all　be　honoured　by　your　doing　so。〃　Blaise　of　Gorhaut；　grass…stained　and　bloody；　bowed　to　Ariane　and　took　the　coffer　from　her　long　fingers。　It　was　purest　ceremony；　Roban　knew；　a　spectacle　intended　entirely　for　those　in　the　other　pavilions　and　the　mons'　standing　grounds；　and　for　the　words　and　music　of　the　troubadours　and　joglars　who　would　carry　it　to　castles　and　villages　far　beyond　this　field　when　the　fair　was　over。　Knowing　this；　having　seen　it　so　many　times　before；　he　was　nonetheless　moved。　Gravely　the　man　handed　the　open　coffer　to　Vitalle　Correze's　son　and　took　from　it　the　white　rose。　He　looked　upon　it　in　silence　for　a　moment；　before　turning　back　to　the　queen。　〃Fidelity　I　offer　where　it　is　most　richly　deserved；　if　I　might　be　allowed　to　name　a　woman　who　is　not　with　us　at　this　field。　May　I　ask　you　to　guard　this　for　her　and　have　it　laid　at　her　feet　in　my　name　when　the　time　allows？〃
　　Gravely　Ariane　nodded。　〃You　may　and　I　shall。　Where　should　I　carry　it？〃
　　〃To　my　sister；〃　said　Blaise；　and　Roban　was　almost　certain　the　emotion　in　his　voice　was　not　feigned。　〃To　Rosala　de　Savaric　de　Garsenc；　who　kept　faith　with　her　child　and　her　own　vision　of　Gorhaut。　And　say　to　her；　if　you　will；　that　I　shall　never　break　faith　with　her　while　I　live。〃
　　The　woman　was　still　in　the　castle；　Roban　knew。　This　open　ground　was　no　place　for　someone　only　days　past　childbirth。　The　herald　was　declaiming　her　name　now　that　all　might　hear　it。　There　had　been　rumours；　but　this　would　be　the　first　formal　confirmation　of　who　the　mysterious　woman　in　Barbentain　was。　They　were　going　be　talking　about　this　morning　in　all　six　countries　for　a　long　time；　Roban　thought；　shaking　his　head。
　　Blaise　had　already　turned　to　take　the　red　rose。　He　seemed　to　be　hesitating；　brow　furrowed；　but　then　Roban　saw　him　smile　slightly　for　the　first　time　since　he'd　approached。　Carrying　it　before　him；　laid　across　both　palms；　he　limped　a　short　distance　down　the　row　of　pavilions　and　stopped　before　the　handsomely　carved　and　decorated　chair　of　Lucianna　Delonghi；　who　had　bound　him　in　ropes　two　nights　ago；　and　cut　him　with　her　dagger。　Extending　both　hands　he　gave　her；　with　another　low　bow；　the　red　rose　of　desire。
　　Roban；　watching　with　frank　curiosity；　saw　the　woman　go　pale；　even　as　the　father；　beside　her；　smiled…and　then　slowly　stopped