ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第6部分

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　　Part　of　the　way　through　the　afternoon's　nearly　silent；　murderous　progression　under　the　blazing　sun；　around　the　time　the　carrion　birds　began　to　appear　in　numbers；　circling　above　the　water；　it　was　noted　by　some　of　the　soldiers　in　the　increasingly　bloody　courtyard　that　the　prince　seemed　to　have　developed　an　odd；　disfiguring　twitch　above　his　left　eye。　For　the　Muwardis；　this　was　a　contemptible　sign　of　weakness。　He　did　stay　on　his　cushion　though；　they　noted。　And　he　never　moved；　or　spoke；　through　the　entirety　of　what　was　done。　He　watched　one　hundred　and　thirty…nine　men　die　doing　formal　obeisance　to　him。
　　He　never　lost　that　nervous　tic。　During　times　of　stress　or　elation　it　would　return；　an　infallible　signal　to　those　who　knew　him　well　that　he　was　experiencing　intense　emotion；　no　matter　how　he　might　try　to　hide　the　fact。　It　was　also　an　inescapable　reminder…because　all　of　Al…Rassan　was　soon　to　learn　this　story…of　a　blood…soaked　summer　afternoon　in　Fezana。
　　The　peninsula　had　seen　its　share　of　violent　deeds；　from　the　time　of　the　Asharite　conquest　and　before；　but　this　was　something　special；　something　to　be　remembered。　The　Day　of　the　Moat。　One　of　the　legacies　of　Almalik　I；　the　Lion　of　Cartada。　Part　of　his　son's　inheritance。
　　The　slaughter　did　not　end　until　some　time　after　the　fifth　bells　had　called　the　pious　again　to　their　prayers。　By　then　the　number　of　birds　over　the　river　and　moat　had　made　it　evident　that　something　untoward　was　taking　place。　A　few　curious　children　had　gone　outside　the　walls　and　circled　around　to　the　north　to　see　what　was　bringing　so　many　birds。　They　carried　word　back　into　the　city。　There　were　headless　bodies　in　the　water。　Not　long　after　that　the　screaming　began　in　the　houses　and　the　streets　of　Fezana。
　　Such　distracting　sounds　did　not　penetrate　the　castle　walls　of　course；　and　the　birds　could　not　be　seen　from　within　the　handsome；　arcaded　refectory。　After　the　last　of　the　assembled　guests　had　made　his　way　from　there　along　the　tunnel；　Ammar　ibn　Khairan；　the　man　who　had　killed　the　last　khalif　of　Al…Rassan；　went　alone　down　that　corridor　to　the　courtyard。　The　sun　was　over　to　the　west　by　then；　the　light　towards　which　he　walked　through　a　long；　cool　darkness　was　gentle；　weling；　almost　worthy　of　a　poem。
　　
Two
　　After　somehow　coping　with　the　disastrous　incident　at　the　very　beginning　of　their　ride　south；　Alvar　had　been　finding　the　journey　the　most　exhilarating　time　of　his　life。　This　did　not　e　as　a　surprise；　he　had　nourished　dreams　of　this　for　years；　and　reality　doesn't　invariably　shatter　a　young　man's　dreams。　Not　immediately；　at　any　rate。
　　Had　he　been　of　a　slightly　less　rational　nature；　he　might　even　have　given　fuller　rein　to　the　fantasy　he　briefly　entertained　as　they　broke　camp　after　the　dawn　invocation　on　their　fifth　morning　south　of　the　River　Duric：　that　he　had　died　and　arrived；　by　the　grace　of　Jad；　at　the　Paradise　of　Warriors；　and　would　be　allowed　to　ride　behind　Rodrigo　Belmonte；　the　Captain；　through　the　plains　and　steppes　of　summer　forever。
　　The　river　was　far　behind　them；　and　the　walls　of　Carcasia。　They　had　passed　the　wooden　stockade　forts　of　Baeza　and　Lobar；　small；　fledgling　outposts　in　emptiness。　The　pany　rode　now　through　the　wild；　high；　bare　sweep　of　the　no…man's…land；　dust　rising　behind　and　the　sun　beating　down　upon　them…fifty　of　Jad's　own　horsemen；　journeying　to　the　fabled　cities　of　the　Asharites　at　the　king　of　Valledo's　mand。
　　And　young　Alvar　de　Pellino　was　one　of　those　fifty；　chosen；　after　scarcely　a　year　among　the　riders　at　Esteren；　to　acpany　the　great　Rodrigo…the　Captain　himself…on　a　tribute　mission　to　Al…Rassan。　There　were　miracles　in　the　world；　truly；　bestowed　without　explanation；　unless　his　mother's　prayers　on　her　pilgrimage　to　holy　Vasca's　Isle　had　been　answered　by　the　god　behind　the　sun。
　　Since　that　was　at　least　a　possibility；　each　morning　now　at　dawn　Alvar　faced　east　for　the　invocation　and　offered　thanks　to　Jad　with　a　full　heart；　vowing　anew　upon　the　iron　of　the　sword　his　father　had　given　him　to　be　worthy　of　the　god's　trust。　And；　of　course；　the　Captain's。
　　There　were　so　many　young　riders　in　the　army　of　King　Ramiro。　Horsemen　from　all　over　Valledo；　some　with　splendid　armor　and　magnificent　horses；　some　with　lineage　going　back　to　the　Old　Ones　who　had　ruled　the　whole　peninsula　and　named　it　Esperana；　who　first　learned　the　truths　of　the　sun…god　and　built　the　straight　roads。　And　almost　every　one　of　those　men　would　have　fasted　a　week；　would　have　forsworn　women　and　wine；　would　have　seriously　contemplated　murder　for　the　chance　to　be　trained　by　the　Captain；　to　be　under　the　cool；　grey…eyed　scrutiny　of　Rodrigo　Belmonte　for　three　whole　weeks。　To　be；　if　only　for　this　one　mission；　numbered　among　his　pany。
　　A　man　could　dream；　you　see。　Three　weeks　might　be　only　a　beginning；　with　more　to　follow；　the　world　opening　up　like　a　peeled　and　quartered　orange。　A　young　horseman　could　lie　down　at　night　on　his　saddle　blanket　and　look　up　at　the　bright　stars　worshipped　by　the　followers　of　Ashar。　He　could　imagine　himself　cutting　a　shining　swath　through　the　ranks　of　the　infidels　to　save　the　Captain　himself　from　danger　and　death；　being　saluted　and　marked　by　Rodrigo　in　the　midst　of　roaring　battle；　and　then　after；　victorious；　drinking　unmixed　wine　at　the　Captain's　side；　being　honored　and　made　wele　among　his　pany。
　　A　young　man　could　dream；　could　he　not？
　　The　problem；　for　Alvar；　was　that　such　immensely　satisfying　images　had　been　giving　way；　in　the　almost…silence　of　night；　or　the　long　rhythms　of　a　day's　hard　riding　under　the　god's　sun；　to　the　vivid；　excruciating　memory　of　what　had　happened　the　morning　they　set　out　from　Esteren。　To　a　recollection　of　the　moment；　in　particular；　when　young　Alvar　de　Pellino…heart's　pride　and　joy　of　his　parents　and　three　sisters…had　chosen　the　wrong　place　entirely　to　unbutton　his　trousers　and　relieve　himself　before　the　pany　mounted　up　to　ride。
　　It　ought　to　have　been　a　perfectly　reasonable　thing　to　do。
　　
　　They　had　assembled　at　dawn　in　a　newly　built　sidecourt　of　the　palace　at　Esteren。　Alvar；　almost　giddy　with　excitement　and　the　simultaneous　effort　not　to　reveal　it；　had　been　attempting　to　remain　as　inconspicuous　as　possible。　He　was　not　a　shy　or　diffident　young　man　by　nature；　but　even　now；　at　the　very　moment　of　departure；　a　part　of　him　feared；　with　lurid　apprehension；　that　if　someone　noticed　him…Lain　Nunez；　for　example；　the　Captain's　lean　old　panion…at…arms…they　might　declare　Alvar's　presence　an　obvious　error　of　some　kind；　and　he'd　be　left　behind。　He　would；　of　course；　have　no　choice　but　to　kill　himself　if　such　a　thing　happened。
　　With　fifty　men　and　their　horses　and　the　laden　pack　mules　in　the　enclosed　space　of　the　courtyard　it　was　easy　enough　to　keep　a　low　profile。　It　was　cool　in　the　yard；　something　that　might　have　deceived　a　stranger　to　the　peninsula；　a　mercenary　from　Ferrieres　or　Waleska；　say。　It　would　be　very　hot　later；　Alvar　knew。　It　was　always　hot　in　summer。　There　was　a　great　deal　of　noise　and　men　were　bustling　back　and　forth　carrying　planks　of　wood；　tools；　wheeling　barrows　of　brick：　King　Ramiro　was　expanding　his　palace。
　　Alvar　checked　his　saddle　and　saddlebags　for　the　twentieth　time　and　carefully　avoided　meeting　anyone's　eye。　He　tried　to　look　older　than　his　years；　to　convey　the　impression　that　he　was；　if　anything；　a　trifle　bored　by　a　mission　as　routine　as　this　one。　He　was　intelligent　enough　to　doubt　he　was　fooling　anyone。
　　When　Count　Gonzalez　de　Rada　walked　unannounced　into　the　courtyard；　dressed　in　crimson　and　black…even　at　dawn　among　horses…Alvar　felt　his　feverish　anxiety　rise　to　an　even　higher　level。　He　had　never　seen　the　constable　of　Valledo　before；　except　at　a　distance。　A　brief　silence　fell　over　Rodrigo's　pany；　and　when　their　bustle　of　preparation　resumed　it　had　a　subtly　altered　quality。　Alvar　experienced　the　stirrings　of　inescapable　curiosity　and　sternly　tried　to　suppress　them。
　　He　saw　the　Captain　and　Lain　Nunez　observe　the　count's　arrival　and　exchange　a　glance。　Rodrigo　stepped　a　little　aside　from　the　others　to　await　the　man　who'd　replaced　him　as　constable　when　King　Ramiro　was　crowned。　The　count's　attendants　stopped　at　a　word　and　Gonzalez　de　Rada　approached　alone。　He　was　smiling　broadly。　The　Captain；　Alvar　saw；　was　not。　Behind　Rodrigo；　Lain　Nunez　abruptly　turned　his　head　and　spat　deliberately　into　the　dirt　of　the　yard。
　　At　this　point；　Alvar　decided　that　it　would　be　ill…mannered　to　observe　them　further；　even　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye…as　he　noticed　the　others　doing　while　they　pretended　to　busy　themselves　with　their　horses　or　gear。　A　Horseman　of　Jad；　he　told　himself　firmly；　had　no　business　concerning　himself　with　the　words　and　affairs　of　the　great。　Alvar　virtuously　turned　his　back　upon　the　forthing　encounter　and　walked　to　a　corner　of　the　yard　to　attend　to　his　own　pressing　business　in　private；　on　the　far　side　of　a　hay　wagon。
　　Why　Count　Gonzalez　de　Rada　and　Ser　Rodrigo　Belmonte　should　have　elected　to　stroll　together；　a　moment　later；　to　the　shade　of　that　same　wagon　would　forever　after　remain　one　of　the　enduring　mysteries　of　the　world　Jad　had　created；　as　far　as　Alvar　de　Pellino　was　concerned。
　　
　　The　two　men　were　known　throughout　the　three　Jaddite　kingdoms　of　Esperana　to　have　no　love　for　one　another。　Even　the　youngest　soldiers；　new　to　the