ggk.asongforarbonne-第89部分
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ne de Barbentain had collectively attended mourning services in the Temple of Rian； and in their midst…walking beside the countess； in fact…had been Blaise de Garsenc。
Thaune was instructed to claim responsibility for that attempted killing of the pretender； both on the road north through the pass and again when he arrived home at the castle…a Garsenc coran would need such a story； Blaise had told him。 Thaune； remembering the fears that had led him to kill the animal…trainer； had acceded gratefully。 It was strange； actually； to be working for a leader who thought of so many details concerning his men。 Thaune had even； after hesitating； told Blaise about that killing in the alley。 He didn't want hidden things between him and this man。
Blaise had looked regretful； but not judgmental。 〃You were afraid；〃 he'd said； 〃and doing your duty out of fear。 That is how things have always been at Garsenc。 I hope you will do what you see as your duty now； but without the fear。〃
Thaune remembered that。 He had done what he could； which； as it turned out； was quite a bit。 He'd more of a knack than he would have guessed for such intrigues。 There had been only a dozen soldiers in his party on the ride north…Gorhaut corans seldom went south to tournaments in Arbonne； they hadn't done so for years。
There were no rules about such things； but corans of reputation usually waited another month and went east to Aulensburg for the tourney there。 Gotzland was seen as better than Arbonne； it was acceptable to fight there。 Only the younger ones； and a handful of spies sometimes； went south to Lussan in the autumn with the merchants and entertainers。 There were no spies in this small party； though； Thaune was certain of it。 The young men listened； a little awed； to his snarling tale of wind pushing a long bowshot short。
They were probably wishing they had tried the same thing； he had mused that first night in the roadside inn among the falling leaves of autumn。 Probably even dreaming of having done so； and having succeeded； and riding back to King Ademar in triumph unimaginable。 Young men had such dreams。
Two of the corans on that ride； he'd decided； might be thinking； or dreaming； along somewhat different lines。 He'd taken a chance and spoken to one of them before they parted ways。 Turned out he had judged rightly； taking careful chances was what he'd been sent back to do。 Before their roads divided； his to Garsenc； the other coran's towards the palace in Cortil； Thaune had won his first recruit to the cause of Blaise de Garsenc's rebellion。 The accent had been what decided him。 You could almost always trust a north…land man to be unhappy with King Ademar。
On the ramparts of Garsenc he leaned forward； suddenly tense； peering blindly into the fog。 It was thick as the mist was said to be above the river to the land of the dead。 He could see nothing； but he thought he'd heard a sound from the grassy space beyond the outer wall and the dry moat。
The sky above another castle； beyond the mountains to the south； was brilliantly clear that same night； the stars like diamonds； the two moons bright enough to lend shadows to the trees bending in the path of the sirnal…the north wind that swept down the Arbonne Valley with the bitter force of winter behind it。
Fires were burning on all the hearths of Barbentain； and Signe had dressed herself in layers of fine…spun wool with fur trim at the collar and sleeves and a fur…lined hat covering her head； even indoors。 She hated the winter； she always had； especially when the sirnal blew； making her eyes stream and her fingers ache。 Usually she and Guibor had been south by this time； in Carenzo with Ariane and Thierry； or in the winter palace in Tavernel for their sojourn there。 It was always milder in the south； the depredations of the sirnal less harrowing； tempered by the shape of the land and the influence of the sea。
This year was different。 She needed to be in Barbentain because this winter would not be the customary time of sheltering behind castle and village walls while the wind whipped down the valleys and empty roads。 Events were taking place this season that were going to define the future for all of them； one way or another。 In fact； they were taking place tonight； beneath the brightness of these two moons beyond the mountains； in Gorhaut。 She wondered what Vidonne and blue Riannon were seeing there as they looked down。
Almost unbearably anxious； unable to keep still； she paced back and forth from one fire to another in her sitting room。 She was disturbing her waiting…women she knew； and almost certainly doing the same to Rosala； who sat calmly nonetheless； hands busy at needlework in her chair drawn close to one fire。 She wondered how the woman could be so placid； knowing…as indeed she did know…what was at stake tonight in the north。
It had e down to Blaise de Garsenc； as Beatritz had said it might almost a year ago when they'd first bee aware that the new coran in Baude Castle was rather more than he seemed。 Rather more。 A very great deal more； in fact。 The countess wished； again； that Beatritz was with her now； instead of on the island so far to the south in the sea。 Images of the past year had been with her all evening； dancing in the flicker of the fires。 It sometimes seemed to her that she spent half her life now walking with images of the past。 But she wasn't thinking of Guibor now。 She was remembering Bertran at the challenge ground as the northerner stood before the Portezzan pavilion offering a red rose：
We may have all found more than we bargained for in this man； Bertran had said。
Another image rose up then； a memory from within this castle； in autumn as well； when they had summoned all the merchants and corans of Gorhaut the morning after Aubry and told them they were confiscating their trade goods and sending them home from the fair。
Urté de Miraval had wanted to execute them all； and Signe； a hard rage running through her； had had to resist the same desire。 There were even precedents for such a thing。 Every citizen of a country was personally responsible for the truce…breaking of their lords。 It had been Blaise who had requested； insisted actually； that the merchants be let go； and had given cause why this should be so。
〃I have nothing at all to offer in Gorhaut just yet；〃 he'd said； speaking earnestly in this very room before they had all gone down to deal with those assembled。 〃They must go home knowing I've saved their lives…lives put in hazard by Ademar's truce…breaking。 They must go home and talk about that。 Will you give me that much？〃 He'd paused。 〃Or are we no better than what we are trying to fight？〃
She'd been genuinely angry with him then； a Gorhautian speaking so to her on the morning after so many of her people had been slain。 But she was a countess of a land in peril； and she had always been able to master her emotions when it was time to advise Guibor on his decisions； or to make them herself。 Blaise was speaking truth； she finally decided； and she gave him what he asked。
In the room below when she came before the merchants one of them had protested loudly at the announced seizure of their goods； astonishingly oblivious to how close all of them had been to being executed that same morning： no more innocent than the villagers and priestesses of Aubry。 The man plained furiously a second time； and then a third； speaking with choler and no respect； interjecting while she was still addressing them。 In an odd； unsettling way； she had actually been glad of it。 She had nodded at Urté； who had been looking at her expectantly； only waiting for a signal。 The duke of Miraval had calmly declared the merchant's life to be forfeit。 The man had begun shouting then； and the palace corans had moved in quickly to take him from the room。
Blaise had looked as if he wanted to object even to that； but had held himself in check as the struggling merchant was dragged away by the guards。 There was another message that had to be sent here； and Signe knew it； she had been governing a nation for some time； after all； with Guibor and now alone。 Images of power mattered： in Gorhaut they could not be allowed to think they were so weak and soft here in woman…ruled Arbonne。 They already had that impression； Signe knew。 They could not be allowed to indulge in it。 She had looked at Blaise； her expression forbidding； and had waited for him to nod his head。
〃I cannot save a fool；〃 he'd said to the merchants and corans of Gorhaut。 The right thing to say； it would be remembered by the others。 He was learning quickly。 Later that morning they executed the man； though cleanly； without branding or breaking him； he was a symbol； not a truce…breaker himself。 Here in Arbonne they were not the same as those they were now to fight。 She would defend that assertion to the last of her days。
That had all been back in the autumn； with the grape harvest in and the leaves turning。 Now； in the cold； clear glitter of a winter's night； she listened to the sirnal rattle the windows like a spirit of the dead and sipped at her mulled； spiced wine； holding the goblet in both hands； its warmth forting her as much as the scent and taste of the
