ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第37节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　She　went　stiff　with　shock；　as　if　slapped。　Her　body　arched　backwards　in　the　first　uncontrolled　movement　she　had　made　all　evening。　For　a　long　moment　she　remained　that　way；　rigid；　motionless；　and　then；　with　real　grief　and　a　simultaneous　relief；　Ammar　heard　her　make　one　harsh；　unnatural　sound　as　if　something　had　been　torn　in　her　throat；　or　in　her　heart。
　　He　drew　her　slowly　down　until　she　lay　along　the　length　of　him；　but　in　a　different　fashion　from　all　their　touchings　of　before。　And　in　the　dark　of　that　room；　notorious　for　the　woven　patterns　of　desire　it　had　seen；　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　held　the　woman　beloved　of　the　man　he'd　killed；　and　offered　what　small　fort　he　could。　He　granted　her　the　courtesy　and　space　of　his　silence；　as　she　finally　permitted　herself　to　weep；　mourning　the　depth　of　her　loss；　the　appalling　disappearance；　in　an　instant；　of　love　in　a　bitter　world。
　　A　bitter；　ironic　world；　he　thought；　still　struggling　upwards　as　through　those　scented；　enveloping　green　waters。　And　then；　as　if　he　had；　truly；　broken　through　to　some　surface　of　awareness；　ibn　Khairan　confronted　and　accepted　the　fact　that　she　had；　indeed；　been　right　in　what　she'd　said　on　the　terrace　as　the　sun　set。
　　He'd　killed　a　hard；　suspicious；　brilliant；　cruelly　ambitious　man　today。　And　one　whom　he　had　loved。
When　the　Lion　at　his　pleasure　es　
To　the　watering　place　to　drink；　ah　see！　
See　the　lesser　beasts　of　Al…Rassan　
Scatter　like　blown　leaves　in　autumn；　
Like　air…borne　seedlings　in　the　spring；　
Like　grey　clouds　that　part　to　let　the　first　star　
Of　the　god　shine　down　upon　the　earth。
　　Lions　died。　Lovers　died；　or　were　slain。　Men　and　women　moved　in　their　pride　and　folly　through　deeds　of　pity　and　atrocity　and　the　stars　of　Ashar　looked　down　and　did　or　did　not　care。
　　
　　The　two　of　them　never　left　his　room　that　night。　Ammar　had　trays　brought　again；　with　cold　meats　and　cheeses　and　figs　and　pomegranates　from　his　own　groves。　They　ate　by　candlelight；　cross…legged　upon　the　bed；　in　silence。　Then　they　removed　the　trays　and　blew　out　the　candles　and　lay　down　together　again；　though　not　in　the　movements　of　desire。
　　They　were　awake　before　dawn。　In　the　grey　half…light　that　slowly　suffused　the　room　she　told　him；　without　his　asking；　that　at　the　end　of　the　summer　her　two　sons　had　been　quietly　sent　for　fostering；　after　the　old　fashion；　to　King　Badir　of　Ragosa。
　　Ragosa。　She　had　made　that　decision　herself；　she　said　quietly；　immediately　after　ibn　Khairan's　poem　had　arrived　in　Cartada；　lampooning　and　excoriating　the　king。　She　had　always　tried　to　stay　ahead　of　events；　and　the　poem　had　offered　more　than　a　hint　of　change　to　e。
　　〃Where　will　you　go？〃　she　asked　him。　Morning　light　had　entered　the　chamber　by　then。　They　could　hear　birds　outside　and　from　within　the　house　the　footsteps　of　busy　servants。　She　was　sitting　up；　cross…legged　again；　wrapped　in　a　light　blanket　as　in　a　shepherd's　cloak；　her　face　paint　streaked　with　the　tracks　of　her　night　tears；　hair　tumbling　in　disarray。
　　〃I　haven't；　to　be　honest；　had　time　to　think　about　it。　I　was　only　ordered　into　exile　yesterday　morning；　remember？　And　then　I　had　a　somewhat　demanding　guest　awaiting　me　when　I　came　home。〃
　　She　smiled　wanly；　but　made　no　movement；　waiting；　her　dark　eyes；　red…rimmed；　fixed　on　his。
　　He　truly　had　not　thought　about　it。　He　had　expected　to　be　triumphantly　home　in　Cartada　as　of　yesterday　morning；　guiding　the　policies　and　first　steps　of　the　new　king　and　the　kingdom。　A　man　could　make　plans；　it　seemed；　but　he　could　not　plan　for　everything。　He　hadn't　even　allowed　himself；　through　the　course　of　the　night　just　past；　to　think　much　about　Almalik　ibn　Almalik；　the　prince…the　king；　now…who　had　so　decisively　turned　on　him。　There　would　be　time　for　that　later。　There　would　have　to　be。
　　In　the　meantime；　there　was　a　whole　peninsula　and　a　world　beyond　it　full　of　places　that　were　not　Cartada。　He　could　go　almost　anywhere；　do　so　many　different　things。　He　had　realized　that　much　yesterday；　riding　here。　He　was　a　poet；　a　soldier；　a　courtier；　a　diplomat。
　　He　looked　at　the　woman　on　his　bed；　and　read　the　question　she　was　trying　so　hard　not　to　ask。　At　length　he　smiled；　savoring　all　the　ironies　that　seemed　to　be　emerging　like　flower　petals　in　the　light；　and　he　accepted　the　burden　that　came　not　from　killing；　but　from　allowing　someone　to　take　fort　with　him　when　no　fort　had　been　expected　or　thought　to　be　allowed。　She　was　a　mother。　He　had　known　that；　of　course；　but　had　never　given　any　thought　to　what　it　might　mean　for　her。
　　〃Where　will　I　go？　Ragosa；　I　suppose；〃　he　said；　as　if　carelessly；　and　was　humbled　by　the　radiance　of　her　smile；　bright　as　the　morning　sunlight　in　the　room。
　　
Eight
　　Ivories　and　throngs　of　people；　these　were　the　predominant　images　Alvar　carried　after　three　months　in　Ragosa。
　　He　had　been　born　and　raised　on　a　farm　in　the　far　north。　For　him；　a　year　before；　Esteren　in　Valledo　had　been　fearfully　imposing。　Esteren；　he　now　understood；　was　a　village。　King　Badir's　Ragosa　was　one　of　the　great　cities　of　Al…Rassan。
　　He　had　never　been　in　a　place　where　so　many　people　lived　and　went　about　their　business；　and　yet；　amid　the　bustle　and　chaos；　the　swirling　movements；　the　layers　of　sound；　somehow　still　a　sense　of　grace　hovered…a　stringed　instrument　heard　in　an　archway；　a　splashing　fountain　half…glimpsed　beyond　the　flowers　of　screening　trees。　It　was　true；　what　he　had　been　told：　the　Star…born　of　Al…Rassan　inhabited　an　entirely　different　world　than　did　the　Horsemen　of　Jad。
　　Every　second　object　in　the　palace　or　the　gracious　homes　he　had　seen　seemed　to　be　made　of　carved　and　polished　ivory；　imported　by　ship　from　the　east。　Even　the　handles　of　the　knives　used　at　some　tables。　The　knobs　on　the　palace　doors。　Despite　the　slow　decline　of　Al…Rassan　since　the　fall　of　Silvenes；　Ragosa　was　a　conspicuously　wealthy　city。　In　some　ways　it　was　because　of　the　fall　of　the　khalifs；　actually。
　　Alvar　had　had　that　explained　to　him。　Besides　the　celebrated　workers　in　ivory　there　were　poets　and　singers　here；　leather　workers；　woodcarvers；　masons；　glassblowers；　stonecutters…masters　of　a　bewildering　variety　of　trades　who　would　never　have　ventured　east　across　the　Serrana　Range　in　the　days　when　Silvenes　was　the　center　of　the　western　world。　Now；　since　the　Khalifate's　thunderous　fall；　every　one　of　the　city…kings　had　his　share　of　craftsmen　and　artists　to　exalt　and　extol　his　virtues。　They　were　all　lions；　if　one　could　believe　the　honey…tongued　poets　of　Al…Rassan。
　　One　couldn't；　of　course。　Poets　were　poets；　and　had　a　living　to　earn。　Kings　were　kings；　and　there　were　a　score　of　them　now；　some　foundering　in　the　ruin　of　their　walls；　some　festering　in　fear　or　greed；　a　few…a　very　few…conceivably　heirs　to　what　Silvenes　had　been。　It　seemed　to　Alvar；　on　little　enough　experience；　that　King　Badir　in　Ragosa　had　to　be　numbered　among　those　in　the　last　group。
　　Amid　all　the　strangeness　surrounding　him…the　unknown；　intoxicating　smells　from　doorway　and　courtyard　and　food　stall；　the　bells　summoning　the　devout　to　prayer　at　measured　intervals　during　the　day　and　night；　the　riot　of　noise　and　color　in　the　marketplace；　Alvar　was　grateful　that　here　in　Al…Rassan　they　still　measured　the　round　of　the　year　by　the　white　moon's　cycling　from　full　to　full　as　they　did　back　home。　At　least　that　hadn't　changed。　He　could　say　exactly　how　long　he'd　been　here；　in　another　world。
　　On　the　other　hand；　it　felt　like　so　much　more　than　three　months；　when　he　paused　to　look　back。　His　year　in　Esteren　seemed　eerily　remote；　and　the　farm　almost　unimaginably　distant。　He　wondered　what　his　mother　would　say；　could　she　have　seen　him　in　his　loosely　belted；　flowing　Asharite　garb　during　the　summer　past。　Actually；　he　didn't　wonder：　he　was　fairly　certain　he　knew。　She'd　have　headed　straight　back　to　Vasca's　Isle；　on　her　knees；　in　penance　for　his　sins。
　　The　fact　was；　though；　summer　was　hot　here　in　the　south。　One　needed　a　headcovering　in　the　white　light　of　midday；　one　less　cumbersome　than　a　stiff　leather　hat；　and　the　light…colored　cotton　tunics　and　trousers　of　Al…Rassan　were　far　more　fortable　in　the　city　streets　than　what　he　had　been　wearing　when　they　arrived。　His　face　was　darkened　by　the　sun；　he　looked　half　Asharite　himself；　Alvar　knew。　It　was　an　odd　sensation；　gazing　in　a　glass　and　seeing　the　man　who　looked　back。　There　were　mirrors　everywhere；　too；　the　Ragosans　were　a　vain　people。
　　Autumn　had　e　in　the　meantime；　he　wore　a　light　brown　cloak　over　his　clothing　now。　Jehane　had　picked　it　out　for　him　when　the　weather　began　to　change。　Twisting　and　pushing…expertly　now…through　the　crowds　of　the　weekly　market；　Alvar　could　hardly　believe　how　little　time　had　really　passed　since　the　two　of　them　and　Velaz　had　e　through　the　mountain　pass　and　first　seen　the　blue　waters　of　the　lake　and　the　towers　of　Ragosa。
　　He　had　been　at　pains　to　conceal　his　awe　that　day；　though　looking　back　from　his　newly　sophisticated　vantage　point　he　suspected　that　his　two　panions　had　simply　been　generous　enough　to　pretend　not　to　notice。　Even　Fezana　had　intimidated　him　from　a　distance。　Ragosa　dwarfed　it。　Only　Cartada　itself　now…with　Silvenes　of　the　khalifs　looted　and　gutted　years　ago…was　a　more　formidable　city。　Next　to　this　high…walled；　many…towered　magnificence；　Esteren　was　as　the　hamlet　of　Orvilla；　where　Garcia　de　Rada　had　e　ra