fs.thesecondbookofswords-第9节
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and something of the appearance of an itinerant peddler he'd fallen in with early in his journey。 The peddler； once convinced that Ben meant him no harm； had been glad to have the strong man as an escort； had cut a sturdy quarterstaff for him to carry； and had rewarded his panionship with food and clothing。
But their paths had diverged； many kilometers back。 Ben was alone when he arrived outside Purkinje's half…tumbled walls toward evening on a clear； late spring day。 Those walls were no longer a very impressive defense。 The city； though； was still flying its own flag of orange and green； evidently still managing to maintain a measure of independence from the brawling warlords whose armies endlessly came and went across the land。
The carnival still looked independent too； though in the past year it had grown even shabbier than Ben remembered it。 The tents and wagons that Ben could recognize had endured another year of wear and tear； and he found it difficult to discover among them any traces of repair； new paint； or fresh decoration。 And there were now a couple of wagons that he did not recognize。
The crude painting on the cloth side of one of these vehicles caught Ben's eye； and he paused to look at it。 Large； somewhat uneven lettering proclaimed Tanakir the Mighty。 Tanakir's painted portrait showed him expanding biceps and chest to break great iron chains that might have held a drawbridge。
Ben delayed only for a moment to look at this。 Then； with a strange feeling inside his own chest； he went on to Barbara's recognizable small tent。 As usual she had the tent set up beside her wagon。 If she was keeping a small caged dragon inside her conveyance as usual； it was hidden by cloth coverings； and made no sound at Ben's approach。
The flap of her tent was closed； but Ben could see that it was not tied shut。 Ben threw down the wooden staff that the peddler had given him。 Then； obeying the traditional rules of courtesy； he cleared his throat and scratched on the tent wall near the flap … there was of course no way to knock。 He waited a few decent seconds then； and when there was no response he lifted the fabric gently and stepped in。。。
At a small table near the center of the tent sat Barbara； wrapped in the shabby familiar robe that she often wore around camp。 Despite the poor light in the tent she was trying to do something to prettify her fingernails。 She looked up sharply at the intrusion； her small； spare body coiled like a spring。 Between the two black sheaves of her hair； her round； expressive face showed anger； even before she had time to recognize Ben and be surprised … she had been keeping her anger ready； he thought； for someone else。
〃You've got a look in your eye； Ben。〃 That was how she greeted him after a year's absence； uncoiling the spring of her body slightly。 Barbara was very nearly the same age as Ben； though not much more than a third his weight。 They had known each other for a number of years。 He saw now that her straight black hair had been allowed to grow a little longer since he'd left。 Otherwise she looked just about the same。 She went on： 〃Fuzz on your chin and a look in your eye。 What are you up to now？ I don't suppose you rode back here in a golden coach pulled by six white showbeasts？〃
〃Thinking；〃 he replied； choosing to answer the one halfway sensible question in her speech； letting the rest of it go by。 It was a way he had。 He thought it was one of the things that she did like about him。
〃Thinking about what？〃
〃About certain things that I've found out。〃 Ben slid off his peddler's pack； looked about for a place to put it； then dropped it on the floor and kicked it under the small table； conserving floor space。
〃It sounds like you've managed to addle your mind somehow； whatever else you've done。 I suppose you're hungry？〃 Barbara gave up the pretense of continuing to fuss with her nails。 She turned to give him her full attention and frank interest。
Ben crouched and reached under the table to get something from his pack。 His hand rejected a half…loaf of bread that was going stale； and pulled out some good sausage。 〃Not really。 I have this； if you'd like some。〃
〃Maybe later； thanks。 Did you go to the Blue Temple and enlist； as you were saying you'd do？〃
〃Didn't you get either of my letters？〃
〃No。〃
That was hardly surprising； Ben supposed。 〃Well； I wrote twice。 And I did enlist。〃 He took a bite off the end of the sausage himself； and offered it again。 〃Ever hear from Mark？〃
〃Not； since he left。〃 This time Barbara was not so reluctant。 Chewing； she regarded Ben for a little while in silence； while he stood there unable to keep himself from smiling at her。 He could； as always； see thoughts ing and going in her face； though he was hardly ever sure of what they were。 It sounded simple； but it was one of the things about her that gave Ben a sensation of enchantment。
At last Barbara said to him： 〃There's more on your mind than Mark； or bringing me sausage。 I suppose you've deserted。 Is that the big secret I can see in the back of your eyes？ A Blue Temple enlistment should run for four or five years； shouldn't it？〃
Ben's eye had caught sight of his old lute。 It was hanging in a prominent place； tied high up on the tent's central pole。 Seeing the instrument so honored gave him a good feeling； and seeing it also brought back memories。 Ben reached up and took it down。
〃I've kept it as a decoration； like。〃
He strummed the instrument； but only briefly and softly。 He could see at once that the strings were in bad shape。 It seemed too that his hands were well on the way to losing entirely whatever poor skill they'd once possessed。 For years； for most of his life； Ben had nursed deep； fervent dreams of being a musician。 His broad mouth twisted now； under his new beard； remembering that。
Now that he had some form of music in his hands； the tune that had been haunting him ever since that night of treasure and terror and flight came back irresistibly。 In his mind the music ran sweet and clear … all tunes ran that way for him； in his mind。 It was only when he tried to get them to e out properly through his fingers or his voice that his difficulties started。
He sang the old tune now； very softly and almost to himself； in a voice that sounded as inadequate as he had feared it would：
Benambra's gold Doth glitter coldly。。。
〃Gods and demons； what a noise！〃 judged the harsh bass voice of someone standing just outside the tent。 A moment later the entrance flap was whipped aside； this time by no gentle hand。 The man who had to bow his head to enter seemed to fill up what little space Ben's presence had left in the small interior。
The newer could be no one but Tanakir the Mighty； though perhaps he did not quite do justice to his portrait on the wagon's side。 Well； thought Ben； no human figure could do that。 Tanakir was almost a head taller than Ben； and his upper body proportionately broad。 His shirt； a garment undoubtedly once expensive though now badly faded； was worn halfway open to reveal the carven plates of muscle on his chest。 His biceps were more than simply large； and as he came into the tent his movements were ponderous； as if slowed down by equal weights of muscle and of vanity。 At second glance he was a considerably older man than Ben。 There were a few gray hairs showing in his long dark braids。
Once inside； Tanakir paused； fists on hips in a pose that might well be some part of his act。 He glared at the two other people in the tent as if he were demanding an explanation from them。
〃We have a strongman now；〃 said Barbara in conversational tones to Ben。 〃You never wanted that job while you were here。〃
Tanakir from his greater height glowered down at Ben； who stood with lute in hand； blinking back at him。 〃So； this is Ben；〃 the strongman rumbled。 〃He didn't want the job？ Him？ This chubby minstrel？〃
Ben turned a little away； to hang up the lute again carefully； high up on the central pole； out of head…knocking range。 It was one of the few times in his life that anyone had ever called him a minstrel； and he felt unreasonably pleased。
Tanakir told him： 〃You're leaving very soon。〃
Ben blinked at him again； then backed up carefully and sat down on a small chest； which creaked a little with the burden。 He sat in a position that left his hands and feet ready if they should be needed。 〃I haven't decided about that yet。〃
〃I'm deciding for you。〃
〃All right；〃 said Ben mildly。 He allowed the other just a beat in which to begin triumphant relaxation； before he added； 〃One of us leaves tonight； if you feel that way。 Well； maybe in the morning。 No one wants to start out on the road at night。〃
Ben paused briefly； then suggested： 〃Arm…wrestle for it？〃 It was impossible not to notice how the other's god…like arms had been circled with bands and bracelets to make them look still thicker； and what pains had been taken with short； tattered sleeves； that they might be best revealed。 Ben's own arms； if they had not been hidden in his long pilgrim's sleeves； would by parison have looked almost as chubby as they did s
