ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第102部分

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　　She　nodded　her　head；　not　speaking。　She　didn't　trust　herself　to　speak。　She　leaned　across　and　kissed　him　on　the　lips。　Then　she　laid　her　head　down　on　his　chest；　listening　to　the　beating　of　his　heart。　When　they　spoke　afterwards；　outside；　it　was　about　inconsequential　things。　The　absurd　pretense　that　the　world　was　a　normal　place　that　day。
　　There　will　be　nowhere　else；　my　love。
　　Alternately　hot　and　cold　as　the　setting　sun　slipped　behind　and　then　out　from　the　swift　clouds　in　the　west；　Jehane　stood　on　a　windy　height　beside　Miranda　Belmonte　d'Alveda；　looking　down　on　a　plain　between　armies。
　　Alvar　de　Pellino；　a　herald　of　Valledo；　garbed　in　white　and　gold；　was　with　them　as　escort　to　Miranda。　So　was　Husari…granted　leave　by　King　Ramiro　to　acpany　his　herald。
　　Husari　was　the　governor　of　Fezana　now；　serving　Valledo。　Jehane　did　not　begrudge　him　that。　He　had　chosen　Ramiro　over　the　Muwardis；　making　his　choice　of　evils　in　a　time　that　forced　such　choices　upon　all　of　them。　Ziri　had　decided　otherwise；　it　seemed。　He　had　not　left　Ragosa　with　Rodrigo's　men。　Jehane　understood。　He　would　not　fight　under　the　banners　of　the　god　whose　followers　had　killed　his　parents。　She　had　no　idea　what　had　happened　to　him。　You　lost　people　in　war。
　　She　looked　down。　The　armies　below　were　roughly　balanced。　The　ground　was　even。　Neither　leader　would　have　been　here　with　his　forces　had　it　been　otherwise。
　　The　temporarily　united　Jaddite　troops　could　not　remain　in　the　field　another　winter；　and　the　tribesmen　had　no　disposition　for　a　war　of　siege　and　attrition　so　far　from　their　sands。　Tomorrow　would　see　a　battle　on　open　ground。　A　rare　thing。　There　might　even　be　a　decisive　result；　or　this　could　go　on　and　on。　Slow；　bitter　years　of　fire　and　sword；　disease　and　hunger　and　cold；　in　the　breaking　of　a　world。
　　But　before　tomorrow　could　e；　with　its　armies　in　that　plain　beneath　banners　of　blue…and…gold　or　silver…on…black；　there　had　first　to　be　this　evening's　sunset。　Jehane　reminded　herself　that　she　had　vowed　not　to　weep。
　　Ceremonial　battles　between　Ashar　and　Jad　took　place　at　dawn　or　at　day's　end；　in　the　balancing　moments　between　sun　and　stars。　There　was　one　moon　in　the　eastern　sky…the　white　one；　nearly　full。　It　was；　Jehane　thought　bitterly；　irrelevant　to　the　duality　so　harmoniously　shaped　and　decreed。
　　A　handful　of　soldiers　from　each　army　were　on　opposite　sides　of　the　slope　below　them。　She　knew　the　Jaddites。　Rodrigo's　men：　Lain；　Martin；　Ludus。　They　were　not　really　needed　as　guards；　for　Alvar　was　on　the　hill　and　the　traditions　of　heralds　were　being　honored　in　this　campaign。
　　Men　were　like　that；　Jehane　thought；　unable　to　check　the　bitterness　from　rising　again。　This　was　warfare　as　savage　as　could　be　imagined；　but　the　soldiers…even　the　Muwardis…would　defer　to　the　herald's　banner　and　staff。
　　And　they　would　watch　now　like　boys…enraptured；　overawed　by　the　ancient　symbolism…what　was　to　happen　on　the　plain　between　armies。　A　challenge　of　gods！　Each　faith　with　its　great　champion；　its　holy　lion　of　the　battlefield！　Poets　would　write　verses　and　songs；　chant　them　at　feasts　or　in　taverns　or　in　the　dark　under　desert　stars。
　　〃Will　there　ever　be　a　time　when　it　is　not　a　curse　to　be　born　a　woman？〃　Miranda　had　spoken　without　turning　her　head。　〃When　we　can　do　more；〃　she　added；　staring　down　at　the　plain；　〃than　stand　by　and　be　extremely　brave　and　watch　them　die？〃
　　Jehane　said　nothing。　She　could　think　of　no　answer　that　was　adequate。　She　would　not；　before　today；　have　called　her　own　womanhood　a　burden；　aware　that　she'd　been　luckier　than　most…in　her　family；　friends；　in　her　profession。　She　didn't　feel　very　fortunate　today。　Today　she　thought　she　could　agree　with　Miranda　Belmonte。　Standing　on　this　windy　height；　it　was　easy　to　agree。
　　There　came　a　new　sound　below　them。　Both　armies　reacting　to　something。　Loud　cries；　a　banging　of　swords　on　shields。
　　From　opposite　directions；　north　and　south；　two　men　were　riding　towards　each　other　across　the　ground　west　of　Silvenes。
　　No　one　escorted　either　man；　so　no　one　knew　what　it　was　that　Rodrigo　Belmonte　and　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　said　to　each　other　when　they　stopped　their　horses　a　little　distance　apart；　alone　in　the　world。
　　Each　man　dismounted；　however；　after　a　moment；　and　each　turned　his　horse　and　sent　it　cantering　back　the　way　he　had　e　across　the　grass。　Then　they　faced　each　other　again　and　Jehane　could　see　Ammar　say　one　last　thing；　and　Rodrigo　reply。　Then　they　lowered　their　helms。
　　On　that　watching　height　at　day's　windy　end；　she　saw　each　of　them　take　a　round　shield　from　where　it　hung　upon　his　back　and　then　each　of　them　drew　his　sword。
　　There　would　be　an　eagle　on　Rodrigo's　helm；　Ammar's　had　a　pattern　of　vine　leaves。　These　were　things　she　knew　but　could　not　see：　she　was　too　far　away　on　this　hill　and　the　sun　was　wrong；　behind　the　two　men；　and　low。　They　were　almost　silhouettes　against　the　light；　standing　alone。　Even　the　horses　had　finished　running　away　from　them。
　　Is　it　wrong　to　love　two　men；　she　had　asked　the　summer　before；　in　darkness　by　the　river。
　　Without　taking　her　eyes　from　the　plain　below；　Miranda　crossed　her　arms　over　her　breast　as　if　holding　tightly　to　something　there。　Jehane　had　seen　Rodrigo　use　that　same　gesture；　exactly；　in　the　moonlight　of　Orvilla　a　year　ago。　She　wondered；　if　she　and　Ammar　were　granted　enough　time；　would　they；　too；　e　to　share　gestures　like　that？　And　would　they　ever　make　a　child　to　be　loved　as　much　as　the　woman　beside　her　and　the　man　below　loved　their　sons？
　　There　will　never　be　enough　time；　she　had　said　to　Ammar。
　　Looking　towards　the　sun；　she　saw　Rodrigo　feint　and　then　swing　his　blade；　hard；　back　the　other　way　and　she　watched　Ammar　parry　that　blow　with　a　movement　of　his　own　sword；　smooth　as　Husari's　silk；　as　a　line　of　verse；　as　a　good　wine　tasted　at　the　end　of　day。　He　turned　the　parry；　seamlessly；　into　a　driving　thrust；　low；　and　Rodrigo…fast　as　a　dream　of　a　hunting　cat…pushed　down　his　shield　and　blocked　it。
　　The　two　men　stepped　back。　They　stood　looking　at　each　other　from　beneath　their　helms；　motionless。　It　had　begun。　Jehane　closed　her　eyes。
　　A　heavy　sound　arose　from　the　armies：　hungry；　needing；　enthralled。
　　Opening　her　eyes　again；　Jehane　saw　that　Husari　had　e　to　stand　beside　her。　He　was　crying；　without　concealment　or　pretense。
　　She　looked　at　him；　and　then　away；　without　speaking。　She　was　afraid　to　attempt　to　say　anything。　She　had　made　a　promise　to　herself。　Had　sworn　she　would　not　weep。　Until　it　was　over。　Until　time　had　run　away　from　them　like　those　horses　on　the　plain。
　　
　　They　were　a　match。　Both　of　them　had　always　known　it。　In　a　way；　the　desperate　exigencies　required　to　stay　alive　now　were　a　good　thing：　they　made　it　harder　for　the　heart　to　intervene　and　cripple　with　its　sorrow。
　　There　were　reasons　for　staying　alive。　There　was　a　woman　on　a　hilltop　east　of　them。　There　was　love。　He　blocked　a　low　thrust；　barely；　cut　forward　with　the　motion…a　difficult　thing…and　was　parried；　elegantly。　Never　a　swordsman　like　this　before。　Never　a　match。　Could　it　be　called　a　dance？　Should　they　embrace？　Were　they　not？
　　One　let　the　body　rule　here；　faster　than　thought；　movements　not　even　imagined；　a　blurring　engaged　by　the　same　when　blades　met。　The　mind　floating　just　above；　out　of　the　way　except　when　it　noticed　something。　A　weakness；　a　faltering。
　　No　faltering　here　at　red　sunset。　He　hadn't　thought　there　would　be。
　　On　that　hilltop　to　the　east　there　was　love。
　　Once；　during　their　campaign　for　Ragosa；　when　they'd　lured　the　old　bandit　ibn　Hassan　into　ambushing　the　parias　party　for　them；　Jehane　had　joined　the　pany　by　the　fire　one　night；　and　had　offered　a　Kindath　song。
Who　knows　love？
Who　says　he　knows　love？
What　is　love；　tell　me。
〃I　know　love；〃
Says　the　littlest　one。
〃Love　is　like　a　tall　oak　tree。〃
〃Why　is　love　a　tall　oak　tree？　Little　one　tell　me。〃
〃Love　is　a　tree
For　the　shelter　it　gives
In　sunshine　or　in　storm。〃
　　He　stumbled　unexpectedly　as　an　attack　pushed　him　back；　swore　as　he　felt　himself　falling。　Too　careless；　distracted。　He　had　seen　that　rock；　had　thought　of　using　it。
　　Twisting　desperately；　he　released　his　shield…behind　him；　the　grip　upwards…and　blocked　his　fall　with　his　freed　left　arm；　palm　braced　hard　on　the　grass；　sword　sweeping　into　position　to　take　the　other　man's　descending　blade　and　turn　it　away。
　　He　let　himself　roll　with　the　weight　of　that　blow　to　the　necessary　place；　reclaimed　the　shield　and　was　up　again…all　in　the　same　smooth　motion。　In　time　to　blunt　the　swift　second　stroke。　Dropped　to　a　knee　then　and　slashed　across；　faster　than　he　should　have　been　able　to。　Almost　got　through　with　that　one；　almost　buried　his　sword。　Didn't。　They　were　a　match。　Both　of　them　had　known。　From　first　meeting　in　Ragosa。　That　garden　with　the　tame　stream。
Who　knows　love？
Who　says　he　knows　love？
What　is　love；　tell　me。
〃I　know　love；〃　Says　the　littlest　one。　〃Love　is　like　a　flower。〃
〃Why　is　love　a　flower？　Little　one　tell　me。〃
〃Love　is　a　flower
For　the　sweetness　it　gives
Before　it　dies　away。〃
　　It　would　have　been　pleasant；　the　thought　came　to　him；　to　be　able　to　lay　down　their　weapons　on　the　darkening　grass。　To　walk　away　from　this　place；　from　what　they　were　being　made　to　do；　past　the　ruins；　along　the　river　and　into　the　woods　beyond。　To　find　a　forest　pool；　wash　their　wounds　and　drink　from　the　cool　water　and　then　sit　beneath　the　trees；　out　of　the　wind；　silent　as　the　summer　night　came　down。
　　Not　in　this　life。
　　He　thought；　then；　of　something　he　could　do　with　his　shield。
　　
　　It　would　have　been　so　much　better　had　she　been　able　to　hate　the　man　trying　to　kill　Rodrigo。　It　was　this　man；　though；　who　had　given　the　warning　that　saved　Diego's　life。　He　hadn't　had　to　do　that。　He　was　Asharite。　He　was　now　the　mander　of　their　army；　the　ka'id。
　　But　she　had　never；　ever　heard　Rodrigo　speak　of　another　man…not　even　Raimundo；　who　had　died　so　long　ago…the　way　he'd　talked　about　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　during　the　long；　waiting　winter　just　past。　The　way　the　man　sat　a　horse；　handled　a　blade；　a　bow；　devised　strategies；　jested；　spoke　of　history；　geography；　the　properties　of　good　wine。　Even　the　way　he　wrote　poetry。
　　〃Poetry？〃　Miranda　could　remember　saying　to　this　last；　in　the　voice　she　reserved　for　her　most　withering　sarcasm。
　　Rodrigo　had　a　liking　for　verse；　an　ear　for　what　he