Said Rodvard; “We are likely to be broke ourselves. Mme. Kaja’s a traitor6.”
Pestle stopped in mortar; the doctor’s face seemed to narrow over the midnight thicket7 of his beard and a soft pink tongue came out to run a circlet round his lips. “I’ll mix that bitch a draft will burn her guts8 out. Give me the tale.”
Rodvard told it all plainly, with the hiding on the rooftop and the household of the Amorosian woman, over which last Remigorius’ eye held some anxiety. “The one who came here? You did not tell her of our fellowship? These people of the Prophet’s rule lie as close together as so many snowflakes, and though they’re as deep against the court as we, I would not trust them. But touching9 your affair of the old singer—” he placed one finger to his cheek and held his eyes averted10, so that Rodvard could not see where his true thought lay “—you’re too censorious. I see no real treason there; she’s deep in double intrigues11 and must keep up an appearance, beside which, no doubt, there is something of an old woman’s green-sickness for a younger man. It may all have been by order of the High Center, indeed; you’d certainly have been saved yourself by some tale, for you are now too valuable. Now for our affair; you are to take the stage at dawning for Sedad Vix, where you are to be writer for Count Cleudi at the conference of court.”
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Rodvard’s eyes sprang open wide. “The court? Will I not be known?”
“Ah, nya, you’re not involved now in this pursuit of the provosts. The only one that could establish your communion with the witch is cared for.”
“What—who would that be?”
“Your pensionnario doorman. An accident happened to him last night but one; was found in the river this morning, thoroughly12 dead and green as a smelt13.” Remigorius waved a hand goodbye to Udo the Crab14 and whipped to his main theme, the conference of court. Florestan the Chancellor15, the army restive16 for want of pay, the revenues hypothecated, the question of a great assembly, Cleudi intriguing17, the time come for all terrible measures.
“But Mathurin can discover all this as clearly as I,” said Rodvard (a little quickfire of suspicion running through him).
“Better in the open, but we’d know the secret purposes, and whom to trust. Mathurin takes Cleudi to be a spy for the regent of Tritulacca, despite his ejection from the councils there. Is it true? You’ll find the hiding place of his mind. Then there’s Baron18 Brunivar, the peoples’ friend, as they call him. A reputation too exalted19 for credit. He’s from the West—is he not by chance in Prince Pavinius’ service, seeking to place that worm-bitten saint on the throne, as prince and Prophet, both together? A thousand such questions; you’ll play in high politics, young man, and earn yourself a name.”
Rodvard (heart beating) said; “Well—”
“Well, what do you ask more?”
(His mind made up with a snap, and as though the words came from someone else;) “Two things. To write a letter to Demoiselle Asterhax, who will be expecting my return, and to know how I am to reach Sedad Vix without a spada.”
Remigorius shot him a glance, hit and past (in which there was annoyance20 and something like a drop of ink about Lalette). “What, you grasshopper21? Always without money. To Sedad Vix is a spada and two coppers22.” He drew from his pouch23 this exact amount. “As for the letter, write. Here’s paper, I’ll charge myself with the delivery.”
Rodvard wrote his letter; discussed through a falling light what persons might be watched at the villa24 by the sea, and how to give the news to Mathurin; dined miserably25 with the doctor on a stew26 that had the sharp taste of meat kept beyond its time, and lay down exhausted27 on the floor, with a couple of cushions and his cloak.
273
Sleep withheld28 its hand; his mind kept running in a circle round the thought of being a controller of destinies, until he made up a land of play-show in his head, of being accuser before a court of the people, with some man who bore a great name as the accused, and himself making a speech—“But you, your lordship, are a liar29 and a traitor. What of your secret adhesion to the Prophet? . . .” The scene he could fix clearly, with the accused’s face, and the members of the court looking grim as the accusation30 was driven home, but somehow the people of his drama would not move around or change expression beyond this one point, and each time he reached it, the whole thing ended in a white flash, and he drifted for a while between sleeping and waking, wondering whether his Blue Star might not be driving him foolish, until the imagined play began again, without any will of his own. Toward day, he must have slept a little, for Remigorius was laying a cold hand on his face, and it was time to look toward the new day and new life.
II
From the city to Sedad Vix by the shore is a fair twelve leagues, through the most fertile fields in all Dossola, now jumping with new green, orchards31 blooming in a row and pale yellow jonquils. Another time Rodvard had found the trip after they crossed the high bridge pure pleasure; but now he felt having missed his sleep, and the travel-mate in the opposite seat was a good-looking pregnant woman, who said she was going to join her husband, and babbled32 on about his position in the royal orchestra till one could not even doze33. The Blue Star said coldly that she was a liar and talking to hide the true fact, namely that she hated her husband and pregnancy34 and the love of any man, and as soon as she was free of her condition, hoped to catch the eye of some wealthy lady and to be maintained for pleasures impermissible—so vile35 a thought that Rodvard closed his eyes. The man next to him was a merchant of some kind by the badge in his cap; he kept addressing heavy-handed compliments to the dame36, saying that he would dance with her at the spring festival and the like. Rodvard, turning, could see he thought her licentious37, and was determined38 to profit by it at some future time. At Masjon, where they stopped for lunch, the merchant-man bought a whole roasted chicken and a bottle of that fine white Tritulaccan wine which is called The Honey of the Hills.
274
Rodvard himself was a little faint from lack of food when he reached the royal villa after a solid half-league of trudging39 beyond the stage-post, nor did the under-butler who received him offer food, but took him at once to a cabinet looking out over a terraced flower-garden, at the back of the rambling40 building. This guide said to wait for the arrival of Ser Tuolén, the butler-in-chief. The name had a Kjermanash sound; and sure enough, the tall man who came after perhaps half an hour’s retard41, had the high-bridged nose and curling hair of that northern land. Rodvard stood to greet him with extended hand, and as he looked into the eyes, received a shock that ran through him like poison-fire, with its indubitable message that he was facing another wearer of the Blue Star.
“You are Ser Bergelin?” The eyes looked at him fixedly42 though the lips did not cease smiling. “What is your function to be?”
“Writer to the Count Cleudi for the conference,” Rodvard managed to say. (One almost seemed to drown in those eyes, liquid and northern blue, but he could not read a single thought behind them.)
The smile expanded. “You will find it easier to meet others who know when you have borne that stone for a time. I perceive it is a novelty to you. There are not many of us. Hmmm—I suppose it is little use asking you why Count Cleudi wishes a Blue Star with him. No matter; I have watched him before, and it is no secret that he wishes to be Chancellor; even Lord Florestan knows that. I trust you are not an Amorosian or one of that band of assassins who call themselves Sons of the New Day?”
“No,” said Rodvard (and thought with the back of his mind that this was why all plans to deal directly with the court had broken, and others of the brotherhood43 been laid in the toils44 of the provosts, this Star-bearer here.) With the front of his thought he concentrated on looking at the detail in the painting of a milkmaid just beyond Tuolén’s ear.
The butler-in-chief turned. “It is by Raubasco. He was not satisfied with the highlights in the middle distance, as I discovered by a means you will understand, so it was easy to persuade the painting away from him. Do you intend to bring your wife?”
“No,” said Rodvard, (thinking quickly on Lalette and as quickly away).
“Oh, there is something wrong with the personal relation. Perhaps it is just as well if you do not; Her Majesty45 is not prudish46, but she does not approve of witches at the court. Your room will be at the depth of the west wing, beyond the hall of conference. I will have one of the under-butlers show you.” He stood up, then paused with one hand holding the bell-rope.
275
“One last word. A Bearer finds himself in a strange position here without his witch. I suppose your wife has given you the usual warning about infidelity, but you are clearly new to the jewel and young, and there are not a few ladies who might make the loss seem worth the gain—since you can read their desires. In particular I warn you to stand clear of the Countess Aiella of Arjen, in whom I have noted47 something of the kind. She is involved with the Duke of Aggermans, a man who’ll protect his own dangerously. . . . drop in tomorrow night after Cleudi releases you; it will be a pleasure to compare things seen with another Bearer. I have not met one for long.”
In the room was a tray of food on the table, ample and well selected, with a bottle of wine; three or four books also, but they were all gesling-romances, and of a kind Rodvard found it difficult to bear even when well written, as these hardly were. He glanced at each in turn, then tossed them aside, and was only rescued from boredom48 by Mathurin’s coming, who pressed his hands, and said he would come the next evening again, but for the now, he must hurry.
Rodvard replied that the high butler Tuolén was the bearer of a Star, and Mathurin must either avoid his eye or keep his own thought on innocuous subjects.
“And his witch? Wait, no, that explains much.”
“I do not see,” said Rodvard.
“Why, fool, the hold the court party has. No sooner a man turns up that’s in opposition49 than your Tuolén knows his most secret purpose, and I do not doubt that his wife witches the man. This is something for the High Center of the New Day.”
III
A pretty maid brought him breakfast in bed. She gave him a cheerful morning greeting but embarrassed him by hoping in her thought that he would not make love to her. Her mind held some memory of how the last man in this room had done so, but she shied from the thought of the outcome so much that instead of decently avoiding her look Rodvard was tempted50 to pry51 deeper, but there was hardly time.
276
She said it would be near to noon when Count Cleudi rose and that his apartment was in one of the pavilions set among tree and shrub52 and garden, west from the main villa. Rodvard dressed and went to stroll in that direction through curved avenues among intricate beds of spring flowers—tulip and narcissus, with pink azaleas just in the bud beside them and magnolia showing its heavy white wax. The pathways had been laid out so that each sweep brought somewhere into view through trees the pale blue bay, with the white houses of Sedad Vix climbing the slope beyond, their walls touched to gold by genial53 sunshine; bright yellow birds were singing overhead, or busily gathering54 morsels55 for their nests. Rodvard felt his heart expanding with a joyous56 certainty that all would yet be well, though in the same tick demanding of himself how men who dwelt in such surroundings could be given to evil and oppression. Ah, if all people could only walk in gardens daily! A question in philosophy to put to the doctor—but before he could frame it into words, a turn of the path brought him past a tall clump57 of rhododendrons to the front of a red-doored pavilion, where a gardener was letting into the ground plants of blooming hyacinth.
The air was rich with their fragrance58. “Good morning to you,” said Rodvard cheerfully, for joy of the world.
The man looked up with lips that turned down at the corners. “If you say it is a good morning, I suppose it must be one for you,” he said, and turned back to his trowel.
“Why, I would call it the best of mornings. Does not the fine air of it please you?”
“Enough.”
“Then what’s amiss? Have you troubles?”
“Who has not?” The gardener slapped his trowel against the ground beside his latest plant. “Look at these flowers, now. Just smell that white one there, it’s more fragrant59 than the blue. Aren’t they beautiful things? Brought here at expense, and in this soil, see how black it is, they would grow more perfect than ever, year by year. But here’s the end of them; as soon as the blossoms fade ever so little, poor things, they must be dug up and thrown away, because she—” he swung his head and rolled an eye in the direction of the red-doored pavilion “—can’t bear to have any but blooming flowers at her door and will want new lilies.”
“Who is she?” asked Rodvard, lowering his tone for fear that voices will sometimes carry through wood.
“The Countess Aiella. Her affair, you will be saying, whether flowers die or live; she has all that income from the Arjen estates, and doesn’t have to provide for her brothers, who married those two heiresses up in Bregatz, but a man could still weep for the waste of the flowers. Ser, give a thought to it, how in the world we never have enough of beauty and those who destroy any part of it take something from all other people. Is it not true, now?”
He paused on his knees and looked up at Rodvard (who was growing interested indeed, but now felt the coldness of the Blue Star telling him that this earthy philosopher was not thinking of beauty at all, but only reciting a lesson and wondering whether his pretty speech might not draw him a gift from this poetical-looking young man.)
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“I do not doubt it,” he said, “but I have no money to give away,” and turned to go, but he had not travelled a dozen paces when he met one who must be the Countess Aiella herself by the little double coronet in her drag-edge hat. Rodvard doffed60 to the coronet, noting in the fleeting61 second of his bow the passionate62, bewildering beauty of the face surrounded by curves of light-brown hair.
She stopped. “Put it on,” she said, and he looked up at her. The cloak did not conceal63 the fact that she was still dressed for evening; a leg showed through the slit64 in her dress. “I have not seen you before.”
“No, your grace. I only arrived last night.”
“Your badge says you are a clerk.”
“I am a writer to the Count Cleudi for this conference.” (He dared to look into the eyes a finger-joint length below his own; behind them there was boredom with a faint flicker65 of interest in himself and the thought of having spent a bad night; a weary thought.)
“Count Cleudi, oh. You might be him in disguise.” She laughed a laugh that trilled up the scale, slipped past him with a motion as lithe66 as a gazelle’s and up the path into the red-doored pavilion. Rodvard looked after her until he heard the gardener cackle, then, a little angry with himself, stamped on round the turn of the path, trying to recover the glory of the morning. Some of it came back, but not enough to prevent him thinking more on the comparison between this countess and Lalette than the difference between this day and any other day; and so he reached Cleudi’s door, with its device of a fishing bird carved into the wood.
Mathurin greeted him properly in words to show he and Rodvard barely had met each other. The pavilion was all on one floor, the Count in a room at the side, with a man doing his hair while he sipped67 hot spiced wine, from which a delicious odor floated. Rodvard had heard of, but never seen this famous exile and intriguer68; he looked into a narrow face with a broad brow above a sharp nose and lips that spoke69 of self-indulgence. Mathurin pronounced the name of the new writer; a pair of dark eyes looked at Rodvard broodingly (the thought behind them wondering what his weakness was and how he would cheat). Said Cleudi:
“I do not ask your earlier employment, since it is of no moment if you are faithful and intelligent. I cannot bear stupidity. Can you read Tritulaccan?”
“Yes, your Grace.”
278
“You will gain nothing by attempting to flatter me with the form of address. On the side table are pens and papers, also a horoscope which has been cast in Tritulaccan and a poem in your own musical language. Make fair copies of both in Dossolan. Have you breakfasted?” (His accent had the slight overemphasis on S which no Tritulaccan ever loses.)
“Yes, thank you.”
The symbols on the astrological chart were new to Rodvard; he had to copy each by sheer drawing and then translate the terms as best he might. The poem was a sonnet70 in praise of a brown-haired lady; its meter limped at two points. Rodvard managed to correct one of them by a transposition of words and presently laid both papers before Cleudi, who knit his brows over them for a moment and smiled:
“You are a very daring writer to improve on what I have set down, but it is well done. Mathurin, give him a scuderius. Well then, you are to wait on me in the conference at nine glasses of the afternoon. Everything I say is to be set down, and also the remarks of the Chancellor Florestan, but most especially those of the Baron Brunivar, for these may be of future use. Of the others, whatever you yourself, consider worth while. You are dismissed.”
Mathurin saw him to the door. “The scuderius?” asked Rodvard.
“Goes into the treasury71 of our Center,” said the servitor.
“But I have no money, no money at all,” protested Rodvard.
“Pish, you do not need it here. Would you starve our high purpose to feed your personal pleasure in little things? I will come to your room tonight.”
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1
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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pestle
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| n.杵 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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10
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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14
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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15
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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44
toils
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| 网 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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46
prudish
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| adj.装淑女样子的，装规矩的，过分规矩的；adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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47
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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48
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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50
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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51
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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52
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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53
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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54
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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55
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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56
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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57
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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58
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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63
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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64
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
intriguer
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| 密谋者 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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