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ht；〃 she said with frigid clarity； 〃how like children the both of you are？〃 She drew a breath then； and Rosala winced in premonitory anticipation of what was ing。 Nor was she wrong。
〃My daughter Aelis；〃 said the countess of Arbonne deliberately； 〃was willful and proud and a child herself when she died。 It was twenty…three years ago； in the name of our most holy goddess！ Can neither of you realize that？〃 Rosala saw Urté flinch at the spoken name； Bertran turned his head away。 Signe ignored both reactions； went on； her voice blunt as a hammer。 〃She deceived Urté with Bertran。 We all know this。 She bore a son that was not her husband's and told him as much。 We know this too。 It was a desperately foolish thing to do。 The child died or did not die。 My daughter died。 It is an old story。 Do you hear me； both of you？ It is an old story！ Let it rest！ Let Aelis lie in her grave； with her child or without him。 I will not let Arbonne lie buried in that same grave； or be trapped in the maze you two have shaped for each other from that history。 It is over！ It must be over。 Make no mistake； I am naming as leader this morning the man who understands Gorhaut better than any other here and who has Blaise de Garsenc and Fulk de Savaric beside him。 This is my firm decision。 It is not subject to the tired； worn…out passions of ancient history； my lord de Miraval。〃
Silence then。 A stillness as after a storm has passed。 And into it； at length； came the quiet； careful voice of Bertran de Talair； unwontedly diffident。 〃Your grace； I am deeply mindful of the honour you offer me。 I will say that I have no difficulty at all in stepping aside for another if it will 。。。 ease matters among us。 I will be proud to serve under Duke Thierry for example； or your brother of Malmont if you would prefer。〃
〃I would not prefer。〃 Signe's voice was brittle。 〃Bertran； understand me； this is not a request； it is a mand。 If you refuse I will regard it as treason in wartime and act accordingly。〃
〃My lady！〃 began Ariane de Carenzu； her own colour high。 〃Countess； this is something that…〃 She stopped abruptly at a swift； imperious gesture from the countess。
Signe hadn't even bothered to look at her。 She was still gazing at Bertran de Talair； daring him to speak again。 〃You lead our armies； my lord；〃 she said flatly。 〃This is a mand。〃 And then； very clearly； with an emphasis on each word： 〃Fail me not。〃
Urté de Miraval rose slowly； heavily； to his feet。 Rosala； watching him； felt an oppressive burden settling upon her like a weight of stones。 It wasn't even her history； her country； but she thought she knew what was ing and what it would mean。 The whole room； all those gathered here in Barbentain； seemed somehow to be caught and suspended in a dark； entangling web spun long ago。
〃He leads those armies then without the men of Miraval；〃 Urté said with a grave； unnatural calm that was somehow a match for Signe's own manner。 〃And so on your shoulders； countess； must lie the burden of that。 You might perhaps have remembered； since you chose to speak so freely of the dead； that in this room I am the nearest thing to a son that you have。〃 And turning on his heel he strode to the door。
〃My lord； wait！〃 called Thierry de Carenzu。 Urté did not turn。 He opened the door and passed through and they heard it close with a reverberant finality behind him。
Echoes； Rosala thought； swallowing hard。 Echoes of a past that threatened to destroy the present。 She looked about the room； registering nuances of grave apprehension。 Only the countess seemed immune； only Signe showed no fear or doubt。
〃How many men does this mean？〃 It was Fulk； her brother's first words spoken and； characteristically； addressing the most prosaic aspect of all of this。
〃Fifteen hundred； somewhat more。 Almost all of them trained。〃 Thierry de Carenzu； who had been the only man to try to stay Urté's departure； gave the answer。 It was a very large number and Rosala had been in Arbonne long enough to know why： two decades of clashes between Talair and Miraval had led both dukes to gather around them substantial armies of fighting men。 And this morning those same bone…deep hostilities had just cost them half those men。
〃I see；〃 said Fulk quietly。 Her brother was not a man prone to elaboration of his thoughts。 They were not needed here； every man and woman in the room knew the implications of Urté's leaving them。 〃Are you going to have him arrested？〃 Fulk asked。
No one answered him。 Bertran was staring out the window； visibly shaken。 Rosala saw the chancellor； Roban。 leaning against the wall； as if for desperately needed support； he was white as a bone。 So were most of the others in the room； she saw。 Only the countess； small； rigidly erect； seemed to have retained her posure。
Rosala cleared her throat。 〃Will he really stay away？〃 she asked。 It seemed incredible to her； and yet somehow； in some terrifying way； predestined at the same time。 For some reason she found herself turning to Ariane de Carenzu as she spoke。
Ariane's face was also pale。 In a thin voice far removed from her customary crisp authority； she said； 〃I'm afraid he will。 If he doesn't do even more than that。〃
〃That is unfair！〃 her husband said quickly； gesturing sharply。 Thierry de Carenzu shook his head。 〃He is not a traitor。〃
〃No？〃 It was Blaise again。 Still with that slight unsettling new control in his tone。 〃What would you call a man who does what he just did； regardless of what course he takes afterwards？〃
It was a fair question； if a harsh one。 It was what Fulk had been asking。 The answer was easy enough： you called such a man a traitor。
Rosala looked at her brother and saw that he was gazing steadily back at her for the first time that morning。 In his eyes； identical to her own； she read the same answer。 Were this Gorhaut； she thought suddenly； Urté de Miraval would never have been allowed to leave this room alive。
There was something genuinely frightening about that thought。 She was beginning to glimpse a part of the price Arbonne paid for its freedoms and its subtle graces。
She wondered how much of that price was yet to be paid。
And it was at that precise moment； Rosala remembered afterwards； that the knocking came at the door and the guards opened it to admit two exhausted； travel…stained troubadours； one fair…haired； one dark； with a message from Rian's Island in the sea： a message that the High Priestess had had a vision from the goddess of a battle by Lake Dierne。
CHAPTER 17
The identical message by a different messenger came to the lake isle that same morning。 Lisseut； who； wisely or otherwise； had not gone home for the winter to her mother after all； heard the tidings when she came across the green towards the dining hall for breakfast。
It was not a great surprise。 They had known that the army of Gorhaut was likely to be ing to them。 This isle was the holiest sanctuary of Rian in the north of Arbonne and by now everyone knew that the warriors of Gorhaut were on a crusade in the name of the god。 It didn't matter that Corannos was worshipped here as well。 Had such things mattered； Lisseut thought bitterly； then priestesses and children and those who had tried to defend them would not now be lying charred and dead。
She moved a little distance away from the knot of anxiously talking priests and priestesses。 It was not easy to find privacy within the narrow confines of the isle and； perhaps surprisingly for someone who had e to adulthood within the intensely social world of the troubadours； she seemed to be drawn to solitude of late。 More precisely； since the night she'd sung Blaise de Garsenc to sleep with lullabies of childhood and then left his room to walk back with Alain to their inn。 There was no fierce turmoil in her any more； however； no sharp pain。 That seemed to be behind her now that winter had e。 A stone makes a splash when it strikes the water； Lisseut had thought； standing by this same shore on the day she'd arrived near the end of autumn； but no sound at all as it sinks down to the lake's deep bed。 That was how she felt； she had decided…or how she had been feeling； until war came with the harrowing repor