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〃Overreach？〃 she said now； very quietly。 〃I don't think I allow language like that even from a friend； Bertran。 I wasn't aware that I needed permission from you to visit The Liensenne。 〃
〃You need no such thing。 But you also know that…〃
〃I know only that the duke of Miraval was kind enough to invite me to join his pany this evening to observe the delights of Carnival； and I was happy to accept。 I would also have thought； evidently wrongly； that two high lords of Arbonne might； for tonight at least； lay down a petty feud they carry； at least enough to be civil in the pany of women and on the night dedicated to the goddess。〃
〃A petty feud？〃 Bertran echoed； incredulity in his voice。
Urté de Miraval laughed。 〃This is being tedious in the extreme；〃 he said。 〃I came to hear what passes for music this season in Tavernel； not to bandy words in a doorway with a choleric degenerate。 Whose songs are we hearing tonight？〃
There was a stiff； short silence； then：
〃Mine；〃 said Alain of Rousset clearly。 〃We will hear my songs； if you like。 Lisseut； will you be good enough to sing for us？〃
It was； she thought much later； when she had space for calmer reflection on the turbulent events of that night； not so greatly surprising when looked at in a certain light。 Remy and Aurelian were both out of the room； and Bertran was certainly not going to have his own verses sung at Urté de Miraval's request； of the troubadours who remained； Alain had more ambition than most and as much right to step forward as any； and since she'd just finished a season of touring with him it was perfectly logical that he ask her to perform。
All such clear thinking came afterwards； though。 At the moment； Lisseut was aware only that she had just been humiliatingly inverted in a tub of Cauvas gold wine； that there was a spreading puddle beneath her feet； that her clothing was ruined； her hair soaked； and in such a resplendent condition she was now being asked to sing…for the first time … in the presence of three of the most powerful personages in Arbonne； one of whom also happened to be the most celebrated troubadour of their day。
She made a small； gulping sound in her throat； hoping immediately after that no one had heard。 The big coran from Gorhaut turned； though； and favoured her with an ironic scrutiny from behind his thick； reddish beard。 She glared fiercely up at him； and that brief surge of anger； as much as anything else； calmed her momentary attack of fright。 With what she hoped was a casual gesture she tossed the towel she was still holding to the bearded man and turned to Alain。
〃I would be honoured；〃 she said； as calmly as she could。
Alain's face； visibly contending with anxieties of his own； didn't much help her to relax。 She understood； of course： the troubadour was boldly seizing an unexpected chance to make a bid for wider renown…and was handing her the opportunity to do the same。 A moment such as this； singing in The Liensenne at Midsummer Carnival before the dukes of Talair and Miraval and the reigning queen of the Court of Love 。。。 Lisseut blinked and swallowed。 If she thought too much about the potential implications of what seemed about to happen she would probably make herself sick。
Fortunately； the next face she focused on was Marotte's； and the delighted encouragement she read in the innkeeper's visage was exactly what she needed。 Someone brought her a harp； someone else placed a low stool and a floor cushion in the usual place near the booths on the left…hand wall； and somehow Lisseut found herself sitting there； holding and tuning the harp； even as she adjusted the cushion for fort。
She was still wet； if not actually dripping any more； and she'd had no time at all to prepare。 Glancing up； she saw Duke Bertran walking over； a thin smile playing about his lips。 It didn't reach his eyes； though。 With Urté de Miraval in the room； Lisseut doubted if En Bertran could actually be amused by anything。 The duke removed his lightweight summer cloak and draped it loosely over her shoulders。
〃You'll catch a chill otherwise；〃 he said mildly。 〃If you leave it draped so； it won't get in the way of your hands。〃 The first words he'd ever spoken to her。 He turned and walked away； to sink gracefully into one of the three cushioned chairs Marotte had hastily provided near the performing area。 Lisseut had a moment to absorb the fact that she was now wearing the midnight…blue cloak of the duke of Talair before Alain of Rousset； two spots of excitement showing on his cheeks； came over and said； softly； for her ears alone； 〃The 'Garden Song；' I think。 Sing it； don't shout it； Lisseut。〃
The troubadours' ancient； standard injunction to their joglars rang almost unheard in Lisseut's ears。 What registered was that in his choice of song Alain was offering her another gift。 She smiled up at him； confidently she hoped。 He hesitated a moment； as if about to say more； but then he too withdrew； leaving her alone in the space where music was made。
Lisseut thought of her father； as she always did when she needed to find serenity and sureness； then she looked out over the slowly quieting crowd and said； pitching her voice carefully； 〃Here is a liensenne of the troubadour Alain of Rousset。 I sing it tonight in honour of the goddess and of the Lady Ariane de Carenzu； who has graced us with her presence here。〃 Better that； she thought； than trying to sort out some kind of precedence。 She was conscious though； very conscious； that she was wearing En Bertran's cloak。 It was scented with an elusive fragrance。 She didn't have time to decipher what it was。 What she did realize； as she always did before she sang…a fleeting awareness but real as the stones of a wall…was that moments like this； with music about to follow； were why she lived； what made her feel most truly alive。
She began with the harp alone； as Gaetan； her father's brother； had taught her years ago； letting the audience settle； and then； when the stillness was deep enough； she sang。
When you came into my garden；
When you came to tell me of your love；
The one moon in the sky
Seemed brighter than the sun
And a white light was shining in my heart。
When you took me in your arms；
To whisper words of a long desire；
The scents of the garden
Were my garments in the dark
And day a distant rumour of despair
It was a well…made song； if not a brilliant one。 Alain knew his craft and he was young enough to be maturing still。 The special thing though…the gift this song offered Lisseut…was that it was written for a woman's voice。 There weren't many； which was why the female joglars of Arbonne spent much of their time transposing tunes written for male voices and ignoring as best they could the obvious inappropriateness of most of the themes。
In this piece Alain had changed a great many elements of the traditional liensenne； shifting the narrative to the woman's point of view； while keeping enough of the familiar motifs to leave the audience in no doubt as to what they were hearing and appraising。 Lisseut； keeping her instrumental ornamentation to a minimum； took them through it； serving the song as best she could； in simplicity。 It was a long tune…most of the formal liensennes were； for audiences would balk and plain at the absence of elements they were expecting。 The troubadour's challenge in this kind of song lay in using all of the familiar motifs while making them vivid and new； in whatever ways his art allowed。 Lisseut sang the rising of the second moon； the customary menace of jealous； prying eyes； a formulaic； if rather clever stanza on the three flowers that traditionally sheltered lovers； another on the trusted friend watching out from beyond the wall with his mood…shattering warning of sunrise； and the lovers' parting words。
It was honest； professional work； and she knew she had the listeners with her。 Even here； with an audience as profoundly versed as this one was； Lisseut knew； the way she sometimes did in the midst of performing； that she was doing justice to Alain's words and music。 She was holding something in reserve； though； for the ending； for the place where Alain of Rousset ha