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It would not do； he had said to the other two corans at the city gates； to have Ranald de Garsenc； or worse； the High Elder himself； asking why the loose…tongued old man had been permitted to continue prattling idly； spreading a vicious story that could only do harm to the family the three corans had sworn oaths to serve。
A crowded table had heard Othon tell his story； though； and rumour and gossip were the most vigorously traded items of any fair。 It was all over Lussan by the end of the next day that a noblewoman from Gorhaut had e south to bear a child。 A few people had even heard a second tale； that the countess herself； and the duke of Talair； had been seen together； first in Rian's temple and then the god's stone chapel in Barbentain just after dawn that morning。 Some clever person mentioned the birth rites of Guardianship to someone else。 That； too； was all over the fair by nightfall。
Othon's death passed virtually without ment。 Knifings after dark among the travelling folk were too ordinary to be worth much discussion。 The animals were sold to another trainer before the fair was over。 One of the monkeys； surprisingly； refused to eat； and died。
CHAPTER 11
〃A challenge！〃 shouted the trovaritz from Aulensburg。 The tavern was thronged； he wasn't loud enough； only those near him heard； and most of them laughed。 The man； Lisseut saw from the next table over； was going to be persistent though。 He climbed unsteadily onto his chair seat and then up on the table around which he and half a dozen other Gotzland musicians were sitting。 He was roaring drunk； she saw。 Most of the people in The Senhal were by then。 She'd had two or three glasses of wine herself； to celebrate the beginning of the fair。 Jourdain and Remy； after successful summer tours； one in Arimonda； the other among the cities of Portezza； were taking turns buying for the table while trading petitive tales of increasingly improbable triumphs。
The Gotzlanders began rhythmically banging their heavy flagons on the wooden table。 The noise was so insistent it shaped a lull in the din of sound。 Into that space in the noise the trovaritz on the table shouted again： 〃A challenge！〃
〃Damn that man；〃 said Remy； in the middle of a story about a night in Portezzan Vialla when his music had been sung at the mune's summer feast while he had sat at the high table with the most powerful men of the city。 Aurelian had been doing the singing； of course； Lisseut was still vexed at times that her lanky； dark…haired friend would continue to suspend his own steady rise among the ranks of the poets to revert to a joglar's role and spend a season lending the lustre of his voice to enhance Remy's name。 Friendship； Aurelian had said mildly when she'd challenged him； and： I like to sing。 I like singing Remy's songs。 Why should I deny myself those pleasures？ It was extremely hard to pick a fight with Aurelian。
〃A challenge to the troubadours of Arbonne！〃 the Gotzlander roared。 With the ebb in the tavern noise he was clearly heard this time。 Even Remy turned around； his expressive face going still； to stare at the man balanced precariously on the next table top。
〃Speak your challenge；〃 said Alain of Rousset from their own table。 〃Before you fall and break your neck。〃 He was much more assertive these days； Lisseut noted； with some pleasure。 She'd had something to do with that： the success of their partnership； the recognition now beginning to e for both of them。
〃Won't fall；〃 said the trovaritz； very nearly doing exactly that。 Two of his fellows had hands up； steadying him。 A very crowded room had bee remarkably quiet。 The man reached downward urgently。 Another of the Gotzland musicians obligingly handed him up a flagon。 The trovaritz took a long pull； wiped his moustache with the back of his hand and declaimed； 〃Want you to show why we should keep following Arbonne。 In our music。 We do all your things in Aulensburg； there're singers in Arimonda 'n Portezza。 Do everything you do now。 Do it as well！ S'time to e out from your shadow。〃 He drank again； swayed； added in the stillness； 〃Specially 'cause you may not be here a year from now！〃
Two of the others at his table had the grace to wince at that and haul the trovaritz down； but the thing had been said。 Lisseut reached for anger but found only the sadness and the fear that seemed to have been with her since Midsummer。 It didn't take brilliance to see enough of the future to be afraid。
There were four troubadours at their table； though she knew Aurelian would not volunteer his own music。 He could sing for them； though。 Remy and Jourdain exchanged a glance； and Alain cleared his throat nervously。 Lisseut was about to speak her suggestion when someone took the matter away from all of them。
〃I will make answer to that challenge； if I may。〃 She knew the voice； they all knew the voice； but they hadn't seen the man e in。 No one had even reported that he was in Lussan。 Looking quickly around； Lisseut saw Ramir of Talair； carrying his lute； ing slowly forward from a corner at the very back of the tavern； picking his way carefully between tables of people to the center of the room。
Bertran's joglar had to be sixty years old now at least。 He seldom toured for the duke any longer。 Long past were the days when Ramir carried his lute and harp and Bertran de Talair's music to every castle and town of Arbonne； and into most of the major cities and fastnesses of the other five countries。 He lingered in Talair mostly now； with a suite of rooms of his own and an honoured place by the fire in the hall。 He hadn't even e to Tavernel for Midsummer the past two years。 There had been some overly febrile speculation among the younger performers both seasons that it might soon be time for En Bertran to select a new joglar。 There was no higher status imaginable for a singer； dreams or night…long sleeplessness could be shaped of such a fantasy。
Lisseut looked at the old performer with a mingling of affection and sadness。 She had not seem him for a long time。 He did look older now； frail。 His round； kind face； scarred by a childhood pox； seemed to have been part of her world forever。 A great deal would change when Ramir was gone； she realized； watching as he came shuffling forward。 He didn't walk very well； she saw。
〃Well； really…〃 Remy began； under his breath。 〃Shut up。〃 Aurelian spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness。 The lanky troubadour's face had an odd expression as he looked at Ramir。
Alain rose from his seat and hurried to bring Ramir the performer's stool and footrest。 With a gentle smile the old joglar thanked him。 Troubadours didn't tend to assist joglars； but Ramir was different。 Declining Alain's offered hand； the old man cautiously lowered himself onto the low stool。 He stretched out his left leg with an audible sigh of relief。 One of the Gotzlanders laughed。 Ramir had some trouble with the thong on his lute case and Lisseut saw an Arimondan at the table on the other side of them cover his mouth to politely hide a smile。
Ramir finally slipped his instrument out of the case and began tuning it。 The lute looked to be as old as he was； but the sound； even in the tuning； was achingly pure。 Lisseut would have given almost anything for such an instrument。 She looked around The Senhal。 The silence was a nervous one now； broken by whispers and murmuring。 It was so crowded in the tavern it was hard to move。 On the upper levels people had pushed to the railings to look down。 Over on the eastern wall； on that higher level； Lisseut saw a gleam of long； dark hair by candlelight。 She was a little surprised； but not greatly so。 Ariane de Carenzu； her hair down； as ever； in defiance of tradition； sat beside a slender； handsome man； her husband。 Lisseut knew Duke Thierry now。 Before ing to Lussan she and Alain had spent a fortnight in Carenzu； at the particular request of the queen of the Court of Love。 They each had a purse full of silver to show for it； and Lisseut had been given a crimson vest of fine wool trimmed with expensive squirrel fur against the ing cold。 She had told Remy earlier in the evening that if he damaged her new vest in any way he would replace it or die。 He had ordered a