grrm.astormofswords-第124章

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　〃How　e　he　didn't　know　you；　then？〃　Arya　asked。
　〃Because　knights　are　fools；　and　it　would　have　been　beneath　him　to　look　twice　at　some　poxy　peasant。〃　He　gave　the　horses　a　lick　with　the　whip。　〃Keep　your　eyes　down　and　your　tone　respectful　and　say　ser　a　lot；　and　most　knights　will　never　see　you。　They　pay　more　mind　to　horses　than　to　smallfolk。　He　might　have　known　Stranger　if　he'd　ever　seen　me　ride　him。〃
　He　would　have　known　your　face；　though。　Arya　had　no　doubt　of　that。　Sandor　Clegane's　burns　would　not　be　easy　to　forget；　once　you　saw　them。　He　couldn't　hide　the　scars　behind　a　helm；　either；　not　so　long　as　the　helm　was　made　in　the　shape　of　a　snarling　dog。
　That　was　why　they'd　needed　the　wayn　and　the　pickled　pigs'　feet。　〃I'm　not　going　to　be　dragged　before　your　brother　in　chains；〃　the　Hound　had　told　her；　〃and　I'd　just　as　soon　not　have　to　cut　through　his　men　to　get　to　him。　So　we　play　a　little　game。〃
　A　farmer　chance…met　on　the　kingsroad　had　provided　them　with　wayn；　horses；　garb；　and　casks；　though　not　willingly。　The　Hound　had　taken　them　at　swordpoint。　When　the　farmer　cursed　him　for　a　robber；　he　said；　〃No；　a　forager。　Be　grateful　you　get　to　keep　your　smallclothes。　Now　take　those　boots　off。　Or　I'll　take　your　legs　off。　Your　choice。〃　The　farmer　was　as　big　as　Clegane；　but　all　the　same　he　chose　to　give　up　his　boots　and　keep　his　legs。
　Evenfall　found　them　still　trudging　toward　the　Green　Fork　and　Lord　Frey's　twin　castles。　I　am　almost　there；　Arya　thought。　She　knew　she　ought　to　be　excited；　but　her　belly　was　all　knotted　up　tight。　Maybe　that　was　just　the　fever　she'd　been　fighting；　but　maybe　not。　Last　night　she'd　had　a　bad　dream；　a　terrible　dream。　She　couldn't　remember　what　she'd　dreamed　of　now；　but　the　feeling　had　lingered　all　day。　If　anything；　it　had　only　gotten　stronger。　Fear　cuts　deeper　than　swords。　She　had　to　be　strong　now；　the　way　her　father　told　her。　There　was　nothing　between　her　and　her　mother　but　a　castle　gate；　a　river；　and　an　army　。　。　。　but　it　was　Robb's　army；　so　there　was　no　real　danger　there。　Was　there？
　Roose　Bolton　was　one　of　them；　though。　The　Leech　Lord；　as　the　outlaws　called　him。　That　made　her　uneasy。　She　had　fled　Harrenhal　to　get　away　from　Bolton　as　much　as　from　the　Bloody　Mummers；　and　she'd　had　to　cut　the　throat　of　one　of　his　guards　to　escape。　Did　he　know　she'd　done　that？　Or　did　he　blame　Gendry　or　Hot　Pie？　Would　he　have　told　her　mother？　What　would　he　do　if　he　saw　her？　He　probably　won't　even　know　me。　She　looked　more　like　a　drowned　rat　than　a　lord's　cupbearer　these　days。　A　drowned　boy　rat。　The　Hound　had　hacked　handfuls　of　her　hair　off　only　two　days　past。　He　was　an　even　worse　barber　than　Yoren；　and　he'd　left　her　half　bald　on　one　side。　Robb　won't　know　me　either；　I　bet。　Or　even　Mother。　She　had　been　a　little　girl　the　last　time　she　saw　them；　the　day　Lord　Eddard　Stark　left　Winterfell。
　They　heard　the　music　before　they　saw　the　castle；　the　distant　rattle　of　drums；　the　brazen　blare　of　horns；　the　thin　skirling　of　pipes　faint　beneath　the　growl　of　the　river　and　the　sound　of　the　rain　beating　on　their　heads。　〃We've　missed　the　wedding；〃　the　Hound　said；　〃but　it　sounds　as　though　the　feast　is　still　going。　I'll　be　rid　of　you　soon。〃
　No；　I'll　be　rid　of　you；　Arya　thought。
　The　road　had　been　running　mostly　northwest；　but　now　it　turned　due　west　between　an　apple　orchard　and　a　field　of　drowned　corn　beaten　down　by　the　rain。　They　passed　the　last　of　the　apple　trees　and　crested　a　rise；　and　the　castles；　river；　and　camps　all　appeared　at　once。　There　were　hundreds　of　horses　and　thousands　of　men；　most　of　them　milling　about　the　three　huge　feast　tents　that　stood　side　by　side　facing　the　castle　gates；　like　three　great　canvas　longhalls。　Robb　had　made　his　camp　well　back　from　the　walls；　on　higher；　drier　ground；　but　the　Green　Fork　had　overflown　its　bank　and　even　claimed　a　few　carelessly　placed　tents。
　The　music　from　the　castles　was　louder　here。　The　sound　of　the　drums　and　horns　rolled　across　the　camp。　The　musicians　in　the　nearer　castle　were　playing　a　different　song　than　the　ones　in　the　castle　on　the　far　bank；　though；　so　it　sounded　more　like　a　battle　than　a　song。　〃They're　not　very　good；〃　Arya　observed。
　The　Hound　made　a　sound　that　might　have　been　a　laugh。　〃There's　old　deaf　women　in　Lannisport　plaining　of　the　din；　I'll　warrant。　I'd　heard　Walder　Frey's　eyes　were　failing；　but　no　one　mentioned　his　bloody　ears。〃
　Arya　found　herself　wishing　it　were　day。　if　the　sun　was　out　and　the　wind　was　blowing；　she　would　have　been　able　to　see　the　banners　better。　She　would　have　looked　for　the　direwolf　of　Stark；　or　maybe　the　Cerwyn　battleaxe　or　the　Glover　fist。　But　in　the　gloom　of　night　all　the　colors　looked　grey。　The　rain　had　dwindled　down　to　a　fine　drizzle；　almost　a　mist；　but　an　earlier　downpour　had　left　the　banners　wet　as　dishrags；　sodden　and　unreadable。
　A　hedge　of　wagons　and　carts　had　been　drawn　up　along　the　perimeter　to　make　a　crude　wooden　wall　against　any　attack。　That　was　where　the　guards　stopped　them。　The　lantern　their　sergeant　carried　shed　enough　light　for　Arya　to　see　that　his　cloak　was　a　pale　pink；　spotted　with　red　teardrops。　The　men　under　him　had　the　Leech　Lord's　badge　sewn　over　their　hearts；　the　flayed　man　of　the　Dreadfort。　Sandor　Clegane　gave　them　the　same　tale　he'd　used　on　the　outriders；　but　the　Bolton　sergeant　was　a　harder　sort　of　nut　than　Ser　Donnel　Haigh　had　been。　〃Salt　pork's　no　fit　meat　for　a　lord's　wedding　feast；〃　he　said　scornfully。
　〃Got　pickled　pigs'　feet　too；　ser。〃
　〃Not　for　the　feast；　you　don't。　The　feast's　half　done。　And　I'm　a　northman；　not　some　milksuck　southron　knight。〃
　〃I　was　told　to　see　the　steward；　or　the　cook　。　。　。〃
　〃Castle's　closed。　The　lordlings　are　not　to　be　disturbed。〃　The　sergeant　considered　a　moment。　〃You　can　unload　by　the　feast　tents；　there。〃　He　pointed　with　a　mailed　hand。　〃Ale　makes　a　man　hungry；　and　old　Frey　won't　miss　a　few　pigs'　feet。　He　don't　have　the　teeth　for　such　anyhow。　Ask　for　Sedgekins；　he'll　know　what's　to　be　done　with　you。〃　He　barked　a　mand；　and　his　men　rolled　one　of　the　wagons　aside　for　them　to　enter。
　The　Hound's　whip　spurred　the　team　toward　the　tents。　No　one　seemed　to　pay　them　any　mind。　They　splashed　past　rows　of　brightly　colored　pavilions；　their　walls　of　wet　silk　lit　up　like　magic　lanterns　by　lamps　and　braziers　inside；　pink　and　gold　and　green　they　glimmered；　striped　and　fretty　and　chequy；　emblazoned　with　birds　and　beasts；　chevrons　and　stars；　wheels　and　weapons。　Arya　spotted　a　yellow　tent　with　six　acorns　on　its　panels；　three　over　two　over　one。　Lord　Smallwood；　she　knew；　remembering　Acorn　Hall　so　far　away；　and　the　lady　who'd　said　she　was　pretty。
　But　for　every　shimmering　silk　pavilion　there　were　two　dozen　of　felt　or　canvas；　opaque　and　dark。　There　were　barracks　tents　too；　big　enough　to　shelter　two　score　footsoldiers；　though　even　those　were　dwarfed　by　the　three　great　feast　tents。　The　drinking　had　been　going　on　for　hours；　it　seemed。　Arya　heard　shouted　toasts　and　the　clash　of　cups；　mixed　in　with　all　the　usual　camp　sounds；　horses　whinnying　and　dogs　barking；　wagons　rumbling　through　the　dark；　laughter　and　curses；　the　clank　and　clatter　of　steel　and　wood。　The　music　grew　still　louder　as　they　approached　the　castle；　but　under　that　was　a　deeper；　darker　sound：　the　river；　the　swollen　Green　Fork；　growling　like　a　lion　in　its　den。
　Arya　twisted　and　turned；　trying　to　look　everywhere　at　once；　hoping　for　a　glimpse　of　a　direwolf　badge；　for　a　tent　done　up　in　grey　and　white；　for　a　face　she　knew　from　Winterfell。　All　she　saw　were　strangers。　She　stared　at　a　man　relieving　himself　in　the　reeds；　but　he　wasn't　Alebelly。　She　saw　a　half…dressed　girl　burst　from　a　tent　laughing；　but　the　tent　was　pale　blue；　not　grey　like　she'd　thought　at　first；　and　the　man　who　went　running　after　her　wore　a　treecat　on　his　doublet；　not　a　wolf。　Beneath　a　tree；　four　archers　were　slipping　waxed　strings　over　the　notches　of　their　longbows；　but　they　were　not　her　father's　archers。　A　maester　crossed　their　path；　but　he　was　too　young　and　thin　to　be　Maester　Luwin。　Arya　gazed　up　at　the　Twins；　their　high　tower　windows　glowing　softly　wherever　a　light　was　burning。　Through　the　haze　of　rain；　the　castles　looked　spooky　and　mysterious；　like　something　from　one　of　Old　Nan's　tales；　but　they　weren't　Winterfell。
　The　press　was　thickest　at　the　feast　tents。　The　wide　flaps　were　tied　back；　and　men　were　pushing　in　and　out　with　drinking　horns　and　tankards　in　their　hands；　some　with　camp　followers。　Arya　glanced　inside　as　the　Hound　drove　past　the　first　of　the　three；　and　saw　hundreds　of　men　crowding　the　benches　and　jostling　around　the　casks　of　mead　and　ale　and　wine。　There　was　hardly　room　to　move　inside；　but　none　of　them　seemed　to　mind。　At　least　they　were　warm　and　dry。　Cold　wet　Arya　envied　them。　Some　were　even　singing。　The　fine　misty　rain　was　steaming　all　around　the　door　from　the　heat　escaping　from　inside。　〃Here's　to　Lord　Edmure　and　Lady　Roslin；〃　she　heard　a　voice　shout。　They　all　drank；　and　someone　yelled；　〃Here's　to　the　Young　Wolf　and　Queen　Jeyne。〃
　Who　is　Queen　Jeyne？　Arya　wondered　briefly。　The　only　queen　she　knew　was　Cersei。
　Firepits　had　been　dug　outside　the　feast　tents；　sheltered　beneath　rude　canopies　of　woven　wood　and　hides　that　kept　the　rain　out；　so　long　as　it　fell　straight　down。　The　wind　was　blowing　off　the　river；　though；　so　the　drizzle　came　in　anyway；　enough　to　make　the　fires　hiss　and　swirl。　Serving　men　were　turning　joints　of　meat　on　spits　above　the　flames。　The　smells　made　Arya's　mouth　water。　〃Shouldn't　we　stop？〃　she　asked　Sandor　Clegane。　〃There's　northmen　in　the　tents。〃　She　knew　them　by　their　beards；　by　their　faces；　by　their　cloaks　of　bearskin　and　sealskin；　by　their　half…heard　toasts　and　the　songs　they　sang；　Karstarks　and　Umbers　and　men　of　the　mountain　clans。　〃I　bet　there　are　Winterfell　men　too。〃　Her　father's　men；　the　Young　Wolf's　men；　the　direwolves　of　Stark。
　〃Your　brother　will　be　in　the　castle；〃　he　said。　〃Your　mother　too。　You　want　them　or　not？〃
　〃Yes；〃　she　said。　〃What　about　Sedgekins？〃　The　sergeant　had　told　them　to　ask　for　Sedgekins。
　〃Sedgekins　can　bugger　himself　with　a　hot　poker。〃　Clegane　shook　out　his　whip；　and　sent　it　hissing　through　the　soft　rain　to　bite　at　a　horse's　flank。　〃It's　your　bloody　brother　I　want。〃
　
　CHAPTER　51
　CATELYN
　
　The　drums　were　pounding；　pounding；　pounding；　and　her　head　with　them。　Pipes　wailed　and　flutes　trilled　from　the　musicians'　gallery　at　the　foot　of　the　hall；　fiddles　screeched；　horns　blew；　the　skins　skirled　a　lively　tune；　but　the　drumming　drove　them　all。　The　sounds　echoed　off　the　rafters；　whilst　the　guests　ate；　drank；　and　shouted　at　one　another　below。　WaIder　Frey　must　be　deaf　as　a　stone　to　call　this　music。　Catelyn　sipped　a　cup　of　wine　and　watched　Jinglebell　prance　to　the　sounds　of　〃Alysanne。　〃　At　least　she　thought　it　was　meant　to　be　〃Alysanne。〃　With　these　players；　it　might　as　easily　have　been　〃The　Bear　and　the　Maiden　Fair。〃
　Outside　the　rain　still　fell；　but　within　the　Twins　the　air　was　thick　and　hot。　A　fire　roared　in　the　hearth　and　rows　of　torches　burned　smokily　from　iron　sconces　on　the　walls。　Yet　most　of　the　heat　came　off　the　bodies　of　the　wedding　guests；　jammed　in　so　thick　along　the　benches　that　every　man　who　tried　to　lift　his　cup　poked　his　neighbor　in　the　ribs。
　Even　on　the　dais　they　were　closer　than　Catelyn　would　have　liked。　She　had　been　placed　between　Ser　Ryman　Frey　and　Roose　Bolton；　and　had　gotten　a　good　noseful　of　both。　Ser　Ryman　drank　as　if　W