grrm.astormofswords-第13章

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　CHAPTER　5
　DAVOS
　
　He　watched　the　sail　grow　for　a　long　time；　trying　to　decide　whether　he　would　sooner　live　or　die。
　Dying　would　be　easier；　he　knew。　All　he　had　to　do　was　crawl　inside　his　cave　and　let　the　ship　pass　by；　and　death　would　find　him。　For　days　now　the　fever　had　been　burning　through　him；　turning　his　bowels　to　brown　water　and　making　him　shiver　in　his　restless　sleep。　Each　morning　found　him　weaker。　It　will　not　be　much　longer；　he　had　taken　to　telling　himself。
　If　the　fever　did　not　kill　him；　thirst　surely　would。　He　had　no　fresh　water　here；　but　for　the　occasional　rainfall　that　pooled　in　hollows　on　the　rock。　Only　three　days　past　（or　had　it　been　four？　On　his　rock；　it　was　hard　to　tell　the　days　apart）　his　pools　had　been　dry　as　old　bone；　and　the　sight　of　the　bay　rippling　green　and　grey　all　around　him　had　been　almost　more　than　he　could　bear。　Once　he　began　to　drink　seawater　the　end　would　e　swiftly；　he　knew；　but　all　the　same　he　had　almost　taken　that　first　swallow；　so　parched　was　his　throat。　A　sudden　squall　had　saved　him。　He　had　grown　so　feeble　by　then　that　it　was　all　he　could　do　to　lie　in　the　rain　with　his　eyes　closed　and　his　mouth　open；　and　let　the　water　splash　down　on　his　cracked　lips　and　swollen　tongue。　But　afterward　he　felt　a　little　stronger；　and　the　island's　pools　and　cracks　and　crevices　once　more　had　brimmed　with　life。
　But　that　had　been　three　days　ago　（or　maybe　four）；　and　most　of　the　water　was　gone　now。　Some　had　evaporated；　and　he　had　sucked　up　the　rest。　By　the　morrow　he　would　be　tasting　the　mud　again；　and　licking　the　damp　cold　stones　at　the　bottom　of　the　depressions。
　And　if　not　thirst　or　fever；　starvation　would　kill　him。　His　island　was　no　more　than　a　barren　spire　jutting　up　out　of　the　immensity　of　Blackwater　Bay。　When　the　tide　was　low；　he　could　sometimes　find　tiny　crabs　along　the　stony　strand　where　he　had　washed　ashore　after　the　battle。　They　nipped　his　fingers　painfully　before　he　smashed　them　apart　on　the　rocks　to　suck　the　meat　from　their　claws　and　the　guts　from　their　shells。
　But　the　strand　vanished　whenever　the　tide　came　rushing　in；　and　Davos　had　to　scramble　up　the　rock　to　keep　from　being　swept　out　into　the　bay　once　more。　The　point　of　the　spire　was　fifteen　feet　above　the　water　at　high　tide；　but　when　the　bay　grew　rough　the　spray　went　even　higher；　so　there　was　no　way　to　keep　dry；　even　in　his　cave　（which　was　really　no　more　than　a　hollow　in　the　rock　beneath　an　overhang）。　Nothing　grew　on　the　rock　but　lichen；　and　even　the　seabirds　shunned　the　place。　Now　and　again　some　gulls　would　land　atop　the　spire　and　Davos　would　try　to　catch　one；　but　they　were　too　quick　for　him　to　get　close。　He　took　to　flinging　stones　at　them；　but　he　was　too　weak　to　throw　with　much　force；　so　even　when　his　stones　hit　the　gulls　would　only　scream　at　him　in　annoyance　and　then　take　to　the　air。
　There　were　other　rocks　visible　from　his　refuge；　distant　stony　spires　taller　than　his　own。　The　nearest　stood　a　good　forty　feet　above　the　water；　he　guessed；　though　it　was　hard　to　be　sure　at　this　distance。　A　cloud　of　gulls　swirled　about　it　constantly；　and　often　Davos　thought　of　crossing　over　to　raid　their　nests。　But　the　water　was　cold　here；　the　currents　strong　and　treacherous；　and　he　knew　he　did　not　have　the　strength　for　such　a　swim。　That　would　kill　him　as　sure　as　drinking　seawater。
　Autumn　in　the　narrow　sea　could　often　be　wet　and　rainy；　he　remembered　from　years　past。　The　days　were　not　bad　so　long　as　the　sun　was　shining；　but　the　nights　were　growing　colder　and　sometimes　the　wind　would　e　gusting　across　the　bay；　driving　a　line　of　whitecaps　before　it；　and　before　long　Davos　would　be　soaked　and　shivering。　Fever　and　chills　assaulted　him　in　turn；　and　of　late　he　had　developed　a　persistent　racking　cough。
　His　cave　was　all　the　shelter　he　had；　and　that　was　little　enough。　Driftwood　and　bits　of　charred　debris　would　wash　up　on　the　strand　during　low　tide；　but　he　had　no　way　to　strike　a　spark　or　start　a　fire。　Once；　in　desperation；　he　had　tried　rubbing　two　pieces　of　driftwood　against　each　other；　but　the　wood　was　rotted；　and　his　efforts　earned　him　only　blisters。　His　clothes　were　sodden　as　well；　and　he　had　lost　one　of　his　boots　somewhere　in　the　bay　before　he　washed　up　here。
　Thirst；　hunger；　exposure。　They　were　his　panions；　with　him　every　hour　of　every　day；　and　in　time　he　had　e　to　think　of　them　as　his　friends。　Soon　enough；　one　or　the　other　of　his　friends　would　take　pity　on　him　and　free　him　from　this　endless　misery。　Or　perhaps　he　would　simply　walk　into　the　water　one　day；　and　strike　out　for　the　shore　that　he　knew　lay　somewhere　to　the　north；　beyond　his　sight。　It　was　too　far　to　swim；　as　weak　as　he　was；　but　that　did　not　matter。　Davos　had　always　been　a　sailor；　he　was　meant　to　die　at　sea。　The　gods　beneath　the　waters　have　been　waiting　for　me；　he　told　himself。　It's　past　time　I　went　to　them。
　But　now　there　was　a　sail；　only　a　speck　on　the　horizon；　but　growing　larger。　A　ship　where　no　ship　should　be。　He　knew　where　his　rock　lay；　more　or　less；　it　was　one　of　a　series　of　sea　monts　that　rose　from　the　floor　of　Blackwater　Bay。　The　tallest　of　them　jutted　a　hundred　feet　above　the　tide；　and　a　dozen　lesser　monts　stood　thirty　to　sixty　feet　high。　Sailors　called　them　spears　of　the　merling　king；　and　knew　that　for　every　one　that　broke　the　surface；　a　dozen　lurked　treacherously　just　below　it。　Any　captain　with　sense　kept　his　course　well　away　from　them。
　Davos　watched　the　sail　swell　through　pale　red…rimmed　eyes；　and　tried　to　hear　the　sound　of　the　wind　caught　in　the　canvas。　She　is　ing　this　way。　Unless　she　changed　course　soon；　she　would　pass　within　hailing　distance　of　his　meager　refuge。　It　might　mean　life。　If　he　wanted　it。　He　was　not　sure　he　did。
　Why　should　I　live？　he　thought　as　tears　blurred　his　vision。　Gods　be　good；　why？　My　sons　are　dead；　Dale　and　Allard；　Maric　and　Matthos；　perhaps　Devan　as　well。　How　can　a　father　outlive　so　many　strong　young　sons？　How　would　I　go　on？　I　am　a　hollow　shell；　the　crab's　died；　there's　nothing　left　inside。　Don't　they　know　that？
　They　had　sailed　up　the　Blackwater　Rush　flying　the　fiery　heart　of　the　Lord　of　Light。　Davos　and　Black　Betha　had　been　in　the　second　line　of　battle；　between　Dale's　Wraith　and　Allard　on　Lady　Marya。　Maric　his　thirdborn　was　oarmaster　on　Fury；　at　the　center　of　the　first　line；　while　Matthos　served　as　his　father's　second。　Beneath　the　walls　of　the　Red　Keep　Stannis　Baratheon's　galleys　had　joined　in　battle　with　the　boy　king　Joffrey's　smaller　fleet；　and　for　a　few　moments　the　river　had　rung　to　the　thrum　of　bowstrings　and　the　crash　of　iron　rams　shattering　oars　and　hulls　alike。
　And　then　some　vast　beast　had　let　out　a　roar；　and　green　flames　were　all　around　them：　wildfire；　pyromancer's　piss；　the　jade　demon。　Matthos　had　been　standing　at　his　elbow　on　the　deck　of　Black　Betha　when　the　ship　seemed　to　lift　from　the　water。　Davos　found　himself　in　the　river；　flailing　as　the　current　took　him　and　spun　him　around　and　around。　Upstream；　the　flames　had　ripped　at　the　sky；　fifty　feet　high。　He　had　seen　Black　Betha　afire；　and　Fury；　and　a　dozen　other　ships；　had　seen　burning　men　leaping　into　the　water　to　drown。　Wraith　and　Lady　Marya　were　gone；　sunk　or　shattered　or　vanished　behind　a　veil　of　wildfire；　and　there　was　no　time　to　look　for　them；　because　the　mouth　of　the　river　was　almost　upon　him；　and　across　the　mouth　of　the　river　the　Lannisters　had　raised　a　great　iron　chain。　From　bank　to　bank　there　was　nothing　but　burning　ships　and　wildfire。　The　sight　of　it　seemed　to　stop　his　heart　for　a　moment；　and　he　could　still　remember　the　sound　of　it；　the　crackle　of　flames；　the　hiss　of　steam；　the　shrieks　of　dying　men；　and　the　beat　of　that　terrible　heat　against　his　face　as　the　current　swept　him　down　toward　hell。
　All　he　needed　to　do　was　nothing。　A　few　moments　more；　and　he　would　be　with　his　sons　now；　resting　in　the　cool　green　mud　on　the　bottom　of　the　bay；　with　fish　nibbling　at　his　face。
　Instead　he　sucked　in　a　great　gulp　of　air　and　dove；　kicking　for　the　bottom　of　the　river。　His　only　hope　was　to　pass　under　the　chain　and　the　burning　ships　and　the　wildfire　that　floated　on　the　surface　of　the　water；　to　swim　hard　for　the　safety　of　the　bay　beyond。　Davos　had　always　been　a　strong　swimmer；　and　he'd　wom　no　steel　that　day；　but　for　the　helm　he'd　lost　when　he'd　lost　Black　Betha。　As　he　knifed　through　the　green　murk；　he　saw　other　men　struggling　beneath　the　water；　pulled　down　to　drown　beneath　the　weight　of　plate　and　mail。　Davos　swam　past　them；　kicking　with　all　the　strength　left　in　his　legs；　giving　himself　up　to　the　current；　the　water　filling　his　eyes。　Deeper　he　went；　and　deeper；　and　deeper　still。　With　every　stroke　it　grew　harder　to　hold　his　breath。　He　remembered　seeing　the　bottom；　soft　and　dim；　as　a　stream　of　bubbles　burst　from　his　lips。　Something　touched　his　leg　。　。　。　a　snag　or　a　fish　or　a　drowning　man；　he　could　not　tell。
　He　needed　air　by　then；　but　he　was　afraid。　Was　he　past　the　chain　yet；　was　he　out　in　the　bay？　If　he　came　up　under　a　ship　he　would　drown；　and　if　he　surfaced　amidst　the　floating　patches　of　wildfire　his　first　breath　would　sear　his　lungs　to　ash。　He　twisted　in　the　water　to　look　up；　but　there　was　nothing　to　see　but　green　darkness　and　then　he　spun　too　far　and　suddenly　he　could　no　longer　tell　up　from　down。　Panic　took　hold　of　him。　His　hands　flailed　against　the　bottom　of　the　river　and　sent　up　a　cloud　of　mud　that　blinded　him。　His　chest　was　growing　tighter　by　the　instant。　He　clawed　at　the　water；　kicking；　pushing　himself；　turning；　his　lungs　screaming　for　air；　kicking；　kicking；　lost　now　in　the　river　murk；　kicking；　kicking；　kicking　until　he　could　kick　no　longer。　When　he　opened　his　mouth　to　scream；　the　water　came　rushing　in；　tasting　of　salt；　and　Davos　Seaworth　knew　that　he　was　drowning。
　The　next　he　knew　the　sun　was　up；　and　he　lay　upon　a　stony　strand　beneath　a　spire　of　naked　stone；　with　the　empty　bay　all　around　and　a　broken　mast；　a　burned　sail；　and　a　swollen　corpse　beside　him。　The　mast；　the　sail；　and　the　dead　man　vanished　with　the　next　high　tide；　leaving　Davos　alone　on　his　rock　amidst　the　spears　of　the　merling　king。
　His　long　years　as　a　smuggler　had　made　the　waters　around　King's　Landing　more　familiar　to　him　than　any　home　he'd　ever　had；　and　he　knew　his　refuge　was　no　more　than　a　speck　on　the　charts；　in　a　place　that　honest　sailors　steered　away　from；　not　toward　。　。　。　though　Davos　himself　had　e　by　it　once　or　twice　in　his　smuggling　days；　the　better　to　stay　unseen。　When　they　find　me　dead　here；　if　ever　they　do；　perhaps　they　will　name　the　rock　for　me；　he　thought。　Onion　Rock；　they'll　call　it；　it　will　be　my　tombstone　and　my　legacy。　He　deserved　no　more。　The　Father　protects　his　children；　the　septons　taught；　but　Davos　had　led　his　boys　into　the　fire。　Dale　would　never　give　his　wife　the　child　they　had　prayed　for；　and　Allard；　with　his　girl　in　Oldtown　and　his　girl　in　King's　Landing　and　his　girl　in　Braavos；　they　would　all　be　weeping　soon。　Matthos　would　never　captain　his　own　ship；　as　he'd　dreamed。　Maric　would　never　have　his　knighthood。
　How　can　I　live　when　they　are　dead？　So　many　brave　knights　and　mighty　lords　have　died；　better　men　than　me；　and　highborn。　Crawl　inside　your　cave；　Davos。　Crawl　inside　and　shrink　up　small　and　the　ship　will　go　away；　and　no　one　will　trouble　you　ever　again。　Sleep　on　your　stone　pillow；　and　let　the　gulls　peck　out　your　eyes　while　the　crabs　feast　on　your　flesh。　You've　feasted　on　enough　of　them；　you　owe　them。　Hide；　smuggle