grrm.astormofswords-第80章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ry。　I'm　a　godly　man；　else　I　would　have　chased　you　off。　You　think　I　need　the　likes　of　him；　dying　on　my　floor？　You　think　I　need　all　your　mouths；　little　man？〃　The　wildling　spat。　〃Crows。　When　did　a　black　bird　ever　bring　good　to　a　man's　hall；　I　ask　you？　Never。　Never。〃
　More　broth　ran　from　the　corner　of　Barmen's　mouth。　Sam　dabbed　it　away　with　a　corner　of　his　sleeve。　The　ranger's　eyes　were　open　but　unseeing。　〃I'm　cold；〃　he　said　again；　so　faintly。　A　maester　might　have　known　how　to　save　him；　but　they　had　no　maester。　Kedge　Whiteye　had　taken　Barmen's　mangled　foot　off　nine　days　past；　in　a　gout　of　pus　and　blood　that　made　Sam　sick；　but　it　was　too　little；　too　late。　〃I'm　so　cold；〃　the　pale　lips　repeated。
　About　the　hall；　a　ragged　score　of　black　brothers　squatted　on　the　floor　or　sat　on　rough…hewn　benches；　drinking　cups　of　the　same　thin　onion　broth　and　gnawing　on　chunks　of　hardbread。　A　couple　were　wounded　worse　than　Bannen；　to　look　at　them。　Fornio　had　been　delirious　for　days；　and　Ser　Byam's　shoulder　was　oozing　a　foul　yellow　pus。　When　they'd　left　Castle　Black；　Brown　Bernarr　had　been　carrying　bags　of　Myrish　fire；　mustard　salve；　ground　garlic；　tansy；　poppy；　kingscopper；　and　other　healing　herbs。　Even　sweetsleep；　which　gave　the　gift　of　painless　death。　But　Brown　Bernarr　had　died　on　the　Fist　and　no　one　had　thought　to　search　for　Maester　Aemon's　medicines。　Hake　had　known　some　herblore　as　well；　being　a　cook；　but　Hake　was　also　lost。　So　it　was　left　to　the　surviving　stewards　to　do　what　they　could　for　the　wounded；　which　was　little　enough。　At　least　they　are　dry　here；　with　a　fire　to　warm　them。　They　need　more　food；　though。
　They　all　needed　more　food。　The　men　had　been　grumbling　for　days。　Clubfoot　Karl　kept　saying　how　Craster　had　to　have　a　hidden　larder；　and　Garth　of　Oldtown　had　begun　to　echo　him；　when　he　was　out　of　the　Lord　mander's　hearing。　Sam　had　thought　of　begging　for　something　more　nourishing　for　the　wounded　men　at　least；　but　he　did　not　have　the　courage。　Craster's　eyes　were　cold　and　mean；　and　whenever　the　wildling　looked　his　way　his　hands　twitched　a　little；　as　if　they　wanted　to　curl　up　into　fists。　Does　he　know　I　spoke　to　Gilly；　the　last　time　we　were　here？　he　wondered。　Did　she　tell　him　I　said　we'd　take　her？　Did　he　beat　it　out　of　her？
　〃I'm　cold；〃　said　Barmen。　〃Please。　I'm　cold。〃
　For　all　the　heat　and　smoke　in　Craster's　hall；　Sam　felt　cold　himself。　And　tired；　so　tired。　He　needed　sleep；　but　whenever　he　closed　his　eyes　he　dreamed　of　blowing　snow　and　dead　men　shambling　toward　him　with　black　hands　and　bright　blue　eyes。
　Up　in　the　loft；　Gilly　let　out　a　shuddering　sob　that　echoed　down　the　long　low　windowless　hall。　〃Push；〃　he　heard　one　of　Craster's　older　wives　tell　her。　〃Harder。　Harder。　Scream　if　it　helps。〃　She　did；　so　loud　it　made　Sam　wince。
　Craster　turned　his　head　to　glare。　〃I've　had　a　bellyful　o'　that　shrieking；〃　he　shouted　up。　〃Give　her　a　rag　to　bite　down　on；　or　I'll　e　up　there　and　give　her　a　taste　o'　my　hand。〃
　He　would　too；　Sam　knew。　Craster　had　nineteen　wives；　but　none　who'd　dare　interfere　once　he　started　up　that　ladder。　No　more　than　the　black　brothers　had　two　nights　past；　when　he　was　beating　one　of　the　younger　girls。　There　had　been　mutterings；　to　be　sure。　〃He's　killing　her　〃　Garth　of　Greenaway　had　said；　and　Clubfoot　Karl　laughed　and　said；　〃If　he　don't　want　the　little　sweetmeat　he　could　give　her　to　me。〃　Black　Bernarr　cursed　in　a　low　angry　voice；　and　Alan　of　Rosby　got　up　and　went　outside　so　he　wouldn't　have　to　hear。　〃His　roof；　his　rule；〃　the　ranger　Ronnel　Harclay　had　reminded　them。　〃Craster's　a　friend　to　the　Watch。〃
　A　friend；　thought　Sam；　as　he　listened　to　Gilly's　muffled　shrieks。　Craster　was　a　brutal　man　who　ruled　his　wives　and　daughters　with　an　iron　hand；　but　his　keep　was　a　refuge　all　the　same。　〃Frozen　crows；〃　Craster　sneered　when　they　straggled　in；　those　few　who　had　survived　the　snow；　the　wights；　and　the　bitter　cold。　〃And　not　so　big　a　flock　as　went　north；　neither。〃　Yet　he　had　given　them　space　on　his　floor；　a　roof　to　keep　the　snow　off；　a　fire　to　dry　them　out；　and　his　wives　had　brought　them　cups　of　hot　wine　to　put　some　warmth　in　their　bellies。　〃Bloody　crows；〃　he　called　them；　but　he'd　fed　them　too；　meager　though　the　fare　might　be。
　We　are　guests；　Sam　reminded　himself。　Gilly　is　his。　His　daughter；　his　wife。　His　roof；　his　rule。
　The　first　time　he'd　seen　Craster's　Keep；　Gilly　had　e　begging　for　help；　and　Sam　had　lent　her　his　black　cloak　to　conceal　her　belly　when　she　went　to　find　Jon　Snow。　Knights　are　supposed　to　defend　women　and　children。　Only　a　few　of　the　black　brothers　were　knights；　but　even　so　。　。　。　We　all　say　the　words；　Sam　thought。　I　am　the　shield　that　guards　the　realms　of　men。　A　woman　was　a　woman；　even　a　wildling　woman。　We　should　help　her。　We　should。　It　was　her　child　Gilly　feared　for；　she　was　frightened　that　it　might　be　a　boy。　Craster　raised　up　his　daughters　to　be　his　wives；　but　there　were　neither　men　nor　boys　to　be　seen　about　his　pound。　Gilly　had　told　Jon　that　Craster　gave　his　sons　to　the　gods。　If　the　gods　are　good；　they　will　send　her　a　daughter；　Sam　prayed。
　Up　in　the　loft；　Gilly　choked　back　a　scream。　〃That's　it；〃　a　woman　said。　〃Another　push；　now。　Oh；　I　see　his　head。〃
　Hers；　Sam　thought　miserably。　Her　head；　hers。
　〃Cold；〃　said　Barmen；　weakly。　〃Please。　I'm　so　cold。〃　Sam　put　the　bowl　and　spoon　aside；　tossed　another　fur　across　the　dying　man；　put　another　stick　on　the　fire。　Gilly　gave　a　shriek；　and　began　to　pant。　Craster　gnawed　on　his　hard　black　sausage。　He　had　sausages　for　himself　and　his　wives；　he　said；　but　none　for　the　Watch。　〃Women；〃　he　plained。　〃The　way　they　wail　。　。　。　I　had　me　a　fat　sow　once　birthed　a　litter　of　eight　with　no　more'n　a　grunt。〃　Chewing；　he　turned　his　head　to　squint　contemptuously　at　Sam。　〃She　was　near　as　fat　as　you；　boy。　Slayer。〃　He　laughed。
　It　was　more　than　Sam　could　stand。　He　stumbled　away　from　the　firepit；　stepping　awkwardly　over　and　around　the　men　sleeping　and　squatting　and　dying　upon　the　hard…packed　earthen　floor。　The　smoke　and　screams　and　moans　were　making　him　feel　faint。　Bending　his　head；　he　pushed　through　the　hanging　deerhide　flaps　that　served　Craster　for　a　door　and　stepped　out　into　the　afternoon。
　The　day　was　cloudy；　but　still　bright　enough　to　blind　him　after　the　gloom　of　the　hall。　Some　patches　of　snow　weighed　down　the　limbs　of　surrounding　trees　and　blanketed　the　gold　and　russet　hills；　but　fewer　than　there　had　been。　The　storm　had　passed　on；　and　the　days　at　Craster's　Keep　had　been　。　。　。　well；　not　warm　perhaps；　but　not　so　bitter　cold。　Sam　could　hear　the　soft　drip…drip…drip　of　water　melting　off　the　icicles　that　bearded　the　edge　of　the　thick　sod　roof。　He　took　a　deep　shuddering　breath　and　looked　around。
　To　the　west　Ollo　Lophand　and　Tim　Stone　were　moving　through　the　horselines；　feeding　and　watering　the　remaining　garrons。
　Downwind；　other　brothers　were　skinning　and　butchering　the　animals　deemed　too　weak　to　go　on。　Spearmen　and　archers　walked　sentry　behind　the　earthen　dikes　that　were　Craster's　only　defense　against　whatever　hid　in　the　wood　beyond；　while　a　dozen　firepits　sent　up　thick　fingers　of　blue…grey　smoke。　Sam　could　hear　the　distant　echoes　of　axes　at　work　in　the　forest；　where　a　work　detail　was　harvesting　enough　wood　to　keep　the　blazes　burning　all　through　the　night。　Nights　were　the　bad　time。　When　it　got　dark。　And　cold。
　There　had　been　no　attacks　while　they　had　been　at　Craster's；　neither　wights　nor　Others。　Nor　would　there　be；　Craster　said。　〃A　godly　man　got　no　cause　to　fear　such。　I　said　as　much　to　that　Mance　Rayder　once；　when　he　e　sniffing　round。　He　never　listened；　no　more'n　you　crows　with　your　swords　and　your　bloody　fires。　That　won't　help　you　none　when　the　white　cold　es。　Only　the　gods　will　help　you　then。　You　best　get　right　with　the　gods。〃
　Gilly　had　spoken　of　the　white　cold　as　well；　and　she'd　told　them　what　sort　of　offerings　Craster　made　to　his　gods。　Sam　had　wanted　to　kill　him　when　he　heard。　There　are　no　laws　beyond　the　Wall；　he　reminded　himself；　and　Craster's　a　friend　to　the　Watch。
　A　ragged　shout　went　up　from　behind　the　daub…and…wattle　hall。　Sam　went　to　take　a　look。　The　ground　beneath　his　feet　was　a　slush　of　melting　snow　and　soft　mud　that　Dolorous　Edd　insisted　was　made　of　Craster's　shit。　It　was　thicker　than　shit；　though；　it　sucked　at　Sam's　boots　so　hard　he　felt　one　pull　loose。
　Back　of　a　vegetable　garden　and　empty　sheepfold；　a　dozen　black　brothers　were　loosing　arrows　at　a　butt　they'd　built　of　hay　and　straw。　The　slender　blond　steward　they　called　Sweet　Donnel　had　laid　a　shaft　just　off　the　bull's　eye　at　fifty　yards。　〃Best　that；　old　man；〃　he　said。
　〃Aye。　I　will。〃　Ulmer；　stooped　and　grey…bearded　and　loose　of　skin　and　limb；　stepped　to　the　mark　and　pulled　an　arrow　from　the　quiver　at　his　waist。　In　his　youth　he　had　been　an　outlaw；　a　member　of　the　infamous　Kingswood　Brotherhood。　He　claimed　he'd　once　put　an　arrow　through　the　hand　of　the　White　Bull　of　the　Kingsguard　to　steal　a　kiss　from　the　lips　of　a　Dornish　princess。　He　had　stolen　her　jewels　too；　and　a　chest　of　golden　dragons；　but　it　was　the　kiss　he　liked　to　boast　of　in　his　cups。
　He　notched　and　drew；　all　smooth　as　summer　silk；　then　let　fly。　His　shaft　struck　the　butt　an　inch　inside　of　Donnel　Hill's。　〃Will　that　do；　lad？〃　he　asked；　stepping　back。
　〃Well　enough；〃　said　the　younger　man；　grudgingly。　〃The　crosswind　helped　you。　It　blew　more　strongly　when　I　loosed。〃
　〃You　ought　to　have　allowed　for　it；　then。　You　have　a　good　eye　and　a　steady　hand；　but　you'll　need　a　deal　more　to　best　a　man　of　the　kingswood。　Fletcher　Dick　it　was　who　showed　me　how　to　bend　the　bow；　and　no　finer　archer　ever　lived。　Have　I　told　you　about　old　Dick；　now？〃
　〃Only　three　hundred　times。〃　Every　man　at　Castle　Black　had　heard　Ulmer's　tales　of　the　great　outlaw　band　of　yore；　of　Simon　Toyne　and　the　Smiling　Knight；　Oswyn　Longneck　the　Thrice…Hanged；　Wenda　the　White　Fawn；　Fletcher　Dick；　Big　Belly　Ben；　and　all　the　rest。　Searching　for　escape；　Sweet　Donnel　looked　about　and　spied　Sam　standing　in　the　muck。　〃Slayer；〃　he　called。　〃e；　show　us　how　you　slew　the　Other。〃　He　held　out　the　tall　yew　longbow。
　Sam　turned　red。　〃It　wasn't　an　arrow；　it　was　a　dagger；　dragonglass　。　。　。
　He　knew　what　would　happen　if　he　took　the　bow。　He　would　miss　the　butt　and　send　the　arrow　sailing　over　the　dike　off　into　the　trees。　Then　he'd　hear　the　laughter。
　〃No　matter；〃　said　Alan　of　Rosby；　another　fine　bowman。　〃We're　all　keen　to　see　the　Slayer　shoot。　Aren't　we；　lads？〃
　He　could　not　face　them；　the　mocking　smiles；　the　mean　little　jests；　the　contempt　in　their　eyes。　Sam　turned　to　go　back　the　way　he'd　e；　but　his　right　foot　sank　deep　in　the　muck；　and　when　he　tried　to　pull　it　out　his　boot　came　off。　He　had　to　kneel　to　wrench　it　free；　laughter　ringing　in　his　ears。　Despite　all　his　socks；　the　snowmelt　had　soaked　through　to　his　toes　by　the　time　he　made　his　escape。　Useless；　he　thought　miserably。　My　father　saw　me　true。　I　have　no　right　to　be　alive　when　so　many　brave　men　are　dead。
　Grenn　was　tending　the　firepit　south　of　the　pound　gate；　stripped　to　the　waist　as　he　split　logs。　His　face　was　red　with　exertion；　the　sweat　steaming　off　his　skin。　But　he　grinned　as　Sam　came　chuffing　up。　〃The　Others　get　your　boot；　Slayer？〃
　Him　too？　〃It　was　the　mud。　Please　don't　call　me　that。〃
　〃Why　not？〃　Grenn　sounded　honestly　puzzled。　〃It's　a　good　name；　and　you　came　by　it　fairly。〃
　Pyp　always　teased　Grenn　about　being　thick　as　a　castle　wall；　so　Sam　explained　patiently。　〃It