grrm.astormofswords-第171部分

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e　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　Westeros　was　about　to　run　short　of　wine；　and　sweated　it　all　out　under　his　arms。　He　had　bathed　in　lemonwater；　she　judged；　but　no　lemon　could　mask　so　much　sour　sweat。　Roose　Bolton　had　a　sweeter　smell　to　him；　yet　no　more　pleasant。　He　sipped　hippocras　in　preference　to　wine　or　mead；　and　ate　but　little。
　Catelyn　could　not　fault　him　for　his　lack　of　appetite。　The　wedding　feast　began　with　a　thin　leek　soup；　followed　by　a　salad　of　green　beans；　onions；　and　beets；　river　pike　poached　in　almond　milk；　mounds　of　mashed　turnips　that　were　cold　before　they　reached　the　table；　jellied　calves'　brains；　and　a　leche　of　stringy　beef。　It　was　poor　fare　to　set　before　a　king；　and　the　calves'　brains　turned　Catelyn's　stomach。　Yet　Robb　ate　it　unplaining；　and　her　brother　was　too　caught　up　with　his　bride　to　pay　much　attention。
　You　would　never　guess　Edmure　plained　of　Roslin　all　the　way　from　Riverrun　to　the　TWins。　Husband　and　wife　ate　from　a　single　plate；　drank　from　a　single　cup；　and　exchanged　chaste　kisses　between　sips。　Most　of　the　dishes　Edmure　waved　away。　She　could　not　blame　him　for　that。　She　remembered　little　of　the　food　served　at　her　own　wedding　feast。　Did　I　even　taste　it？　Or　spend　the　whole　time　gazing　at　Ned's　face；　wondering　who　he　was？
　Poor　Roslin's　smile　had　a　fixed　quality　to　it；　as　if　someone　had　sewn　it　onto　her　face。　Well；　she　is　a　maid　wedded；　but　the　bedding's　yet　to　e。　No　doubt　she's　as　terrified　as　I　was。　Robb　was　seated　between　Alyx　Frey　and　Fair　Walda；　two　of　the　more　nubile　Frey　maidens。　〃At　the　wedding　feast　I　hope　you　will　not　refuse　to　dance　with　my　daughters；〃　Walder　Frey　had　said。　〃It　would　please　an　old　man's　heart。〃　His　heart　should　be　well　pleased；　then；　Robb　had　done　his　duty　like　a　king。　He　had　danced　with　each　of　the　girls；　with　Edmure's　bride　and　the　eighth　Lady　Frey；　with　the　widow　Ami　and　Roose　Bolton's　wife　Fat　Walda；　with　the　pimply　twins　Serra　and　Sarra；　even　with　Shirei；　Lord　Walder's　youngest；　who　must　have　been　all　of　six。　Catelyn　wondered　whether　the　Lord　of　the　Crossing　would　be　satisfied；　or　if　he　would　find　cause　for　plaint　in　all　the　other　daughters　and　granddaughters　who　had　not　had　a　turn　with　the　king。　〃Your　sisters　dance　very　well；〃　she　said　to　Ser　Ryman　Frey；　trying　to　be　pleasant。
　〃They're　aunts　and　cousins。〃　Ser　Ryman　drank　a　swallow　of　wine；　the　sweat　trickling　down　his　cheek　into　his　beard。
　A　sour　man；　and　in　his　cups；　Catelyn　thought。　The　Late　Lord　Frey　might　be　niggardly　when　it　came　to　feeding　his　guests；　but　he　did　not　stint　on　the　drink。　The　ale；　wine；　and　mead　were　flowing　as　fast　as　the　river　outside。　The　Greatjon　was　already　roaring　drunk。　Lord　Walder's　son　Merrett　was　matching　him　cup　for　cup；　but　Ser　Whalen　Frey　had　passed　out　trying　to　keep　up　with　the　two　of　them。　Catelyn　would　sooner　Lord　Umber　had　seen　fit　to　stay　sober；　but　telling　the　Greatjon　not　to　drink　was　like　telling　him　not　to　breathe　for　a　few　hours。
　Smalljon　Umber　and　Robin　Flint　sat　near　Robb；　to　the　other　side　of　Fair　Walda　and　Alyx；　respectively。　Neither　of　them　was　drinking；　along　with　Patrek　Mallister　and　Dacey　Mormont；　they　were　her　son's　guards　this　evening。　A　wedding　feast　was　not　a　battle；　but　there　were　always　dangers　when　men　were　in　their　cups；　and　a　king　should　never　be　unguarded。　Catelyn　was　glad　of　that；　and　even　more　glad　of　the　swordbelts　hanging　on　pegs　along　the　walls。　No　man　needs　a　longsword　to　deal　with　jellied　calves'　brains。
　〃Everyone　thought　my　lord　would　choose　Fair　Walda；〃　Lady　Walda　Bolton　told　Ser　Wendel；　shouting　to　be　heard　above　the　music。　Fat　Walda　was　a　round　pink　butterball　of　a　girl　with　watery　blue　eyes；　limp　yellow　hair；　and　a　huge　bosom；　yet　her　voice　was　a　fluttering　squeak。　It　was　hard　to　picture　her　in　the　Dreadfort　in　her　pink　lace　and　cape　of　vair。　〃My　lord　grandfather　offered　Roose　his　bride's　weight　in　silver　as　a　dowry；　though；　so　my　lord　of　Bolton　picked　me。〃　The　girl's　chins　jiggled　when　she　laughed。　〃I　weigh　six　stone　more　than　Fair　Walda；　but　that　was　the　first　time　I　was　glad　of　it。　I'm　Lady　Bolton　now　and　my　cousin's　still　a　maid；　and　she'll　be　nineteen　soon；　poor　thing。〃
　The　Lord　of　the