She called Mari and they went down to the great hall and their looms. Catharine folded the cloth she had made and stared at the loom, concentrating on the new pattern she was trying. Mari said suddenly, “A Gypsy came this morning.”
“A Gypsy?” Catharine picked up a thread.
“From the north.”
“Oh.” Catharine wove. The thread flew back and forth. She changed the color and made a small adjustment. Abruptly she realized what Mari had said. She looked up. Mari’s eyes were huge.
“But he can’t attack us now,” Catharine said. “It’s too early.”
“Arpád says . . .” Mari stopped and chewed her lip. “Arpád says it wouldn’t surprise him at all.”
Catharine put her hands in her lap. She stared through the mesh of the threads at the long dim hall.
“Arpád says that Jansci thinks the Turks will come this year.”
“No,” Catharine said. “Not this year. Why?”
“Arpád says that he has never been wrong.”
Catharine stood up, spilling the spindle from her lap. The thread looped off into a tangle. She ran to the side door and opened it. In the narrow corridor she paused, wondering where they would be. She went slowly to the library and looked in. It was empty. But the letter to Levolt was gone.
For a moment she tried to govern her fear. I have a right to be afraid, she thought. She ran down the hall to the stairs, climbed then, and ran into her room.
The four of them turned to stare at her. Arpád and Denis stood at once. The Gypsy was Venn, from Columbo’s camp. He looked away from her.
“What’s wrong?” Rakóssy said.
“You sent the letter to Levolt.”
“A month ago.”
Denis said, “Catharine, don’t be afraid.” He glanced at Rakóssy. “Shall I take her downstairs?”
“No.” Rakóssy turned back to the Gypsy. “And Levolt did what?”
“Sent a letter. He will not come, he says. You have not been tried and found guilty, and he must have his men to fight the Turks.”
“Just a minute.” Rakóssy lifted his face toward Catharine’s. “Sit down. Malencz has sent to Kutess for men, to meet at Vrath in the first week of April. He knows I have guns and he has asked the King for cannon but the King has none to spare.”
Catharine sank down. “Then he may not attack for a while.”
Rakóssy said, “I’m going to raid him. I have to get him out of Vrath before the middle of April.”
“Why?”
“Because by then the passes in the south will be open, and I don’t like being caught with my pants down.” He turned again to the Gypsy. “How many men does he have without Levolt?”
“Three hundred at least,” Venn said. “Perhaps more. It’s said he spent many hours in prayer, wondering if he should attack you or not, when you had not been judged.”
“He prays very well. He has more than three hundred.”
“Yes.”
Rakóssy looked across at Denis, smiling. Abruptly he swung back to Venn. “When did you see Mustafa last?”
Venn jumped a little. “Mustafa?”
“Don’t play games. You sold the Turks information about me. You knew the name Mustafa calls me and you had Turkish coins on that fancy vest.” Venn looked around at the others. Rakóssy said, “It makes no difference to me. Have you seen him recently?”
“I stopped going to Cliff’s Eye last fall. Trig Columbo found out.”
“Was he there then?”
“Yes.”
“When did he leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“But he did leave.”
“I never said that.”
“But you know he left sometime.”
Venn yawned, looked from side to side, and shrugged. “He left after the Turk New Year. I told Trig Colombo. I saw him ride into Belgrade. We could not get a man through the passes then.”
“Going south?”
“He went to Belgrade. I swear it on my father’s soul. More I don’t know.”
“It could have been somebody else,” Denis said.
“It was Mustafa. I have seen him. And anyway, this man wore the clothes of a ghazi. How many ghazi are there between here and Belgrade?” Venn spat. “Just one. It was Mustafa. He rode that chestnut mare.”
“Tell me again that you don’t know where he was going,” Rakóssy said.
Venn grinned. “You’re a tough one.”
“How many Gypsies winter south of the mountains? How long were you in Belgrade?”
“Until . . . maybe twenty days ago.”
Rakóssy snorted. “You are stupid. You don’t lie well enough to look clever. Where was he going?”
“To Constantinople.”
Rakóssy blew out through his teeth. “So, Kamal raided the shepherds. It wasn’t like Mustafa. I should have known.”
“But you did know,” Venn said.
“What’s the news of the north?”
Venn began to pare his nails. “The Prince of Transylvania has had a fight with the King. He’s gone back to his city with his knights and he swears he’ll have the King on his knees before he goes back to Buda.”
“Good,” Denis said.
“They’re fools,” Rakóssy said.
He stood up. “Venn, go home. Take my thanks to Columbo. You can have the pick of my stables, except for my black mare.”
“My king will surely bless your name.” Venn rose. He bowed, grinning. “You Devil.” He went jauntily out the door. Rakóssy watched him go, frowning.
“Arpád.”
Arpád straightened.
“Get one hundred men ready. We’re going to hit Malencz.”
Arpád went out. Denis said, “Maybe you should send a scout down near Belgrade.”
“The Gypsies will tell me if there’s any sign of Turks.”
“Venn was a traitor to us.”
“But Columbo isn’t.” Rakóssy sat down. “Columbo was in love with Mother. I’ve known him since I was too little to walk.”
“In love with Mother? Did she—”
Rakóssy laughed. He stretched. “Half of Mother’s charm was that she never loved anybody. She accepted it as natural that everybody would love her, but she never loved anybody.”
“She must have been very unhappy,” Catharine said. “A woman needs to love.”
“She loved me,” Rakóssy said.
“Will we win?” Denis said. “If the Turks come this year.”
Rakóssy shrugged. “If we can hold Vrath and Hart, even just Vrath, we will give the Turks some trouble. If the King raises an army good enough to give them one solid whack of a beating, and if Bathóry plays it right—”
“Who is Bathóry?” Catharine said.
“The King’s general. If they can hold the north, we will have the Turks in a vise. They’ll be trapped. They can’t go through Transylvania. They obviously can’t go west. If they go south, we can block their way out. We may not finish them off, but we can make a mess of them.”
“Shall I go with you?” Denis said.
“Yes. Have you got any mail?”
“No.”
“Well, go to the armory and get Georg to give you some.”
Denis went out. Catharine said, “He looks very happy.”
“Yes.”
He stood up and went to his chest. He took out his mail shirt and got into it. Catharine said, “This portrait is of your mother, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Columbo says that she was the most beautiful woman he has ever seen who was not a Roma.”
“Did she really love you?”
He slung the baldric of his longsword over one shoulder and caught the buckle. “She never loved anybody else but me.” He buckled the baldric and went over and kissed Catharine. “Don’t be jealous of my mother.”
“You never talk about her.”
“She’s dead.” He kissed her eyes and her mouth. “I
have to go.”
She laid her cheek against his hair. He was kissing her throat. “Then why are you making love to me?” He started to pull away and she tightened her hold on him. “My dearest love,” she said.
“Will you miss me?”
Arpád charged through the door. He skidded to a stop and said, “Excuse me.”
Rakóssy looked at him over Catharine’s head. “Has everybody got bows?”
“Yes.” Arpád looked off at the ceiling. Catharine tried to move away from Rakóssy but he held her close.
“Has my little brother got himself armed?”
“Yes. He looks to choke on the baldric.”
“All right.”
Rakóssy kissed Catharine again and went out the door after Arpád. She went to the window and saw him stride out into the courtyard. He went to the black mare and mounted. He rode over to Denis and they talked for a moment. They swung and the whole band galloped out of Hart.
Catharine turned toward the big portrait. The woman’s blue eyes, blazing like jewels, looked over her head.
“I think,” Catharine said, “that I would have hated you, madam.”
They attacked a large village at the very edge of Malencz’s land, herded all the villagers into the fields, and looted the huts. They did not burn them. Denis thought his brother wasted an inordinate amount of time riding up and down the village square. Finally they scattered the village’s herds and flocks and started home. They made a camp on a hilltop for the night.
Denis sat in the first round of sentries, watching the north. He felt guilty for harassing the villagers, who after all could not help that Malencz was their lord. He had taken no loot, but he knew that most of the others had — woolen cloth and a few trinkets. He was not entirely sure, either, that he really approved of what his brother was doing. It might be better to let Malencz alone. The more enemies the Turks had to face, the harder they would find the war. If they did ever show up. He had not thought about it all winter.
It was still cold, but the snow on the plain had long since melted. The ground under him was soggy and uncomfortable. He could see his horse, dozing, in the fringe of scrubby trees.
Malencz would not attack them here. It would take the villagers too long to send for him. This whole business was stupid, sham, for the sake of Arpád’s and Rakóssy’s pride. Denis dug at the mud with his fingers. The cannon were different. With cannon, you paid attention to the engineering of it, but when you fought hand to hand there was blood and people staring at you reproachfully. When this is all over, he thought, I am going to Italy. If there’s any Italy left, the way the Emperor and the French are fighting over it.
I’ll go to the south, Naples perhaps, or even Palermo. And sit all day under the orange trees and eat cheese and drink goat’s milk. I’ll be a philosopher, that’s what I’ll be. And if anybody ever wants me to fight, I’ll say, I’m sorry, but I’ve had my fill of that. I was with Rakóssy at the defense of Vrath.
“Rakóssy?” they would say. “What’s your name?”
“Denis Rakóssy. He was my brother.”
“Are you the brother who rescued him on the walls?”
“I rescued him once, but he rescued me several times. He’s dead, you know.”
“How did he die?”
How would his brother die? Not at the height of the battle, of course. Perhaps after the Turks were routed and they were pursuing them, some stray arrow would take his brother neatly off his horse. Denis would hold him while he died and Rakóssy would say something. No, János would never say anything memorable or thrilling. He would say, “The Devil with it,” or “Take care of Catharine,” or even “I’m scared.” Denis thought of what he would say when he died.
“I’ll quote from Plutarch,” he said. “Or maybe in perpetua, frater, ave atque vale.”
“Talking to yourself?”
Rakóssy sat on his heels beside Denis. He was smiling.
“I was just trying to think of what I would say when I die.”
“Cheerful thought for a spring night.”
“What will you say?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“I know you’ll never say anything memorable or thrilling.”
“Or edifying, either.”
“What if we’re taken prisoner?”
“In that case, Mustafa will make sure I live long enough to recite the Koran, backwards.”
“You mean he’ll torture you?”
“I don’t intend to find out.”
“Will Malencz attack us, do you think? I mean tonight.”
“God no. He won’t find out about it until tomorrow. Those villagers might. They’re tough donkeys, and they’ve gotten used to fighting for themselves.”
Denis yawned. “Let’s hope everything goes the way it should. I’m sleepy.”
“Well, the Sultan’s a tricky fellow, I’m told. Malencz will play right into the trap.”
“Good.” Denis yawned again.
“Your watch is up. Go to sleep.”
“Well, here’s to a tough war. Good night.” He went off down the side of the hill to sleep. Rakóssy grinned.
Count Louis Malencz, splendid in satin and brocade, listened to the tale of the villagers without change of expression. He dismissed them. He sat a long while, his eyes ranging the books in his study, thinking back over the years before, when in the spring Kamal and Rakóssy had come for the peace talks. There would be no such spring this year. This year the Turks would deal with him alone.
He went to his prie-dieu and knelt. “Oh, God,” he said. “Give me strength.”
Strength for what? was of course the question. He thought of trying to take Rakóssy by some stratagem. He had planned to have the King’s officers place him under arrest at Christmas Feast, but Rakóssy had not come. The King’s officers had danced and dined and gone back to Buda with no prisoner.
This attack on his village was a taunt. Surely there was nothing to be gained from an attack on such a miserable little village.
He prayed for a while, arranging his mind.
“Give me the strength to conquer Rakóssy, and I will give a new chapel altar to the cathedral at Buda.” That did not sound sufficient. “I will try to take him alive and have him sent to Buda for trial.”
Both his sons were still in Buda, at the court. He thought of Peter. He sighed. Peter had been gay, witty, handsome, a true courtier and a gallant gentleman. “You have tried me. Have You found me wanting?”
He thought again of the Masses he had ordered for the repose of the soul of his eldest son. The great ritual comforted him. The mighty swelling of the priests’ voices speaking of resurrection and the centuries of tradition and pattern lightened his heart. “If there be heresy, Lord, I have been staunch in Your Service. Why do you afflict me thus?”
Levolt’s rebuff had been painful, but Malencz’s spies told him that Levolt was not giving aid to Rakóssy. Levolt had always been terrified of Rakóssy; there was an old rumor that Levolt had once dabbled in witchcraft and that Rakóssy had gained some awful power over him.
“I am Your servant. Direct me toward Your enemies.”
He was not a young man. Rakóssy was twenty years younger than he. He felt suddenly old and tired and incompetent. They said that Rakóssy had a young wife, the aunt of the Emperor. Was that why the King had suddenly grown silent to his pleas? Someone had told him that a summons had been sent to Hart but that Rakóssy had never answered it.
“Arrogant,” Malencz said and clenched his fist. He beat his hands against the top of the prie-dieu. “Arrogant, arrogant.”
He wept, and prayed again. There was no one left to help him. Levolt and the King had deserted him. He crossed himself and rose.
“I am Your warrior, Lord. Defend me.”
He went out of the room. He sent a servant to assemble his knights in the great hall and went to his chamber to prepare himself. His servants put on his armor. He wore the plate armor his father had commissioned in Mil
an. He carried the helmet under his arm and strapped the sword around his waist.
The knights were gathered in the hall, rank upon rank, nearly five hundred of them. When he appeared, they cheered him. He waited until they were silent.
“Rakóssy has attacked us,” he said. “He sent his men against one of my villages. Are we to let this outrage go unpunished?”
They cheered. He mouthed more phrases. The words tasted foul in his mouth. They cheered whenever he asked a question.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “we shall hear Mass in the chapel. After we have asked God and Christ Jesus for aid, we shall march against this traitor Rakóssy.” He sobbed and lifted his fist. “I shall lay out his bones to bleach on the hills and beat the flesh from his body with spiked chains.”
It seemed to him that the knights cheered this less fervently than before. They were weak-stomached and had not the reason to hate Rakóssy that he had.
Rakóssy took his men back to a place where they could make a good camp and ordered Arpád to keep scouts on the border between his land and Malencz’s to find and follow Malencz’s army when it appeared. He rode back to Hart to give orders to the remaining ten men in the garrison.
He told them to prepare for a possible Turk attack, to hear all messengers who came to Hart and send him prompt news if the messengers had anything important. He set Catharine over them as temporary commander.
“Will the Gypsies warn us?” she said.
“Yes. There may be a Jew, named ben Jakub, coming from Thessalonika, and he may have some information. He won’t strain himself getting here and his news won’t be fresh.” He looked at Mari standing behind her. “Don’t look so frightened.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m waiting for Malencz. He has to attack soon or I’ll go tweak his nose for him. Here it is almost April, and the fool isn’t out of his winter underwear yet. I’m only about half a day’s ride away. I’ll send news. Make sure that the wagons with the other cannon are sound. Tell someone to bring in those oxen, and have the men put the eight marked cannon on the walls.”
“I will.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
“Don’t let anybody inside the gate unless you know him.”
Rakóssy Page 13
