Rakóssy

by Cecelia Holland

  “By the time I get done with them, they’ll be ready to kill Malencz.”

  He followed the tramping column patiently all day long. An hour before sundown they came at last into the little pass onto the plain. The pass was not long, but the sides of the two hills that formed it were rocky and close. When the slow-moving column reached it, they all saw that the far end of the pass was blocked by men with bows.

  Rakóssy moved his men and led the stallions down to fill up the other end, catching Malencz and his men between. The stallions were red-eyed and furious. If they were charged down the pass, they would savage anything they could reach. Rakóssy let his black mare trot forward, away from the stallions. They made her nervous and edgy.

  Malencz’s army rumbled and snarled. Rakóssy moved the mare closer to them, until he was within fifty yards of the nearest knights.

  “Do you want your horses back?” he said.

  They roared at him. He let his reins slide and waited.

  “Listen to me, and I’ll give you back your horses.”

  “Listen?” Malencz shouted. He shoved his way out into the open. “Listen to soft words from a traitor? When the Devil talks of listening to him, a Christian fights!”

  Malencz charged, clumsy in his armor. Rakóssy let him get up speed and set the mare straight at him. The mare ran into him and knocked him clean off his feet. Rakóssy vaulted out of the saddle and ran to Malencz. Malencz got to his knees, lifting his sword. Rakóssy dodged the first heavy blow and kicked out. His boot hit Malencz on the shoulder. The sword clattered down. Rakóssy hit Malencz alongside the jaw and felled him. He threw the sword across the little pass, wheeled, and vaulted into his saddle again. Malencz’s men had not moved.

  “There he is,” Rakóssy said. “That’s the man who got you into this. He had you camp in a way that made stealing your horses a child’s trick. He let you in for a march on foot across the hills. There are five hundred and forty of you. He let you get insulted and harried by eighty men.”

  They mumbled and talked to one another. Rakóssy looked at the sun. He had less than an hour of daylight.

  “What’s your proposition?” one knight shouted.

  Rakóssy leaned forward. “I need men — good men — Magyars — to fight the Turks. I need Vrath Castle, but I have that. I need knights.”

  A tall knight stepped forward. “I haven’t fought the Turks for three years. Why start now?”

  “Shut up, Peter,” a smaller man said. “If you don’t know who to fight, listen to somebody who does.”

  “A traitor like that?”

  “Treason, to fight the Turks? Man, the King’s sitting up in Buda throwing festivals because he got married and the palatine’s giving balls and parties every night. While the Turks are getting ready to knock us off like ripe melons.”

  “The Turks are overextended. Everybody knows that. They can’t go farther than they are now.”

  Rakóssy said, “They will attack us by next summer at the latest.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have my ways. The Turk commander in the mountains went to Constantinople this winter. To meet with the Sultan, maybe. To plan the attack, maybe. I don’t know. I can guess.”

  “I believe you,” the stocky little man said. “My hand on it. I’m with you.”

  “You traitor, Béla,” Peter said.

  “I’ve been hearing for years you want to fight Turks, you join Rakóssy. You’ve been sitting on your butt playing gallant knight so long you’ve forgotten who our enemies are.”

  “He’s a traitor.”

  “He’s smarter than Malencz. That’s treason?”

  Somebody laughed.

  Rakóssy said, “Anybody who doesn’t want to join me can take his horse and leave. I don’t want cowards.”

  “Coward?” Peter howled. “I’m no coward, damn you. You can count me for.” He took a step forward.

  Béla drew a line in the dirt with his heel. “Everybody who’s brave and hates Turks and wants to be with us, step over that line.”

  Arpád came up behind Rakóssy and dismounted. He went over to Malencz. “He’s waking up.”

  “I see him. Tie him up.”

  The rest of the knights were milling. Gradually, they crossed the line, each to his own taste. Some of them made great shows of it and some pretended that they didn’t realize the line was there until it was too late.

  Finally there was only one man left on the far side. Martón Vidor, who had commanded the garrison at Etzel’s Well. He stood quietly watching the others cross the line and assemble around Rakóssy.

  “Fetch me my horse,” he said.

  “Somebody bring him his horse,” Rakóssy said.

  Béla was swaggering back and forth around the line. “Eh, Martón, you’ve done it again.”

  “I am still a man of honor,” Vidor said stiffly.

  The new converts jeered him and laughed at him. Béla made a fig with his left hand. “That’s for your honor. You don’t know what honor is.”

  Béla wheeled. “Don’t mind him,” he said to Rakóssy. He grinned; he was missing a tooth. “He still hasn’t gotten over what happened at the Well.” He put his hand on Rakóssy’s arm, and Rakóssy drew away. Béla did not notice, but whirled to shout at Vidor again. Finally Vidor’s horse was brought and the man rode off, his back straight as a pine.

  They camped there for the night, and the next day they rode toward Vrath. They went slowly. That following night they made a big, noisy camp, and everybody sang songs, and Rakóssy told Denis to go back and take command of Hart.

  Denis said, “I am not going. Send Arpád. He knows more about it than I do.”

  “Arpád doesn’t know anything about cannon and he doesn’t care. You’re going.”

  “I can’t, János. I don’t know enough. I haven’t had the experience.”

  “You’re going, and you’re going to set up a defense that will make the Turks think they’re attacking Vienna. You can do it, and you know it, but you’re scared out of your mind. You’re a coward, but you can do it, and I’m going to make you do it.”

  The rest of the army was watching them. Denis looked around and turned back to Rakóssy.

  “Try,” he said and drove his fist into Rakóssy’s face.

  Rakóssy staggered back, tripped, and sprawled on the ground. He got to his hands and knees, stood up, and walked toward Denis. Denis set himself. Rakóssy charged. Denis blocked one wild swing and caught the next in the belly. He doubled over and Rakóssy clubbed him on the back. Denis fell. He rolled, trying to avoid his brother’s boots, and jumped up. For a moment he stood square to Rakóssy, slugging wildly. His face began to hurt. Rakóssy was chopping him down. The pleasure of hitting back was enough to numb the pain. Rakóssy hit him in the chest and Denis fell again.

  He got up and backed off, circling. He saw the others around them, packed in a mob. They weren’t cheering. They were afraid to cheer for him, and they did not want to cheer for Rakóssy.

  Denis lowered his hand. “All right. I’ll go.”

  Rakóssy stepped back. “Get moving. Send Catharine back as soon as you get there.” He glared at the others. “Get going. What is this, a festival?”

  They scurried off to their jobs. Denis gathered up his belongings. Rakóssy said, “I take it back. You’re not a coward.”

  “Why, thank you, big brother.”

  “You’re just a God-damn fool.”

  Rakóssy stamped off. Denis heard him cursing.

  Rakóssy got his men together, sorted out a garrison for Hart, and sent them back with Denis. He himself went on toward Vrath. Malencz refused to talk. The ground was uneven and marshy and they rode slowly. Rakóssy’s face hurt. Denis had given him a black eye.

  Everything was going well enough now. He wished it were all over. It seemed to him that luck this good so early in the game was a bad sign.

  They reached Vrath in the midafternoon. At first the people on the walls would not admit them, but whe
n they saw that Rakóssy had Malencz, they opened the Main Gate. Rakóssy ordered Malencz taken to a dungeon and locked in.

  He rode around to the stable and dismounted. The servants and the retainers of the Count Malencz were gathered in the main courtyard. Vrath was shaped like a squared-off horseshoe and the main courtyard was in the two arms, facing Main Gate, with the stable in the Countess Courtyard and the chapel on the other side. Rakóssy walked slowly around the front of the castle.

  He had expected that he would feel triumph when he had Vrath at last. He felt nothing.

  He told the servants to go make food for the knights. The rest he dismissed. Before he ate, he found and inspected the quarters for the knights and assigned each man to a bed, distributing them equally among the four common rooms at the corners of the castle. He gave them a lecture while they ate, about keeping their gear in shape and their horses sound. They ate steadily, and his voice was accompanied by a mighty slurping and chewing and gurgling. He told them that Alexander and Arpád were the seconds-in-command but that Béla would be the spokesman for the knights who had been with Malencz. There was a cheer at that and Béla jumped up and bowed.

  “I will hang any man who shows cowardice or disobedience,” Rakóssy said. “My cannon will be here within a day, and half of us will put them on the walls. One-fourth of you will go to Buda with Malencz’s treasure and buy powder and shot. The other one-quarter will start getting food in. Eat well. This is the last time you’ll be able to stuff your grimy faces at any meal.”

  They snarled at him, and he cursed them artistically for a few moments and stamped off. He went to Malencz’s old room and sent a servant for food. He could hear the knights shouting and laughing. The knights poured out into the courtyard. Some of Malencz’s knights began to sing a song about the advantages of living on the plain. Rakóssy felt the muscles of his back tighten.

  “I am the chastiser, I am the defender,” the knights sang. “I raise my castle in the grasslands.”

  By the Countess Gate a little knot of Rakóssy’s men from Hart gathered and sang back, “Let the weakheaded build on the plain. I am the attacker, the destroyer. I build my castle in the mountains.”

  The men from Hart laughed. Rakóssy leaned out the window and shouted for Arpád.

  Arpád came running. Rakóssy waited by the window, looking out. The knights had bunched together in two masses and were insulting one another gleefully.

  “Stop that,” Rakóssy said. “They’ll be at one another’s throats if they keep that up.”

  “Well,” Arpád said, “after all, we did beat them. There has to be some—”

  “We didn’t beat them. We tricked them.” Rakóssy swung to face him. “And if we tricked them, you didn’t beat them. I beat them. Remember that. Get down there and stop that.”

  “Why don’t you?” Arpád said and slapped his great hand over his mouth.

  “Why, the Devil take you all,” Rakóssy said. “Eight years you’ve taken my orders and never a word out of you, and now after two days with these rambling idiots you give me back talk. Get down there and stop that before I take you apart rib by rib and eat you for dinner.”

  Arpád fled. Rakóssy went after him into the corridor and shouted after him, “One more word out of you like that, and you’ll wish you were a Turk, you—”

  Arpád at the run turned a corner and was gone.

  “Pig-eared offal-eating lump,” Rakóssy said to himself and went back into his room.

  That evening he got all the servants together in the great hall. He divided the men into two groups, those who could fight and those too old or too young. He sent the fighters off to be armed and taught. The others he assigned to the essential tasks of the castle. He would use them in gun crews if he needed more men.

  “The women,” he said, “can stay if they want. I need women to work in the kitchens. All but you three.” He pointed to two women who had babies at their breasts and a third who was pregnant. “You’ll have to go. My wife will be here presently and she will supervise the women who stay. Leave me.”

  They left the hall, all of them but the priest. The priest came forward a few steps.

  “Father Halassy,” Rakóssy said.

  “My lord. If it is acceptable to you, I will go north.”

  The priest stared at him. He had pale-blue eyes.

  “Go with the men going to Buda. With my blessing.”

  The priest smiled. “I’ll decline that honor. Shall I bear a message to the King?”

  “No. Why should you?”

  “I thought perhaps you felt secure enough now to defy the King directly. If you will excuse me.”

  “Perhaps you should stay,” Rakóssy said. “There may be some need for requiems soon.”

  The priest turned and walked away. He went quietly out the door and shut it softly behind him.

  Rakóssy leaned back in the chair. He had handled that badly. He wondered if he should find a priest. Some of the knights might be pious.

  He was tired and he did not want to think about priests and pious knights. The look in the priest’s eyes stayed with him and bothered him. He remembered what Columbo had said about blue eyes.

  Arpád woke him up in the morning. “Is that priest leaving?”

  “Don’t talk to me about that priest.”

  “He’s saying Mass in the chapel, and half the men are in there.”

  “He’s going to Buda with Alexander.”

  “Better Alexander than me. Why are you letting him say Mass?”

  Rakóssy whirled. “Leave me alone. You hear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A horn blew. “That’s Catharine,” Rakóssy said.

  “My lord?’

  Rakóssy turned his head toward him.

  “I have to tell you something,” Arpád said.

  “What is it now?”

  “Mari is going to have a baby.”

  Rakóssy was silent for a time. At last he said, “That’s all we need, a pregnant woman. What’s the matter, couldn’t she get to the Gypsies on time?”

  Arpád jerked his head up. His eyes glittered. “She wanted it. And I wanted it. I’ve told you. That’s all.” He went out.

  Rakóssy stared at the door. He turned slowly and picked up his razor to shave himself. He saw his face, swollen and bruised, in the mirror and put down the razor. He went out into the corridor and down.

  Catherine and her train were in the courtyard. Rakóssy helped her dismount. Arpád was standing beside Mari. Rakóssy gave her a measuring look, and Arpád first tried to look angry and finally blushed.

  “It is much bigger than Hart,” Catharine said, looking up at the walls.

  “Yes,” Rakóssy turned again toward Arpád. “Take care of the cannon.”

  Arpád raised his hand, saluting, and went off. Mari watched him go. She stared uncertainly after him, and Catharine said, “Mari, come with us.”

  Mari turned, pouting. Catharine smiled and reached out her hand to her. They went after Rakóssy into the castle.

  “You might get lost in here,” he said. “I’ll give you a page until you learn your way around.”

  “They all joined you?”

  “All but one.”

  She paused to look into a study lined with books. The rug was beautiful, and she went into the room, admiring it. Rakóssy said, “This was Malencz’s office. We used to hold the treaty conferences here, he and Kamal ibn Yusuf and I.”

  “The rug is lovely. I’ve never seen such colors.”

  “It’s from Baghdad. Malencz and his ancestors were rich.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “I’m sending all his treasure to Buda, to buy black powder and cannon shot.”

  “Take me to our room.”

  She went out past him. He looked down at her. He took her by the hand. She squeezed his fingers so hard that his signet ring cut his index finger.

  When they reached their room, she sent Mari to have her trunk brought up. She admired the
rug here, too, and the carving on the great bed and the oil painting on the wall.

  Rakóssy sat down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

  “You don’t look well. What happened to your face?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You do look ill.” She took off her gloves.

  “What’s the matter?” he said. “You act uninterested.”

  “I am interested,” she said. “But I liked Hart better.”

  “So do I.”

  “We’ll never go back again,” she said. She sat down. “We’ll never go back again, will we?”

  She looked quickly toward him, and the tears ran down her cheeks.

  He got up and came to her, drew her out of the chair, and put his arms around her. She clutched him. She turned her face into his shirt and wept. He rocked her lightly, talking some gibberish, and kissed her hair. She grew tired of standing up and pulled at him. He picked her up and sat down in the chair and held her on his lap. She cried and sobbed and he kissed her. She began to feel much better, and she stopped crying.

  “Now, what was that all about?” he said, playing with her hair.

  “I don’t know.” She shut her eyes. “Ever since you left, I’ve had to be sensible and calm.”

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get up then. I’ve got work to do. Here comes Mari.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “Catharine,” he said. He curled her hair around his finger. “Did you know that Mari is going to have a baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get up.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  She stood and turned to face Mari, who was ordering the porters around with the trunks.

  Rakóssy said, “You’ll have to go down and tell the cook what to make us for dinner. She has a list of all the food we have. I gave her orders on how much she can use in a day, but she’s stupid.”

  “How many servants do we have?”

  “Forty-two. You have charge of them. Thirty-one women, six old men, and five boys.”

  “Only forty-two?”

  “They’ll get along.” He stopped by the door. “I’ll send up a page to show you around.” He lingered a moment, watching her, his face guarded and pensive, and went out.