“Not in the least,” Alex answered, leading us across to the table. “This isn’t a formal meeting; it’s only introducing Lajos to Iancu and a couple of his friends. You will be very welcome.”
The men certainly greeted us civilly when we were presented and sat down at the end of the table, beside Alex and opposite Iancu, who said, as he took his own seat, “Are you interested in our politics, ladies?”
“In these times, isn’t everyone?” I answered lightly.
“Even a lady from so far away as Scotland?”
Beside me, Lajos turned and said lazily, “I think you will find Miss Katie a perceptive and impartial observer — half Magyar but wholly sensible.”
I flushed slightly, though perhaps the staid compliments were hardly the ones a woman most wishes to hear from the man she loves. Everyone’s eyes were upon me, which was not in the least what I had intended, and I thought Iancu was both scathing and challenging.
“So what does she think of the Romanian cause?” he said.
This, I thought, is quite unfair. I should not have been put in such a position — but then, I had chosen to insinuate my company. I took a deep breath.
“I think that you have long had just cause for complaint,” I said truthfully. “That you have every right to expect equality with other nations. And that you should not fall out with your friends in pursuit of that equality.”
“But who are our friends?” Iancu pounced. I didn’t look at Lajos.
I said slowly, “I would say, those who at least profess to believe in equality.”
Iancu’s gaze turned on Lajos, who, I found, was looking at me, the faintest smile playing on his lips. His head moved unhurriedly to face Iancu.
“I believe in equality,” he said quietly. “I believe wholeheartedly, and without exception.”
“I know,” Iancu said impatiently. “But you do not speak for all Hungarians.”
Lajos shrugged. “I would be the first to admit that there are flaws in Hungarian friendship, but at least there is a will to believe in equality, even if it stumbles over tradition and prejudice. I’m sure you don’t imagine that the King can even allow himself to think about such a thing — it would, after all, put him out of work.”
That won an involuntary smile from Iancu, and from one of the other Romanians, but the other, who was addressed by his friends as Petru, uttered something in his own language. I don’t know what he said, but I had the impression he was not complimenting Lajos. Lajos, however, replied to him at once, in fluent, unhesitating Romanian. Petru flushed under his steady gaze and was silent.
Alex said uneasily, “Perhaps for today, in consideration of the ladies and Szelényi, we could continue to speak in Hungarian? Tomorrow, of course, we shall use our own language. As you hear, my friend is quite proficient.”
“It is unusual,” Iancu remarked, “in a Hungarian.”
Lajos shrugged. “I have friends of all races, and I pick up languages easily.”
“Did Zarescu teach you?”
“No. I learned from people in the next village to mine, but certainly I learned more refinement from Alex.” His lip quirked. “It seems to me that language should not be permitted to become a barrier between peoples. After all, it is the best means we have of communication.”
Iancu regarded him with amusement. “You are very glib. You must be an excellent lawyer.”
“I choose my cases with care.”
“Are we to believe you choose to defend our language?” Petru asked sceptically, and Lajos turned on him with a look of unexpected haughtiness.
“I would have brought proof if I’d known it was required. But I have, in fact, written several articles to that effect.”
“He means no disrespect,” Iancu said quickly. “But there are few Hungarians who do not despise our language.”
“I know many,” Lajos said at once. “And I have read pieces in Hungarian journals praising the beauty of Romanian.”
“Articles written by your friends.”
Lajos acknowledged it, but said, “I have many friends.”
Iancu shifted impatiently in his seat. “Radicals! The ‘Pest youth!’ But what power do they — do you — actually have?”
Lajos’s lips curved. “Not long ago, I believe we changed the government of Hungary, won autonomy from Vienna, abolished censorship, serfdom...”
“The radicals alone did not do that,” Iancu interrupted.
“No, but without us, it would never have happened at all. Kossuth — and even Batthyány — admit that, and they still acknowledge our influence. You see, we follow our ideas to their logical end — don’t we, Katie?”
I knew precisely what he meant and was both outraged and amazed that he could think here about our private conversations. But he only cast a swift, mocking glance in my direction before returning to his point.
“Iancu, you are not so isolated as you think. Have you heard of the Society for Equality? Our aim is to eradicate the barriers of race as well as of class, because we acknowledge that the cause of freedom is common to all, and that we can only achieve it together. United.”
When Lajos spoke like that, no one could doubt his sincerity; you were forced to believe him, and I could see his effect on the Romanians. At last, in the thoughtful silence that followed, they dragged their eyes from Lajos to exchange glances with each other.
Then Iancu said slowly, “Yet if the King offers us what we want, we would be foolish not to take it.”
Lajos raised his brows. “I should be very wary what I accept from princes; they are notoriously untrustworthy.”
Iancu smiled cynically. “I heard you were a republican.”
“I am also a communist. But I’m not so foolish as to believe I can achieve everything overnight. I think you would find the King’s equality among nations means us all struggling equally under the old systems of absolutism, serfdom, censorship and the rest. Vienna is courting Jelacic and the Croats to make trouble for Hungary; Puchner is trying to do the same here with you, because united, Hungary has the strength to win this struggle. Stay with us and you have hope — we all have. But if you and the other races turn against us, we all lose. For once Hungary is defeated, Vienna won’t need you any more. We shall all be sinking in the same boat — all with nothing.”
“You admit you need us,” Iancu pressed eagerly.
“Freely. But you need Hungary too. Don’t give up the revolution just because you haven’t at once got everything you want. It’s our only chance. And remember that the Romanian nation has friends and allies among the Hungarians.”
Iancu was nodding slowly.
“There is sense in what he says,” Petru allowed reluctantly. “We shouldn’t break with Hungary, not without a great deal of thought.” The other nodded emphatically, and Iancu looked from them to Lajos with a kind of rueful admiration.
“I’m not surprised Kossuth fears you! Will you speak to some of my colleagues tomorrow? Members of our Permanent Committee?”
“Gladly,” said Lajos at once.
Iancu smiled and stood up. “Shall we eat?”
As we all rose and moved towards the private parlour which had been arranged for us, I found Lajos beside me.
“Quite a performance,” I murmured cynically in English.
“That?” he said deprecatingly. “That was only the preliminary skirmish — but thank you for your opening volley.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Conversation during dinner was conducted in a bewildering mixture of Romanian and Hungarian. As a result I only understood part of it, but the Romanian elements were not intended as rudeness to us, but simply as a necessity since the subject under discussion was Romanian literature — about which, naturally, Lajos knew as much as they.
Mattias, as much in the dark as Katalin or me, only grinned. “Ignorance is bliss,” he remarked.
“But knowledge,” I returned thoughtfully, my eyes on Lajos, “is power.” For he was using his undoubted knowledge to
impress Iancu and his friends, who were at first surprised that he was so aware of their heritage, and then, amazingly quickly, took it for granted. Earlier, he had won something of their trust. Now he was gaining their liking, and no one knew better than I how easy it was to like and trust him.
Food was passed down the table; wine flowed, and laughter, inevitably, followed. Under Lajos’s beguiling leadership, ably assisted, of course, by Alex, the young Romanians relaxed, lapsing into banter instead of serious debate, applauding Lajos’s clowning and eventually howling with glee at his wicked mimicry which spared no one.
At this point, I decided that Katalin and I should excuse ourselves so that the gentlemen could indulge their increasingly riotous humour uninhibited by female presence. Our hands soundly kissed, we retreated to our own chamber, from which we could still clearly hear a male voice raised in powerful tenor, singing an extremely questionable drinking song, and the roars of male laughter which greeted it.
Katalin was looking indignant. “That is Mattias!” she exclaimed, then suddenly giggled. “Do you think they will get any drunker?”
“Depend upon it,” I said drily, climbing into bed. But I was all admiration for Lajos. He had planned it this way; it was how he won over his family and the villagers again after his long absences. And yet it was part of his charm that he did it with perfect sincerity — no one enjoyed these hilarious drinking sessions more than Lajos. Whatever else came out of them was only a bonus.
I lay awake for a long time, listening to Katalin’s even breathing beside me, and thinking of Lajos. For the first time I allowed myself to dwell on what he had said to me the other night, using my brain instead of my heart, looking beyond the serenity and self-respect which he had given back to me.
I could not doubt the sincerity of his words, why should I? I couldn’t believe he had made his offer purely from an attack of conscience. And yet, something in the whole situation did not ring true, causing a pang of unease to twist through my happiness. I loved Lajos. I could think of no greater joy than sharing my life with him. That he had asked me to be his wife, despite his dislike of the institution of marriage, surely proved that he loved me. Yet he hadn’t ever said so.
I banished that last thought as foolish. If I was the fulfilment of his dream, however unlikely, then he loved me! There was no need to say it. I was loved. I was happy. Yet something was not right.
I thought of our future life together, of braving the Szelényi wrath, to say nothing of Aunt Edith’s outrage; of living with Lajos as well as with his wretched cause — and it was then that I began to see the truth. If I married Lajos when he was so sincerely opposed to marriage, then I would have pushed him, entrapped him, as surely as if I had played some vulgar trick, like pretending I was with child, as Aunt Edith’s maid had once done.
I tried to throw the thought away, to tell myself that none of that mattered, because he loved me. But it did matter. I would become the personification of the constraints of marriage which he so despised, until I too was held in contempt.
And I... Could I have any pride left if I married a man who did not want to marry me?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I think you are very clever,” I said truthfully the next morning, when Lajos asked my opinion. I took a sip of coffee. “But you can’t get the whole Permanent Committee — which includes, I believe, two bishops — rollicking drunk.”
Lajos’s eyes were alight with sudden laughter; I didn’t see how I could bear to give him up a second time.
Overhearing me, Alex was saying wryly, “Not on wine perhaps.” And that gave me something else to focus on.
I regarded him curiously, “What will you do, Alex, if this fails? If your people break with Hungary, rebel...?”
His eyes flickered, but he said firmly, “We won’t speak of failure, if you please!”
“No,” Katalin agreed eagerly, but there was a new alarm in her eyes, as if she had never before contemplated this new obstacle to their happiness.
She was quiet and thoughtful all day. After Lajos and Alex had ridden off to meet Iancu, she and I, escorted by Mattias, strolled after them less hurriedly into Nagyzseben which was then a very neat, tidy town with wide, rather charming streets; though the very beauty of the valley surrounding it made it appear dull to me. Only once, Katalin interrupted our conversation to say abruptly, “Lajos will persuade them, will he not?”
“If anyone can, he will,” Mattias agreed, looking at her in some surprise. “And even if he can’t persuade all of them, at least he has your Zarescu safe for Hungary!”
I opened my mouth to dispute that, and then, unwilling to upset Katalin further, I closed it again. But I doubted very much if Lajos either would or could persuade Alex to stand against his own people.
* * * *
It must have been an hour after I had retired when, still wakeful, I heard them come in. Alex was laughing. Then I heard Katalin’s anxious voice, and her lover hushing her. All was well. The voices were cheerful. It seemed Lajos was successful.
When Katalin and I entered the parlour the following morning, we found Lajos and Mattias already there. In his shirt-sleeves and looking relaxed as he lounged in his seat against the wooden table, Lajos glanced up at us. “Thank God,” he remarked flippantly. “I thought it was Alex with his sore head.”
“Good morning to you too,” I said affably. “Don’t you have a sore head?”
“I never over-indulge,” he said grandly. Mattias hooted derisively, but as I sat down, I reflected that I had only once ever seen him noticeably affected by drink. “I believe I am intoxicated, but I don’t think it’s the wine...”
Abruptly I shut off the memory, saying instead, “I presume you imbibed with Mr Iancu and his cronies?”
“Somewhat.”
“Then you were celebrating? You were successful?”
“They listened,” Lajos allowed. “All I have to do now is make Batthyány and Kossuth listen.”
“It has never been a problem to you before,” I said drily.
Just then Alex came in, a little woolly round the edges but still cheerful. Katalin regarded him indulgently and poured him a cup of coffee. However, he had barely lifted the cup to his lips when a sudden commotion outside was heard. A second later, a voice I recognized was raised impatiently in the house. We exchanged startled glances, and then the door burst open to reveal Avram Iancu. He was breathless and fierce, and his eyes seemed to be almost spitting with anger.
“So,” he said bitterly, his wild gaze seeking and finding Lajos. “This is what your fine words and promises amount to!”
Slowly, Lajos got to his feet. “Tell me,” he invited.
“Don’t you know? Were you not sent to keep us off guard?”
“No one sent me.” His eyes were wary now, as I had seen them before, and he uttered the denial mechanically, absently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iancu, but you had better tell me before you burst.”
Something in the calm humour of his voice seemed to soothe Iancu slightly. Abruptly, he came into the room, slamming the door behind him. Zarescu spoke sharply to him in Romanian, but he only shrugged irritably, still looking directly at Lajos.
“Baron Vay, your Commissioner for Transylvanian Affairs, has ordered the arrest of all members of the Permanent Committee. Is this the tolerance and equality you spoke of so eloquently?”
“Apparently not,” Lajos said steadily. “So, are they all arrested?”
Iancu flung himself into the nearest vacant chair. I poured a cup of coffee and pushed it towards him. He drank it distractedly, almost without noticing.
“No,” he said, laying down the cup. “They only found two at home — Laurien and Balasescu, but they are in prison, and that is bad enough!”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” Lajos said slowly, “but Vay has no power to do that.”
“Apparently he is acting on the specific instructions of your Minister of the Interior.”
Lajos swore un
der his breath. I heard him though I could not understand the words. “Then he has no right,” he said aloud. “And if I have learned one thing in the last year, it is that the power of the people is stronger than any one man.”
Iancu frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, go and get your friends out of prison. Raise as many people as you can quickly; fetch in the peasants — and the priests if they’ll come.”
Iancu stared. “You mean start the war now?”
My stomach lurched, but Lajos was saying, “Oh no, I don’t think you need a war for a little matter like this.” He sounded faintly amused, yet it struck me that he was angry.
“Little matter!”
“Yes, little. Fetch your crowd. Shout, demonstrate, threaten. I guarantee it works. I’ll come with you, if you like — I’m very good at making noise.”
Iancu swallowed, licking his dry lips convulsively and looking suddenly very young. “You would do this for us? Demonstrate against your own government?”
Lajos’s lip twitched. “What do you think I have been doing all my life? In one cause or another.”
* * * *
In the first tiny inn of our return journey, while Katalin slept, I found myself gazing out on the night from our bed-chamber window, and thinking of Nagyzseben, of Lajos’s purpose and his apparent success so stupidly marred by the arrests this morning.
Yet, as he had predicted so confidently, the demonstration, combined with threats of a general peasant uprising, had had its effect. The two Romanians were promptly released, and the peasants who had swelled the crowd were led home by their triumphant priests; so, surely that too had worked in Lajos’s personal favour in the end, because he had been seen to be helping the Romanians against those who were regarded as his own people. Whatever the setbacks, he had it all in hand. He didn’t need me...
Unhappily, I moved away from the window and lay down in the huge bed, but my mind was too active, too troubled to allow sleep. In the end, I decided to read, and had already relit the candle before I remembered that I had left my book in the coffee room. For a moment, I hesitated, then, taking up my shawl and the candle, I crept along the passage. I found my book with ease, but as I picked it up and straightened, I became aware of a silent, shadowy figure by the window. A single candle burned beside him and a book lay open on his knees, but he wasn’t reading it. He was staring out into the night, much as I had done only minutes before. He hadn’t even heard me come in.
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