A World to Win

by Mary Lancaster

  His lips moved slightly, but his eyes were unblinkingly on mine. Dropping my gaze, I could only mutter, “Be careful,” before I hurried away from him to catch up with Margit and the children.

  * * * *

  To add to the national chaos, there was new friction at the Szelényi palace, for Mattias was wild to join the honvéd and save his country from the invader, and István would not hear of it.

  “You know nothing of soldiering!” István said impatiently. “You are training to be a lawyer!”

  “But I never cared for the law above half, you know that. Besides, this is an emergency!”

  “Precisely, and as such it will be over before you have had time to buy a uniform!”

  “There will be other emergencies. When we fight the Austrians...”

  “We shall not,” István interrupted deliberately, “fight the Austrians.”

  Mattias slammed out of the room. He resumed the argument at fairly regular intervals but, interestingly, it seemed he would not join without his brother’s permission.

  * * * *

  Considering the turbulent state of the city at this time, I suppose it was unwise of me to wander about unattended, but the habits of a lifetime are hard to break, and I was, besides, terribly interested in all that was going on. I watched the people building fortifications around Pest. I saw a hundred French-born inhabitants of the city march off to fight Jelacic singing the Marseillaise. And if that seems odd, imagine more than one thousand Viennese coming to support the fight for Hungary’s freedom, for that happened too.

  It was while wandering in this way that I discovered Lajos was back in the city, for I came upon him unexpectedly addressing an impromptu gathering in the street near the City Hall. Inevitably, my breath caught at the sight of him; just as inevitably, I stayed to hear him.

  “Well, our people have risen up behind Jelacic,” he was saying in his conversational tone, “picking off his men and cutting off his supplies. I think they even captured his mail!”

  The crowd cheered delightedly till Lajos held up his hand.

  “No; save your enthusiasm. Such action is brave and no doubt valuable, but frankly, it is a drop in the ocean compared to what is needed. Armies are not defeated by being worried around the edges. We need an army of our own to fight the Croats! An army so full of spirit and patriotism that any lack of training does not matter. Today, Hungary needs all her men.” He paused, his mobile face changing again. “But you know that already. To save the Fatherland from any invader is reason enough to join the honvéd and fight. But I have recently made the acquaintance of this invader in particular.”

  He looked around the crowd. “Have you ever seen the Croat Grenzer? They look exotically noble, with their beautiful scarlet cloaks and their vicious Turkish weapons hanging from their belts. They even have warrior women who march side by side with the men! The Grenzer are awesome; but don’t be fooled. There is nothing noble about these savages. They are merely licensed thieves and freebooters. Loot is their only object in war, and believe me, they have pillaged across Hungary, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake that even their own officers are powerless to prevent.”

  With growing horror, I listened to his graphic description of the atrocities committed by the Croat army. I had heard him speak many times by then. I knew he was calculating as well as passionate, and I tried to tell myself that this was merely his way of rousing the people to action before it was too late; but as his quiet, angry voice went on and on, I could no longer doubt the genuineness of his words.

  The crowd were silent at first. Like me, they were feeling the sudden, awful closeness of the war. Then someone gasped and exclamations of horror and outrage followed. They too were angry.

  At last Lajos paused. He pushed his hand through his hair and said, “So you see, we must avenge the destruction, the murder, the rape; we have to prevent it happening anywhere else. They are heading for Buda-Pest now. I have seen thousands of peasants enlist in the honvéd to stop them. Join your brothers and prove the city as patriotic as the countryside.”

  A buzz of assent and determination swelled gradually to a rousing shout. But into it someone said, “Will you go, Lajos?” And a new fear began, one I should have been prepared for, and was not.

  “Yes,” said Lajos at once. “When I have done what I have to here, I will join.” He smiled faintly. “I have a personal stake in our revolution — I will defend it to the death.”

  I shivered, for there was truth in his voice, and his words hit me like some evil prophesy: I will defend it to the death. Jelacic had started the killing, but God alone knew where it would end now.

  I was so lost in these fearful thoughts that I was actually startled when Lajos suddenly appeared at my side, looking down at me, his face unusually serious. “Katie. What are you doing here? Are you in the habit of wandering around like this, alone?”

  I shrugged, slightly piqued by his attitude. “From time to time.”

  “At the risk of offending,” Lajos said slowly, “I don’t think you should.”

  I stared at him. “Why ever not? You sound just like István, you know.”

  “This isn’t like March, not any more. There is too much fear now, too much anger. You wouldn’t — you really wouldn’t — like to be caught up with a mob when it turns ugly, when it erupts into violence.”

  “Then why do you stir them up?” I asked flatly. “If you’re not prepared for the consequences—”

  “I am prepared,” he interrupted. “You are not.”

  I regarded him sceptically. I was not unmoved by his sudden concern for my safety, but I would not let him see that. He took my arm, drawing me away from the dispersing crowd. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

  “There’s no need,” I said drily. “I remember the way.”

  “I’ll find you a fiacre.”

  “I’m sure you have more important engagements.”

  “None that can’t wait. I’m only on my way to lead the good citizens in some howling outside the Assembly.”

  As Lajos waved down an empty fiacre, I roused myself to observe provokingly, “István says the crowd at the Assembly consists only of undesirables hired by your friend Madarász, and no respectable townspeople at all.”

  “István would say that.”

  * * * *

  Katalin’s great trouble was that she had had no letters from Alex since he had left Szelényi in August, and by now she was beginning to make herself ill with worry. So, in a disastrous attempt to distract her, I enticed her to drive out with me across the river to admire the view from Buda Hill. We took one of the town carriages, but Katalin vetoed my last-minute suggestion of taking the children too. Thank God she did.

  It seemed to me as we drove out towards the bridge of boats that the city was growing ever angrier. Of course, the King’s autocratic and highly unpopular appointment of Count Lamberg as Commander-in-Chief had fuelled the excitement of the populace to the point at which I was sure it must soon somehow explode...

  As usual, the streets were swarming with people: sullen, discontented, furious. In fact, when we reached the quay we found the way to the pontoon bridge blocked by a large group of people — workers, students, a scattering of peasants who had come into the city to join the army, grasping their agricultural implements like weapons. More seemed to be running to join the throng from all directions.

  Something about the nature of this crowd made me remember Lajos’s warning; and when Katalin demanded to know what was happening, I said only, “Who knows? We can’t pass through this though — I’ll tell László to turn back.”

  However, before I could do so, we were hailed by a familiar-looking youth whom I recognized with an effort as one of Mattias’s friends. I returned his greeting and took the opportunity to ask what was happening.

  “We’re waiting for Count Lamberg. He arrived in Buda today, and someone said he was coming to Pest in search of Count Batthyány.”

  “Batthyány isn’t in Pest,”
I said, amused. “In fact, I understand he has left in search of Count Lamberg!”

  Just then, a shout went up on the bridge. I saw that a fiacre was rumbling across it. Suddenly the people surged forward on to the bridge, and Mattias’s friend laughed, raising his hat and dashing off after the crowd.

  “Idiots,” said Katalin roundly. “What do they think they are doing?”

  “Howling at Lamberg probably,” I said uneasily. This isn’t like March, not any more. Suddenly I didn’t want to see. “Let’s go, Katalin...”

  But Katalin did not hear me. Before I had finished speaking she was exclaiming, “Katie, they’re going to push his carriage over!” And my eyes flew involuntarily back to the bridge. The fiacre had stopped, surrounded by the crowd, and was swaying perilously under the fists hammering on it.

  “No,” I said helplessly. “They mustn’t...” They didn’t. Instead, some enterprising person wrenched open the carriage door and I saw a man being pulled out. “Perhaps it isn’t him, and they’ll let him go... Katalin, is that Count Lamberg?”

  “I can’t tell over this distance — he isn’t in uniform — ah no!”

  This last exclamation came as someone struck the unfortunate man. And as if this was an invitation, everyone within range was hitting and kicking until, sick with horror, I saw the victim fall.

  “My God,” I whispered. “They’re killing him...” I felt a clutch of ice around my heart, a heavy paralysis spreading through my body. I could think of nothing except the unspeakable brutality taking place upon the bridge. And then, just for a moment, I felt a wave of profound relief, for the victim was on his feet again; but still the mob did not let him go. They were pushing and pulling him along the bridge towards Pest.

  Lajos, I thought wildly. Where was Lajos now? The radical press had been shouting for Lamberg’s head since the appointment was announced — this was their responsibility, they had to stop it. My eyes were desperately searching the mob for a face I knew, but none of them were here.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Katalin said in a low, sick voice. “They’re coming this way.”

  And as the howling mob converged upon us, I seemed to be only a jumble of feelings, of revulsion and hatred and pity and fear and anger, and wild thoughts of dragging the poor victim into the carriage and saving him. But as they pressed against the side of the coach in their hurry, I could not even have opened the door if I had tried. The people were inhuman in their single-minded brutality. They paid no attention to us whatever, and my own abject fear became diluted with a miserable, guilty gratitude.

  But my eyes were riveted to the figure being dragged along in their midst. Bloody and dishevelled, he stumbled by us in the grip of his merciless captors, and I had one clear glimpse of his face, of the sheer, hopeless terror, and the bewildered anguish of a man in a nightmare where people are no longer recognized as members of the same species. Since that day, I have seen much suffering, but I have never forgotten that look, or the savagery of those who inspired it.

  Katalin whimpered as a particularly heavy body caused the carriage to sway and the horses to sidle unhappily. And then I saw another face pass, the alarmed, uneasy countenance of Mattias’s friend, remonstrating with those around him. Somewhere, I was glad of his effort, though I knew he could do nothing. The people either ignored him or pushed him away.

  “It’s Lamberg,” Katalin whispered. “That is Count Lamberg. Oh how can they dare...?” And suddenly her head was buried in my shoulder and I clutched her convulsively while the vicious alien shouts of the mob surrounded us and then began slowly to fade, and the prayer went round and round in my head: “Lajos, Lajos, save him...”

  “Poor man,” Katalin kept moaning. “Poor, poor man.” By then László, without waiting for instructions, had whipped the horses into motion and we were galloping away from the murderous scene as fast as the horses could take us.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Some National Guardsmen eventually prevented the mob from hanging Count Lamberg. There was no point: by that time he was dead. While we had driven away to inform the soldiers, the mob had slashed him to death and dragged his body through the streets.

  I think the whole city was dazed with shock by this atrocity — even those who had perpetrated it. An aristocrat, a respected man, had been brutally murdered by a mob made up of ordinary people — workers, soldiers, students, men who went home to their wives and families. It made everyone feel unsafe. As for the mobs themselves — these monsters brought into being by Lajos and his friends — I hated them with a fierce, fearful loathing.

  Naturally, Katalin and I were both deeply shaken by what we had witnessed. It seemed to drown even fear of the nearing Croat army. Katalin refused to go out the next day, while I desperately tried to keep myself busy, to avoid thinking about Lamberg’s bewildered face. In this I was not entirely successful, so I was quite relieved when, halfway through the afternoon, Mattias strolled into the drawing-room, offering a welcome distraction to both of us.

  “I’m off to the Pilvax for an hour’ if you’d like to come,” he said handsomely.

  “The Pilvax?” Katalin repeated with loathing. “Not for anything! I blame your radical friends for what happened yesterday!”

  “Oh come, that’s not fair,” Mattias protested. “None of the radicals were there! No, the fault lies with Vienna.”

  “And the killing instincts of mobs,” I added. I considered for a moment, then stood up, dropping my unread book on the chair. “I shall come with you, Mattias.”

  Katalin’s head turned quickly towards me.

  “Fetch your bonnet,” Mattias commanded. “Five minutes!” And he wandered out again while Katalin jumped to her feet.

  “Katie, if you see Lajos...?”

  “I shall ask him about Alex,” I said resignedly.

  “Do you think — do you think he might arrange to send a letter to him?”

  “Shall I ask him before or after I tell him your views on Count Lamberg’s murder?”

  “That isn’t fair, Katie! You said yourself it was the radicals who first stirred up the mobs.”

  I sighed. “I know. Give me the letter.”

  “Bless you!” said Katalin fervently, almost sweeping me out of the room and upstairs.

  * * * *

  We found the café fairly quiet, though I could see some intense debates going on. At first I thought Lajos was not there, and was unreasonably annoyed with him, especially when Mattias fell into conversation with a couple of his friends, rather callow youths whom he invited to join us. But then, while I was idly admiring the skill of a waiter carrying a positive mountain of crockery towards the kitchen, I suddenly saw the back of Lajos’s head leaning out from behind a pillar to call after the waiter.

  In acknowledgement, the waiter raised one hand, causing the pile of plates on his arm to rattle precariously.

  I glanced at Mattias and his friends. “Excuse me one moment,” I murmured, and without waiting for their response I stood up and made my way towards the pillar, hearing the startled scrape of their chairs on the floor behind me as they made a hasty, if futile, attempt at courtesy.

  Lajos was writing busily, a frown on his tired face. He was surrounded by papers and open books, and his free hand was turning the pages of one even while he wrote.

  “Good afternoon,” I said calmly. I saw the quirk of his lips before he looked up.

  “Katie Kettles,” he said, dropping the pen and rising to his feet. “Have you come to join me?”

  “Briefly,” I said, taking the chair he held for me. He sat down opposite and regarded me.

  “What is the matter?” he asked. I had forgotten his perception.

  After the faintest pause, I answered, “You must have heard about Count Lamberg’s murder?”

  A shadow crossed his face and was gone. I might have imagined it. “Yes; I have heard.”

  “Katalin and I saw it. At least we saw the start of it.”

  Lajos’s eyes were searching mine. “I�
��m sorry,” he said briefly. “Sorry it happened at all, sorry you had to see it.”

  “And that is it?”

  “I’m not a policeman. Do you expect me to find the culprits and hang them too?”

  “No, I expect you to own to some responsibility! You and your friends brought the people on to the streets, and this is the result!”

  “No,” Lajos said coolly. “It is one result, weighed against all the good we have achieved. What you saw yesterday was horrible; no one deserves to die that way. But keep it in proportion, Katie. Lamberg was one man; he’s not even the first casualty of the revolution. How many do you think are dying at the hands of the Croats? How many will die before this is done? Do you put the blame for all of that on me? Because I and my friends dared to try and help the people?”

  “No.” I met his gaze ruefully. “I think I blame you for not being there to prevent it.”

  His face moved in quick response. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

  Then, as if on some hidden cue, I heard the café door burst open and several young men erupted inside, breathless with excitement, yet all talking at once. The room was suddenly silent around them. Lajos pushed his chair back and swung on it to see round the pillar.

  “We’ve done it!” cried one of the newcomers triumphantly. “The Croats are defeated! We have won!”

  Lajos’s chair landed back on all four legs with a bump. I felt my breath catch in my throat. Lajos leapt up, and I stumbled to my feet with him while people demanded, “Are you sure?”, “What has happened?” and “When?”

  “This morning,” replied one of the young men, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “At Pakozd, only thirty miles south of the city. Jelacic attacked us with thirty thousand men, far outnumbering us! But General Moga was ready for him! They say the Czech artillery men who fought on our side were brilliant; and the honvéd themselves were wild and angry and fearless! In two hours we had won!”

  There was a moment of silence, of disbelief, and then a ragged cheer began somewhere around Mattias’s table, and grew to an uproar. I found I was swaying. The great fear which had overlaid all the others, even during yesterday’s awful scene, was finally lifting, leaving me weak and strangely exhilarated, so that every other trouble, even poor Lamberg’s murder, faded into insignificance.