“Then why do you do it?” I whispered, stroking his hair. “There are others who can fight.”
“I can’t leave others to protect what I began.”
“Then it is still the revolution you are fighting for?”
“What else?” he said simply. “What else is worth this?” And suddenly his eyes were desperate again. “Sometimes, sometimes I even wonder if the revolution is...”
I held him close to me. Almost afraid to ask, I said quietly, “And is it?”
“I’m still here,” he said for answer. He moved, rolling me over so that it was he who now leaned over me. “Don’t you despise me now, for my cowardice?”
“It’s not cowardice to overcome fear,” I said quietly. “Or to admit to it. Besides, I could never despise you.”
For a moment his eyes were intent on mine, then his lip quirked slightly, and I realized that subtly the nature of his embrace had changed. It was something more urgent than comfort which he sought now — or perhaps the love was comfort. At any rate, he made love to me that night with a new, fierce abandon that drove the anguish away and left us both exultant.
And despite the awful suffering I saw in him that night, part of me was glad to see the idealistic youth still beneath the soldier. I could only admire the steely strength that forced him to go through with the business of war, not only with adequacy but with efficiency and bravery, inspiring his men and impressing his superiors with his intelligence and flair. Lajos did nothing by halves, and if he was occasionally wracked by conscience and doubts, only I ever knew of it: Bem and his brother officers, I noticed, treated his assertions that he disliked fighting as a rather good joke.
When I woke from heavy sleep the next morning, Lajos was already up and dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. I reached up at once, winding my arms around his neck, but though he held me to him, his fingers kept my chin up so that he could look at me.
“I have one more confession,” he said lightly.
“You drank all the coffee?”
“Would I be so selfish? No, it’s about your friends who brought you to me.”
I felt myself grow still in his arms. I searched his eyes, but they were guarded, watchful. “What about them?” I said at last.
“They are both dead.”
In spite of myself, I sagged against him with relief.
“They died in the battle,” he went on. “Or at least Tamás Nagy did. Béla Vahot was severely wounded; he died later in the hospital.”
“In the hospital?” I repeated, startled. “But I was there...”
Now it was he who was surprised. “What in the world for?”
“I felt guilty after you came back. I went to help Doctor Tedényi.”
His eyes softened. For a moment he did not speak, then abruptly he pressed his cheek to mine and murmured how proud of me he was. My heart swelled; basking in the warmth of his praise, I didn’t notice until after he had left me that he had begun the conversation by using the word ‘confession’.
The remembrance made me pause. For a long moment I stared unseeingly in front of me, but in the end I knew I did not care how responsible Lajos was for their deaths. I had never been told and I had never asked what punishment, if any, Lajos had inflicted upon them, but I had always been aware that only my plea had preserved them from the ultimate penalty. Lajos disliked violence, but in his heart he could never forgive what they had done, nor what they had tried to do to me.
* * * *
We chased Puchner’s army back to Nagyzseben, but here, although all the towns we had passed through on the way had fallen into Bem’s hands, we suffered a reverse; Bem would not wait for the reinforcements he was expecting, but attacked at once and was soundly beaten. It was the first of a series of defeats.
These were dark days. The spirits of the men drooped, and I was conscious of a constant, ever-deepening frown on Lajos’s face. I remember four whole days of unrelenting fighting as we retreated from Vizakna to Deva, until the snow seemed to have turned blood-red.
I think we kept each other sane in those days, each gaining strength from the other in the short times we could spend together. Trudging through burned villages, dragging carnage with us, somehow the vital force of our personal happiness carried Lajos and I through the shattering defeats unscathed.
And then we had an unexpected visitor. From the doorway of our farm lodging I was anxiously watching Lajos’s company ride into the yard after a scouting expedition, but even as I felt my heart lift as it always did at the sight of him, I heard a sharp command shouted across the camp.
“Captain Lázár! Place yourself under arrest!”
Indignation and alarm warred within my breast as I turned to see who had dared issue such an order. A young officer on foot was swaggering over from the Colonel’s quarters towards Lajos who, still mounted, was frowning in the newcomer’s direction. Slowly, the frown cleared, but his men still watched the scene in silent, sullen hostility.
“On what charge, Captain?” Lajos enquired, and he did not sound bothered in the least.
“Utter failure to write a single letter in four months, you bastard!” was the astonishing answer, as the young officer grinned and threw up his hand to Lajos. Under the men’s astonished gaze, Lajos bent in the saddle and gripped the proffered hand. And then suddenly he was all but pulled from his horse in a boisterous display of affection, and only when they both began to walk towards me did I recognize Petöfi.
The poet greeted me with delight and civility and absolutely no surprise. “I thought it must be you, Miss Katie, when they told me Lajos had got married — though I admit you could have laid me out with a feather when I first heard the news! How are you? You look wonderful!”
I laughed. “Why, thank you — I return the compliment! How is your wife? And are you a father yet?”
“My wife and son are both well,” Petöfi said, with no attempt to conceal his pride. We congratulated him, of course, and learned that his son was called Zoltán and was in Erdod with his mother and grandparents.
“But what are you doing here?” Lajos demanded.
Petöfi grinned. “I asked to come. Bem is the only General worth serving — so here I am. I’m Bem’s new adjutant.”
“Isn’t Vasvári somewhere around here too? We should start a new branch of the Society for Equality.” Lajos spoke sardonically, but underneath I could sense his pleasure in having Petöfi now so close. He got along very well with his brother officers and with his men, but I think he had felt the lack of soul-mates.
As the retreat went on and on, I helped to care for the wounded, and rather to my surprise I found I was beginning to be looked upon as a source of comfort, and not just by Lajos. In all, I was valued in ways, and in degrees, which I had never known before, and in the midst of disaster and suffering I drew my own strength from that knowledge.
Only once, in the hospital, did I break down and weep, and that was when they brought Oszkár. A friend from the same village, who had joined up with him, carried him in, tears streaming unashamedly down his plain, rough face; but there was nothing Tedényi could do — Oszkár was already dead.
For days afterwards, I expected to see his shy, smiling face as he trotted up to join me; and sometimes I would turn impulsively to the man who rode beside me, meaning to say something to Oszkár, and it would be a shock to discover the sharp, sly features of the soldier who had replaced him as Lajos’s servant.
This was a bright-eyed individual called Zrinyi. He was light-fingered in the extreme, and no amount of threats or punishments could stop him stealing. He robbed officers, prisoners, priests, any village we happened to pass through. And yet he never stole from Lajos or from me. In time I came to appreciate his sharp sense of humour, his unexpected kindness, and even his honour which was of its own, peculiar brand but quite as rigid as any honest gentleman’s.
* * * *
At last, things began to turn again in Hungary’s favour. At Marosvásárhely, where onc
e we had secretly spent the night at a run-down inn with Katalin and Alex, Bem won a decisive victory, and now it was Puchner who fled before our pursuing army. And then, suddenly, we were travelling north again, for another Austrian force had attacked from the Borgo Pass, and taken Beszterce, killing Colonel Riczko, with whom I had danced at Bem’s impromptu party that night in January.
Petöfi did not come with us on this journey. He was ill, and Bem had sent him to Szalonta to recover.
We retook Beszterce, but after this victory Lajos and I suffered our first parting in more than a month. Bem wished to pursue the fleeing enemy into Bukovina, and Lajos refused to take me. I pleaded, cajoled, shouted, sulked, but he was quite adamant, so in the end, seeing that I was only distressing him by my demands, I was silent.
I didn’t even cry when he left me in Beszterce. I waited until he had gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
While Lajos was away, I took the opportunity of doing house-wifely things: mending shirts and stockings — to the best of my poor ability — and trying to make myself a new gown from material I had bought cheaply in the town.
I also wrote to Aunt Edith in Scotland, though I had no idea if the letter would reach her through the current confusion, and to the Szelényis in Debrecen. The latter was a short note, for I could not guess how they regarded me now. I only knew how my mother had been treated for marrying beneath her, and how much greater was my own crime in their eyes. Colonel Drényi had already sent them word that I was alive and well, and I was sure they would have heard from the same source that I was Lajos’s wife. I couldn’t bring myself to mention this, for I could neither lie to them nor apologise for what I was doing now. So in the end, I only told them where I was and asked after everyone.
And then, suddenly nostalgic, I wanted to add that I wished we were together again, but I hesitated. It was not entirely true, for my first desire was to be with Lajos; so I said nothing about that either. In fact, it was a dissatisfying letter to me, whatever it was to become to them, and I had found that I did miss them, particularly Katalin and Miklós and Anna — and Mattias, who could be a prisoner of the Austrians now, or even dead...
When the shout went up that the Hungarians were coming back, I was out buying food. I dashed home with only half of what I needed.
This time, we were lodged with a Saxon widow who was the complete opposite of the sour-faced couple who had put us up the last time. She smiled benignly upon my panicked return, laughing at my frantic efforts to tidy myself and the sitting room, which she had been generous enough to lend us along with the bedroom.
I am not surprised that she was amused, for Lajos was hardly the stern, fault-finding husband who would berate me for poor housekeeping. The truth was that I was nervous for quite other reasons. I was afraid he would not come back at all, that he would be ill or injured — after all, the death toll on the last pursuit into Bukovina had been horrendous. And if he did come back, would he still want me? Might he not have found the freedom from me quite a relief? And how would I know if he chose to keep it from me...?
At last, my landlady, who was looking out of the window, said, “Here he comes,” and trotted off to let him in. For a second, I closed my eyes with relief; and then, abruptly, I took off my spectacles, polishing them thoroughly so that I would be able to see his every expression as soon as he came in.
But I ran out of time. I heard Lajos’s voice, his firm footsteps coming too quickly to the door. I jumped to my feet as the door was flung open, and my spectacles tumbled onto the floor.
It was only a beloved blur which stood in the doorway. I smiled uncertainly in its direction, and then dropped to my knees, frantically searching for the glasses. I was aware of him coming towards me, of the very odd nature of the welcome I was giving him, but somehow it seemed imperative to see him clearly at once.
“I’ve dropped my spectacles,” I said nervously to his boots as they came to a halt in front of me. They moved. I felt Lajos crouch down and reach across me.
“Here,” he said gravely, holding the spectacles out to me. I took them, risking a glance at his face. He was close by me now, so I didn’t need the glasses to see the tender amusement in his eyes, the rueful understanding. With something approaching wonder, I continued to gaze up at him, and slowly I returned his smile.
“Hallo,” he said.
“Hallo.”
He took my hand, but rather to my surprise, he did not kiss me. Instead, he helped me to my feet.
“I have brought you a visitor,” he said, and at once I crammed the spectacles on to my face. I had not even realized there was anyone with him, but now, standing just inside the room, I saw an officer in Austrian uniform. I smiled enquiringly from Lajos to the stranger — and at last recognized Colonel Karl von Avenheim.
He had been observing this strange passage between Lajos and me, and I saw amazement, pleasure, bewilderment all chasing each other across his face.
“Colonel!” I went forward at once, my hand outstretched. Almost dazed, he took it in both of his.
“Why, Katie — Miss Kettles! How is this? What in the world are you doing here? Surely there is no one at Szelényi?”
I laughed. “I haven’t been to Szelényi since August! What interests me is what you are doing here! Are you a prisoner-of-war?” These days, the unbelievable had become almost normal.
“I’m afraid I am,” said the Colonel, charmingly rueful. “This young man has captured me — curse his impudence! — and offered to lodge me under parole.” He glanced at Lajos as he spoke, and I saw to my surprise that some sort of friendship had sprung up between them. The last time they had met, Lajos had been his prisoner; before that Avenheim had tried to shoot him. Yet now it seemed they had found something in each other that they liked.
“What a coincidence,” I said inadequately. Remembering my manners, I asked him to sit down. He did so rather mechanically, for his mind was obviously still taken up by the oddity of my presence here.
“Are these your lodgings, Mademoiselle? I wish you would tell me how you come to be here! Are István and Elisabeth with you?”
“No,” I said calmly. “They are in Debrecen so far as I know. We became separated during the evacuation of Buda-Pest.”
“But are you all alone here?” he asked, astonished. I looked quickly away from the concern in his eyes, seeking help from Lajos, for clearly the Colonel knew nothing about our relationship. Almost with a jolt, I remembered his declaration to me last summer.
Lajos was unbuckling his sword belt, throwing it casually across the nearby chair as he caught my eye. He paused for a second, then looked at Avenheim.
“No. She is not alone. She is with me.”
The Colonel frowned, uncomprehending. Involuntarily, I had moved closer to Lajos, and suddenly it seemed things fell into place in his mind. For a second he looked blank, then, abruptly, he stood up, turning away from us. “I see,” he said jerkily. “Then am I to understand that this is the man you told me of in the summer?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Perhaps I should have known. Yet your stations were so unequal that it never — of course, there has been a revolution.” He gave a short, unnatural laugh, turning back to face us. Despite the touch of revulsion which he could not quite keep out of his eyes, I felt a wave of sympathy and pity, but there was nothing I could do. With an effort, he smiled. “So, how long have you been married?”
My eyes flew again to Lajos, questioning, pleading, for suddenly it was impossible to lie so deliberately to a friend. This was something I had not considered before, so isolated was I in my new happiness, but now, resolutely, I had decided that honesty was my only possible course, despite the inevitability of the Colonel’s reaction. I could stand his scorn; I could stand the world’s, if Lajos was with me.
Lajos met my gaze. He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. I drew in my breath, and looked steadily at Colonel von Avenheim.
“We are not married,” I said calmly.
> “Not married?” Frowning, his eyes moved from me to Lajos and back. “I don’t understand. I took Lázár to mean he lodged here with you.”
“He does.”
The Colonel’s frown had become ferocious. Gradually, his gaze travelled to Lajos, who met it steadily, but before either of us could explain further, he began to speak rapidly, with an intensity I had never heard in his voice before.
“Do you know, Lázár, over the last few days I began to think I had been wrong about you, that you were, in fact, a man of sincerity and principle, however misguided. But now...” He broke off. I saw his lip curl into an uncharacteristic snarl, and when he resumed, his voice was louder, more emphatic and full of angry contempt. “Now I discover you have callously abused the trust, the affection of an innocent girl! You have seduced and ruined her for nothing more than your own pleasure! You, who are not fit to be ground under her feet, have taken what no man has the right to, not without marriage! My God, you should be dead!”
On the last word, he leapt without warning for Lajos’s sword, and in a trice it was out of the scabbard and brandished before him. There was no trace left of the calm, civilized gentleman I thought I knew. His eyes were wild, glittering murderously.
“Dead,” he repeated, and lunged. Lajos stepped nimbly aside. I let out a gasp of fear and distress.
“Stop it!” I commanded. “Put down the sword, Colonel!”
“Oh no. You persuaded me to that once before, but this I cannot forgive!” He lashed out at Lajos again and again. Each time, Lajos evaded the weapon till at last he snatched up a chair and held it before him for protection.
“Colonel, you’re on parole,” he said, almost conversationally.
“I do not regard as binding the promises made to peasant scum.”
“That’s the trouble with the world,” Lajos observed, parrying a vicious thrust on one of the chair’s legs, which Avenheim sliced off, sending it crashing to the floor. “No one ever regards as binding the promises made to peasants. Nevertheless, I think you should put down my sword.”
A World to Win Page 45