“Very good,” Lajos approved, his mood appearing to swing again. “Yes, gentlemen, what is the charge?”
“One you won’t talk your way out of,” Kohlberg said drily. “Treason, and raising rebellion against your King.”
Lajos’s brows lifted.
“Against my King? But haven’t you heard? There is no beloved king any more!”
One for Petöfi. Inevitably, Kohlberg struck him, full in the face with the butt of his pistol. The force sent him reeling before he fell. I cried out, pushing my way to him.
“Enough,” Avenheim snapped, as I fell to my knees beside Lajos.
Blood was oozing from a cut on his cheek, but his eyes were open, summoning me nearer. I was surprised only for the briefest moment. I put my head down to his.
“Give me one more chance,” he breathed in my ear. “When the time is right, try to distract them...” Then he was silent again as the soldiers came to haul him to his feet. One had seized him by his injured arm and I saw all too clearly the pain that caused him to catch his breath.
Katalin lifted me to my feet. Avenheim sent two soldiers to carry Mattias downstairs. József himself, no humour now behind his miserable eyes, was sent to arrange the coaches and horses. I too still had a task to perform. To gain time, I turned to Avenheim.
“Colonel...” I pleaded, and at last he met my gaze. I saw tiredness, disillusion, pain in his handsome face, but nothing that gave me any hope. Part of him even wanted to hurt Lajos, because of me. “Colonel, they won’t let him live, you know that. Please, don’t arrest him now — it’s as good as killing him yourself.”
His smile was mirthless, twisted. “No, Katie. This time I will do my duty.”
I stared at him. I hadn’t expected any other answer. There was no pity left in the world. Abruptly, I turned away, just as Mattias was carried out of the door by two soldiers, supervised by István.
“Hallo, Karl,” Mattias said weakly; and then, after a quick, desperate glance around me, I fell heavily against one of the soldiers who held Lajos.
Instinctively, he released his prisoner to support me, and the same instant, I saw Lajos heave himself free of the other. Before anyone could even glance at him, he was running like a hare across the yard. I couldn’t look: for one thing, I had to keep up my pretence and distract as many people as possible; for another, I was afraid to.
While people clustered around me, the shout went up. There were boots pounding on the ground, orders and advice being cried out, and Mattias laughing delightedly and shouting with fierce exultation.
“Go, Lajos, go!” he cried, sounding stronger than I could have believed by looking at him. I decided to abandon my faint, and sat up, cramming my spectacles more firmly back on to my nose.
“He jumped the wall!” somebody exclaimed. “Like a damned horse!”
And now he was running for the woods on the other side of the road; but rifles were already being aimed at him, and it was only a matter of time. I lunged to my feet, launching myself at the nearest soldier, thrusting his rifle up just as he fired.
Avenheim plucked me off angrily. “Be still! You little fool, he’s as good as dead now!”
I stared at him. Without warning, I was choked by tears. “Do you really not see it, Colonel? He was as good as dead as soon as you took him. He would rather die this way...”
Another shot sent my attention flying back to the chase. Lajos had reached the woods now, and was dodging between the trees, heading for the hill. He’s going the wrong way, I thought wildly. That way is back to the enemy... Several soldiers were chasing him, one on horseback, spoiling the aim of the marksmen behind.
But with fresh anguish I realized that climbing the hill was making him an easier target for everyone, even with the protection of the trees. I saw the soldier nearest to him stop and take aim. Inside, I was crying so loudly they should have heard me; and then a movement at the top of the hill caught my eye. There were men there too. He was trapped. Lost.
A shot rang out, and then several others, and without grace, without theatre, Lajos fell. I could no longer see him. For a space of absolute stillness, I waited for him to get up, to move, but there were only the men at the top of the hill, and the soldiers behind, all running to where he had fallen.
There was a roar of rage, coming, oddly, from István; there was a voice in my head drumming monotonously, “No, no, no, no, no.” But perhaps I was saying it aloud, for Katalin hugged me to her, tears streaming down her own face as she whispered, “Hush, Katie, hush.”
I pulled away from her, intent only on reaching Lajos, but they all held me back with pitying, immovable hands.
“Wait,” Avenheim said quietly. I was blind then to the compassion in his face and his voice. “They will signal.”
But I knew before the signal came. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the place he had fallen. I couldn’t see his body, but I knew it was there, without vitality or thought, still at last.
* * * *
I first saw him in Vienna, young and full of life, preaching a revolution I had not believed in; and then, two years later, when the revolution was over, and I no longer knew how to live without him, I saw him die.
* * * *
They were Romanians, the men on the hill who had helped to kill Lajos. I remember that being explained; and I remember thinking before my mind closed down, that it was an inevitable part of the whole tragedy, that he should have died in the end at the hands of those he had tried so hard to befriend. My family objected at first to the escort of such men to the Turkish border, but Colonel von Avenheim insisted.
And as they bundled me into one of the carriages, silent and helpless and uncaring, I thought distantly that it would have been easier to bear if he had died in the battle. It didn’t seem right that he should die now, after what he had said to me last night...
The Colonel’s head appeared briefly at the carriage window, his eyes troubled, pitying.
“Katie...” he began gently, but I looked away. There was nothing he could say that would make any difference. It was over. Everything was over.
I think he and István shook hands before they parted. I didn’t care. And then we were moving, away from Lajos’s body. I stared out of the window, back at the hill where he had fallen, but all I could see were rough, ill-dressed men on horseback, closely surrounding the carriage. They were dirty and unkempt, armed to the teeth, but riding two to a horse in some cases.
“I’ve never seen such a set of ruffians,” Elisabeth said uneasily. “They’ll murder us all as soon as we’re out of Karl’s sight!”
I didn’t care about that either. I withdrew further into myself, barely aware even of Katalin squeezing my hand in compulsive sympathy. She was grieving too, but I couldn’t think of that then.
I don’t know how long it was or how far we had gone before a shouted command outside brought the carriage to a halt.
“I told you!” Elisabeth exclaimed, fear dilating her eyes. “They’re going to kill us!”
It seemed she was right, for the carriage door was wrenched rudely open, and one of the Romanian riders stared in. I frowned at him. Something elusive tugged at my memory. Behind the beard, and the dirt and the privations of war, I knew him.
With an effort, I forced myself to remember. It wasn’t Alex; it wasn’t as bad as that, though it was bad enough.
“Petru,” I said aloud, and the man bowed slightly, solemnly in the saddle. The others were staring at me in surprise, but all I could think of was that this was Iancu’s friend; he hadn’t liked Lajos at first, though later they had laughed and drunk together...
“Is this necessary?” came István’s voice, cold and haughty. “We may be obliged to travel with the enemy; surely we need not converse with him?”
“We are no longer your enemies,” Petru said. I remembered his voice now too: serious, precise. “We have concluded a truce with Kossuth. It’s too late to ally with you, but we are neutral.”
Now they were neutral;
now, when he was dead...
“Neutral?” István exclaimed, and later I would be pleased by his anger on Lajos’s behalf. “Do you call what happened on the hill neutral?”
There was a pause. Then Petru said, “No. That was not neutral.” He looked directly at Katalin. “Be so good as to sit on the other side. We have a wounded man who needs your place.”
I could tell from her face that she would have liked the courage to refuse, but Elisabeth was already pulling her across, and under Petru’s instructions two men were lifting another into the coach. I forced myself to move over. I hoped with vague distaste that I wouldn’t have to touch him. I kept my eyes on Petru, wondering dispassionately if he felt any remorse for what he had done. He met my gaze, and then he managed to surprise me. His lips stretched into a smile — twisted, but a smile nevertheless.
“Madame Katie,” he said. “Take care of my comrade.” And then, while I was still trying to take in his recognition and the significance of his words, he had slammed the door on us.
“Petru, wait!” The abrupt command was more of a plea; it came unexpectedly from Katalin, half out of her seat to pull down the window while she cast a glance at István that was both scared and defiant. Petru waited calmly where he was. “Petru — do you know anything of Captain Zarescu?” she breathed.
“Your fiancé,” he remembered. It might have been a sneer. “I know he was alive when I saw him last, but that was a month ago.”
She had never doubted it. “Petru... Petru, will you tell him where we have gone? Will you tell him I... tell him...” She broke off, floundering in the impossibility of saying all that she needed to through such a message, and such a messenger. But Petru surprised me again.
“I’ll tell him,” he said flatly, and rode ahead. As the coach began to move forward again, Katalin fell back into her seat, almost blissful under Elisabeth’s sardonic gaze. Later, I thought, later I shall try and be glad for her; much later, when we are clear of them...
Involuntarily, I glanced down at the wounded man lying beside me — and my eyes widened in shock, for beneath the dirty cloak they had wrapped him in I could see a patch of blue and gold and silver. Slowly, fearfully, I reached out and drew the rough wool away from his face. It was deathly white, but the tight lines of pain around his mouth told me he was not only alive but conscious.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I couldn’t see how it was possible. I don’t think I even breathed. And then I heard István’s soft, amazed laughter, Katalin’s exclamations of joy, and I knew it was true. I realized at once the severity of his new wound, the frightening frailty of his whole body, and yet, in spite of everything, I was suddenly, unreasonably, certain of our future together. I drew a long, shuddering breath that was more than half a sob.
His eyes opened directly into mine. His voice little more than a whisper, he said, “I hope you remembered to pack my violin.”
And somehow I was on my knees on the carriage floor, my face buried in his neck, his hand in my hair; and the tears that wouldn’t come when I had thought he was dead, were threatening to drown us both.
“He’s delirious,” Katalin said uneasily, and now I didn’t know if I was crying or laughing. I lifted my head to let him breathe; and I saw his eyes go beyond me to István. Uncertainly I looked from one to the other.
“You bastard,” István said unsteadily. “You never would just lie down and die, would you, Lajos?”
“Sorry,” Lajos said weakly. I thought he was trying to laugh. “I’ve always had too much to do... I still have.”
Ruefully, remembering the pamphlet he had given to István, I smoothed his blood-streaked brow, murmuring, “The world still to win.”
“And you.” His eyes had begun to close, but his fingers were strong as they gripped mine, lending me courage. “For you...”
I took a deep breath.
“And the baby,” I said casually. My voice didn’t even tremble. Not surprisingly, his eyes flew open again, widening into mine with astonishment, and fear, and wonder, and finally, so that it almost obliterated the pain, a slow, intense joy.
Satisfied, I smiled serenely upon him and sat back on my heels, fixing my truly invaluable spectacles more securely on to my nose, the better to enjoy my family’s shock.
Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster was born in Glasgow and now lives on the Fife coast with her husband and three young children. She graduated from the University of St. Andrews with a degree in history, the subject which remains the chief inspiration for her writing.
Despite earning a living over the years as Editorial Assistant, Researcher and Librarian, Mary Lancaster has managed to retain her love of books, particularly old and dusty ones. Her interest has always extended to writing - though, for many years, only for her own amusement. Her first published novel was An Endless Exile.
Also by Mary Lancaster...
An Endless Exile
An Endless Exile is the story of the eleventh century hero, Hereward “the Wake”, the only Englishman to have defied and defeated William the Conqueror.
Torfrida is thirty-two years old, cynical, secretive, confident of her own wisdom and learning. Yet even she is taken by surprise when Hereward is brutally killed by his Norman guests.
Lonely and embittered, it is with reluctance that she remembers the past, from her first childhood meeting with the tumultuous Hereward, through their stormy courtship and Hereward's military adventures as mercenary and as patriot - which she shared - up to the unforgivable betrayal which parted them. Even more reluctantly does Torfrida begin to question Hereward's murder, eventually seeking the elusive truth with a desperation that mirrors her own unacknowledged need to believe in him and the value of their marriage.
But the truth only leads her into greater danger, threatening her unexpected new happiness in the very moment of its discovery.
Please see www.mushroom-ebooks.com for more information.
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A World to Win Page 53