The Lady at the River's Edge

3 - Crash and Flow

Always, always, she was drawn back to the Duna.

They stood on the northeastern promenade, looking down upon the river's bend. The wind came from the east, but gently enough not to tug her hair loose from its pins, and the sun was warm and bright, blunted at times by soft clouds drifting easily by. The harsh angled terraces leading down to the castle town and the river gleamed with vibrant spring green, and the snaking line of the forest creeping up from the south made for a deep emerald in contrast. Town folk were bustling about, small like field mice, flitting from one den to another, laughing and arguing, and farmers could be seen tending their fields across the river.

There was much to look upon, much of beauty and interest, but always her eyes returned to the Duna.

Janos stood ahead and aside, a respectful distance from his lady and her guest. Benedek had maintained a steady stream of charming commentary as they had meandered around the grounds of the castle, but now even he had fallen silent. All three of them stared out over the vista, split in twain by the Duna and its ceaseless courses. The waters still seemed to be running swift with meltwater, though spring had come in full. Melt from where? The only mountains she knew to feed the river were the Lesser Karpatoks, but those were on the other side of the kingdom–surely there must have been a nearer source of ice and snow, for the waters to run so strong, but she could see only fields and low hills across the horizon.

She found herself thinking of her first home, in Pozsony, where she had grown up with the Karpatoks ever in the background. Their castle had not overlooked the Duna there as it did here, but as a girl she had found herself returning to the river over and over. Even now, she could not say why it so captured her. It did not bring her peace, as Janos had once claimed it did for him–quite the contrary, the ceaseless flow made her uneasy. Yet she was captivated all the same, made to look upon the endless ever on, to confront it as if confronting something vital within herself.

She had been brought across the kingdom, and yet the Duna was still here, waiting for her, rushing off and away.

"Truly a stunning view," said Benedek beside her–and like that, the spell was broken.

"Yes, well," Erzsebet muttered, then quietly cleared her throat and turned her back on the river. "There are yet other sights to see."

"If I may impose, my lady," Benedek began, with an uncharacteristic hesitancy, "I find within myself a growing lassitude. My limbs cry for strain and exertion."

She looked at him, eyes narrowing. "What are you suggesting, my lord?"

He held her gaze for a silent moment, a gleam of daring in his eye that she found both dangerous and–though she hated to admit–enticing. "I thought perhaps some riding might suit me." His eyes tightened for a moment, and still she could not tell if she should be offended–but then he turned to Janos. "Tell me, castle knight: how is the hunting in those woods down there?"

Janos turned around, the faint hint of a grimace leaving his expression as he did so. "The woods are full of game in this season, my lord. Regularly do the castle folk go hawking there."

"Pfah! Hawking?" Benedek scoffed. "Little better than a woman's pastime. What of boar? Put a spear in my hands and death in my sights! That is exercise fit for a man."

"There are boar as well," Janos allowed, "but we do not hunt them in the spring. It is their farrowing season, and slaying a pregnant or milking sow is ill luck."

Benedek turned back to Erzsebet, his lip turning for derision. "Is that so, my lady? I did not take your father's house to be so superstitious."

It would have been crude of her to return his sneer, but a hint of it crept into her tone all the same. "I confess I cannot say, my lord. Even hawking is outside my womanly realm–but Sir Janos would not lie to you, I am sure."