The Lady at the River's Edge

5 - Words of Regret

The welcome banquet would proceed as planned, despite everything. The palatine and his high court took some time to settle into their guest quarters, his pointed question left for Count Peter to ponder. An hour passed; the castle folk gathered once more, this time in the dining hall.

Erzsebet was always surprised at the transformation, when grand occasions demanded rows and rows of massive long tables be brought in. Though she'd had quite a few such events since coming to live in Petervarad, she could still scarcely believe that this was the same room which held their usual supper. Where did the tables even come from? Who brought them, and when? Such mysteries were not for a young noble lady such as her to know–at least until she had a household of her own to manage.

She was seated, of course, at the table of honor, with Ilona to her left and the younger Benedek to her right. When he first sat down, the young lord seemed as distant as he had been in the welcome hall, but just after the wine was poured he leaned over to her, caught her attention with a gentle touch on her forearm.

"I must apologize, my lady," he whispered, "for what you saw earlier. I am ashamed to say the pain overcame me, and I employed harsh language in your presence." His posture struck her as strange, leaning backwards as well as over towards her–she realized he was trying to keep his bandaged side out of sight. "I had not known you were there until you left," he continued, "but I admit, even had I known, my manner may have been just as crude. I am..." he paused, struggling for words. "I am unused to suffering such... physical afflictions."

"Please, my lord," she answered, "think nothing of it." This was a new side to him, a humility she found endearing. She had indeed been troubled in the surgeon's room, though it wasn't the crudeness of his tongue which had displeased her. "My actions too were... not as I would like."

He showed her a faint smile. "Then, shall we pretend it never happened?" He raised his glass to her.

She raised her own, answered his smile with another. "Pretend what never happened?" They drank together, a fine full-bodied red she had never tasted before.

His faint smile became a grin, proud and broad, upon seeing her face. "Is the wine to your liking? My father brought it, all the way from Sopron. The finest in the kingdom, or so he says–if my father could have a county of his choosing, I think Sopron would be his claim."

Mention of the palatine inevitably drew Erzsebet's attention towards him. The elder Benedek and his wife sat to her father's right, entertained by Peter and Zsofia, respectively. Most of the palatine's intensity had left him, though he certainly didn't seem to be charming company; he was in the midst of serving her father a string of bitter indignant complaints, but at least they were aimed elsewhere. "I lost a hundred good men putting that damnable prince to rout at Lake Balaton," he was saying. Somehow, the palatine's grimace held perfectly steady, no matter what words his mouth shaped. "Being made Ban of Slavonia was only fair recompense, by my accounting, for their lives. Yet what does the king do, but a year later? Forgive his craven blackhearted brother–and return Slavonia to him! Will he return my men their lives, I wonder?"

"You cannot blame the king for the reconciliation," her father argued. "The pope leaned so heavily on him–"

"So reconcile–but do not grant him the land I bled for! Even now he squats in Varasd, but three days west of here, holding nightly bacchanalia. He should be in chains, rotting in the royal dungeons!"

"I do so miss the castle at Zala," said the palatine's wife, the countess Magdalena, effortlessly shifting the conversation's tone. "Bihar is fine land, and Bacs is–well, Bacs. But oh, the hills of Zala! And the lake, how I miss Lake Batalon." The woman carried such verve, it nearly cleansed the palate of the lingering bitterness left by her husband. Magdalena turned to Erzsebet's mother, laid a hand on her arm. "But my dear Zsofia, your castle is a wonder in its own right. I confess I had feared coming so close to the border, but the fort is so elegant!" She chuckled, took a swallow of wine. "Half the fun of travel is complaining to my ladies about ungracious accommodations," she added, "but you've left me without complaints!"