The Lady at the River's Edge

37 - Shine and Shadow

Facan's farewell was characteristically terse, his few words spent on imploring caution rather than any sentimentality. "Past failures are no excuse for present dereliction," went his final charge to Janos. "Pity will not see you absolved. Only strength. Only duty."

Erzsebet might have come to the knight's defense, were he not presently so annoying in his wallowing. As it was, she hoped Facan's words might snap Janos awake–and indeed, his bearing stiffened at the accusation, the knight staring up at the falconer with resolve, if not confidence. He said nothing, merely gave a soldier's salute, which Facan returned.

With that, and a swift final embrace for the children, they were finished. Erzsebet mounted atop Szog, having to hike her gown up well past propriety to sit astride the saddle, and Janos pulled himself up to sit behind her. She waved farewell. Ilona waved back while she rocked the still-sobbing Antal, and Facan gave her only a nod.

Then they were away.

It had been over a year since she'd been on horseback, and never had she ridden a stallion. Szog's strength thrummed through his every stride, even though she had him only at a canter for now. Janos had his good arm around her waist and across her stomach, a closeness that might have stirred her, were it not for the aloof rigidity of his touch.

After riding for a few minutes in silence, long enough to lose sight of those they'd left behind, Erzsebet could finally confront the knight. "Well? What is it?"

"What is what, my lady?"

"Oh, don't make me drag it out of you. You aren't even trying to hide your misery. If you must inflict the result upon me, at least do me the service of explaining the cause."

She felt the knight sigh behind her. "I am troubled," he eventually explained. "This plan of yours–"

"This plan of mine?" she spat back in disbelief. "This plan which kept us from sending you out as a lamb to slaughter? You seemed keen enough when I first suggested it." She felt herself becoming vicious, her long-suffered annoyance at last boiling over at his wavering support, and she could no longer find reason to restrain herself. "What changed?" she demanded. "Did Facan's endless worrying get to you? Have you lost your valor?"

"Neither, my lady." He answered her with the dull tone of the condemned. "I am not troubled by the danger, but the destination."

The destination... It took a moment for her to understand. "You do not approve of begging the aid of the prince," she stated flatly.

"I do not," he replied, equally flat.

"Why, praytell?"

Another sigh, as if it were this poor knight who had the whole world set against him. "Prince Andras rebelled against his brother, his king, not once but twice in as many years. By all accounts, by his every deed, he is a grasping, craven, blackhearted man. He would be in chains were it not for his network of wealthy allies, along with the pope's intervention."

"A network of wealthy allies is perhaps the only thing that could challenge the palatine," Erzsebet rebutted. "And how craven could he be, rebelling twice against the king? That sort of daring is precisely what we need."

"Your father," Janos shot back, "is a man who holds loyalty in the highest regard, my lady. Loyalty first and foremost to King Imre, his sovereign."

Erzsebet scoffed. "A king who has abandoned him to the palatine's torments!"

"We cannot be sure of that. If the king only knew–"

"That is why Ilona will go plead our case to him!" All this had been spoken of, argued at length already–with Janos there for every breath spent, uncomplaining! Why did he only bicker now?