The Lady at the River's Edge

29 - Past and Present

They did not, in fact, rise with the dawn.

Erzsebet woke first, roused by the call of an oriole, the sun shining full upon their little cave. The drowse made her slow to recall the night prior, but this mindlessness brought serenity rather than confusion. So it was that she noted without surprise Janos' naked sleeping form, his good arm wrapped around her, their legs entwined; these facts were at first unfamiliar, unexplained, but no less proper.

She watched his face, slack and peaceful with sleep, and marveled that he looked almost a stranger to her. What was it that he carried in his waking life which so weighed upon his expression? What was lost in dreaming, to see him so transformed?

Perhaps the transfiguration came from at last declaring his love, and having it returned; perhaps this tranquil mien would persist through waking, now that his heart was laid bare. She would see soon enough.

Only then did her thoughts catch up with her, and she saw this false peace for what it was: a prelude to dire considerations. When he woke, what would he expect of her? That they be wed, once their more pressing circumstances were done and settled? Things could never be so simple, as pleasant a dream as it might sound. She had been shown in grim clarity the worth of power, the impunity granted men like the palatine by their might and alliances. So too had she seen the loss born of isolation–had her family still been in Pozsony, surrounded by their long-kept allies, Benedek would have never dared to attack.

Love was a fine thing here in the mountains, but they would not stay here forever. Against the devils who passed as men in their cities of stone, love was no protection. If she meant to live at all, she would have to play their game, upon their checkered board, and marriage was her finest piece.

Heaven forbid that she fell pregnant after last night.

She lay with her thoughts a while longer, until at last Janos twitched awake. His eyes fluttered open and he looked upon her, a boyish smile playing on his lips, with none of his usual remote irony. "Good morning, my lady. Are you well?"

Despite the tumult of her heart, she found herself smiling in return. "I am quite well, Janos, thank you. And yourself?"

"Quite well," he replied, his grin broadening with their shared pleasure. He watched her a moment longer, hesitant, and second by second his hazy euphoria faltered, falling like sand through an hourglass as he too came to contend with the imposition of the world. The peace that had so transfixed her left his expression, and over the span of a dozen heartbeats he was once more the Melancholy Knight, as she had ever known him.

Slowly he pulled his arm out from beneath her neck, sat up and checked his splint. Erzsebet rose as well and began dressing, once more donning the chemise and gown of the farmer's wife. She grimaced at the scent as she pulled the garments over her head, for they had been their blankets too. At least the reek lent credibility to her disguise.

Her thoughts danced for a moment off towards Polhos, wondering whether he had found his family safe, but just as quickly she returned to present concerns. Peering out of the cave into the bright morning, she was pleased to see no rain falling, but neither was the sky clear. She finished dressing, pulling on her stained hose before she took her shoes in hand. The leather had dried over the night, and while they had lost much of their suppleness, still they were better protection than going barefoot. She worked her feet into the stiff leather, clenching her teeth against the pain as the shoes pressed where her skin had already been rubbed raw.

When at last she was fully dressed, she took some exploratory steps out of the cave, shielding her eyes from the sun as she went. It felt like ages since she had walked under the open sky, with the rush of air open to her on all sides, the scent of the world gathering all lowly musks into itself and thus absolving them. She peered out towards the gray veil which lay upon the western sky, wondering if that was the storm they had just endured departing, or a new one coming their way. No matter how long she stared, distance and indistinction defeated her; nothing approached, nothing diminished, as if a quarter of the horizon had been cut of new cloth and left draped forever over the arch of heaven.