The Lady at the River's Edge

12 - Hands Unbound

The cheering eventually ebbed, and her father settled into his seat. The crowd never quite fell to silence, but as the fighters had yet to appear, their volume lost its focus and potency, devolving into aimless noise. It became nearly peaceful, elevated as they were above the clamor, shaded beneath the canopy. Erzsebet might have been able to relax, had they not shared their pavilion with such a vile pair of vultures.

"What a lovely dress, dear girl." The countess Magdalena beamed at her, much to be read in her courteous expression, none of it kind. "Baudekin, is it?"

"Certainly not," Erzsebet sneered, though it then struck her that silence might have been preferable. Surely the woman could tell embroidery from brocade, and even in the shade, the day was bright enough that there was no mistaking the white thread for spun silver. "I find the stands get far too dusty on such days as these for my finest wear," she added, though every word felt like a concession to villainy.

"Well, it is a fine imitation," Magdalena answered, honey-sweet. "The folk below are doubtless fooled."

As if those in the stands had ever even heard of baudekin, much less had the eye to tell–but of course, the comment was meant only as a jibe, a slight against Erzsebet, and by extension her family: only an imitation of nobility.

In contrast, the countess wore a gorgeous gown of shot silk, violet and azure. For all the ill she felt towards the woman, Erzsebet had to admit that she kept a striking image, far more so than her husband. She recalled when first she saw the countess, how taken she had been with the woman's elegance. Now she could only hope a teamster would drive too near on her walk back to the castle, and smear her finery with something unmentionable.

She recalled then her father's warning, and resolved not to grant either of them even the faintest rise. Instead she gave her most coquettish smile to the countess before turning away. Let her read what she would from the snub–better that than getting worked up and saying something unwise.

The palatine at least seemed completely indifferent to her, and indeed to all those around him. His face was for once not creased in a scowl, instead looking rather serenely down towards the empty battle grounds. No doubt he thought himself already victorious. Erzsebet held her face steady, kept her assurance under wraps. She certainly did not feel yet a victor, but neither was she in full dread of defeat. Janos knew what game the palatine played; it was a fine line he needed to walk, but he knew that he must walk it, and that would make all the difference.

There was a hush as two figures took the field, but it died even before Erzsebet could identify them. One she recognized as Janos' squire, and so she assumed the other was Benedek's. They wandered the great oval of turf, bent down as if reading the ground. Erzsebet gestured for Mihaly, who came quickly to her side. "What are they doing?" she asked.

"Checking for hazards, my lady," he explained. "Neither squire wishes for their knight to step into a mole's burrow and fall, or lose his footing on a rock." His eyes kept avoiding hers as he spoke, darting about, never matching her gaze for more than a breath. Was it the fight that made him nervous, or some echo of the night prior?

"Mm. Would you be kind enough to stay here, Sir Mihaly? I imagine I'll have more questions." It was clear he would much rather keep his distance, and it might even distract him from his duties, but hopefully his presence would dissuade Magdalena from trying much to engage her. Erzsebet gave an imploring look, one which even Mihaly's flitting attention could not ignore, and after a moment he nodded solemnly.

"You have my thanks," she said, before looking out over the grounds. The squires continued their roaming search, their charges not yet to be seen. "What are they doing now? Janos and Benedek, I mean."