The Lady at the River's Edge

18 - Rising Flames

They could only sit and listen, safe in the tower, while chaos reigned all around them. Fires lit the castle town below, beyond what any torch or lantern might throw. The count's men had closed the gate with nightfall, leaving the townsfolk to the whims of the palatine's soldiers. Had her father feared a panic, and so shut them out? Or perhaps he imagined the palatine's orders would be merciful, sending arms only to the castle itself? Whatever the reason, now the town burned.

This revelation seemed to matter little to those in the top floor of the tower–perhaps prayer had been a comfort to the rest of them. Zsofia spoke now with a voice of authority, giving assurance to her ladies and her children. Antal had calmed, and though Ilona clutched her mother's skirts, the girl no longer jumped at every sound from the window. Erzsebet could not claim the same.

Janos still sat in his chair, looking just as he had for hours, staring out into the gloom, as still himself as the fabric of the night. Somehow this bothered her–he ought to stand, test his blade, venture down to the tower's entrance and listen for news. What could he do here by the window?

Sir Zsigmond had the right of it: if Janos meant to guard her family, he ought to be out there fighting for them! Here, he was useless–worse than useless, for every time Erzsebet looked at him she recalled how foolishly this had all started. If he had only kept better hold of his hawk, none of this would have happened! If he had accepted the charges against him, he would suffer what, a few years in the dungeon? How arrogant, how selfish, to let countless others lose their lives rather than surrender only a fraction of his. As if her father's dungeons were even that bad! Every scream, every drop of blood, every home burnt to cinders was his fault, yet he sat there without the slightest guilt in his bearing.

A voice within her asked, And you? Would you submit so readily to an unjust punishment? Whose voice it was, she could not say; not quite her own, not quite another's. She remembered a conversation she had had with Magdalena, what seemed like ages ago: the countess had tried to lay the blame for evil on the victim, for not doing enough to protect themselves, rather than on the perpetrator. She had taken for granted that, if offered, anyone would take the chance to abuse the innocent. Victimhood was the true crime in her eyes. Erzsebet had rejected her then, and did so now.

Janos had done what he could to avoid this tragedy–what's more, had her father ordered him to accept his charges and punishment, she was sure the knight would have done so without hesitation. No, the fault could only lie with the palatine and his house. Spreading the blame only lessened their guilt, and made true what Magdalena claimed of the world. It could not be so.

There were good people, people like her father, who would never stoop to atrocity, no matter the promised gain. Only the evil would claim evil as natural, and so absolve themselves. How common such evil was, she couldn't say, having known so little of the world in her few years. It did not matter–the world could be lousy with men like the palatine, but that would not make their ways natural, nor would it free them from guilt. If God was just, they would receive their due in the end.

A small comfort for those suffering through the here and now, but so it went. The night of terror waxed on, each minute dragging for those left helpless and sequestered, desperate for news and in terror of its coming. Erzsebet considered venturing down to the ground floor of the tower, to ask if anything had been heard through the door. The prospect was daunting, descending into the crowd of panicked folk. They would be looking to her for comfort and answers, and she would come before them begging the same.

She had been contemplating this for some time, yet unmoved from her cushion nest, when a new clamor rose–from just beneath them. Something was happening in the tower, somewhere on the lower floors. Erzsebet jerked to her feet in a panic that surged just as sharply through the others.