The Prince in Exile

Chapter 15

The meal was soon called, and by the guidance of a dozen attendants the guests found their seats. While no table was raised above any other, there was yet obviously a High Table, for the prince and his nearest retinue were seated all together–including Erzsebet.

She had largely recovered from her earlier daze, with the aid of chilled wine and Gertrude's constant lively presence, but being seated so close to the prince threatened to unbalance her once more. Something about the man was simply confounding–she fought inwardly, resolved to grant his presence no hold upon her. At least he kept his word: before being seated he doffed his crown, and once more was only a man.

Andras sat at the table's head, of course, with Gertrude on his left and Tamas on his right. Erzsebet was next to Gertrude, with Sandor directly across from her, his frank grin charming in its own way, amidst all the careful refinement surrounding them. Next to him was Marton, Ban of Slavonia, himself the very picture of refinement. Whether by luck or providence, there sat across from Erzsebet the two men she sought to woo, and by the way they looked at her it seemed either might be a fruitful ground to work.

On Erzsebet's left sat Mog, the former palatine–the man who had convinced Andras to rebel against the king, according to Gertrude. Older by far, and with his wife seated on the other side, Erzsebet thought herself safe to largely ignore the man–until he took the bottle from a servant's hand and insisted on pouring Erzsebet's drink himself, then his own, only to hand the bottle back with his wife's glass yet empty.

"Such courtesy from my kinsman," Sandor sneered across the table. "Do you fish from your neighbor's pond, too, Mog?"

"Do you peer over the hedge at your neighbor's field, Sandor?" the older man barked back. "The girl is yet new at court–courtesy indeed, I should think, to see her properly welcomed."

Sandor scoffed and leaned towards Marton, making some comment that was lost among the din of serving and chatter, leaving Mog to harrumph and cross his arms. "Pay him no mind," he muttered towards Erzsebet. "He is ill-made for high society, and so paints all with the ink of his crudeness."

She made a polite sound in answer, not knowing what to say. Sandor sat straight again and met her eyes, a knowing shine therein, which she answered with the barest tilt of her head.

The wine was finally all poured, and to Erzsebet's surprise it was Tamas who stood with glass in hand to give the toast. "Three great men I honor today," he called, his voice high and pure as a choir boy. Swiftly the room fell silent and glasses were raised. "The first, St. Ivan the Baptist; this night is his, this feast in his honor, and the honor of the Lord God who granted him vision and virtue. As the blessed Ivan drank the wicked brew and yet prospered, so let us drink this wine in his honor, and be free too of suffering and illness. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

The answering roar of "Amen!" was well beyond any pious prayer, more a cheer that shook throats and quickened hearts. Erzsebet gave no voice to it, yet felt it resound through her all the same.

"The second!" Tamas called, and once more his voice cut the room to silence. "Saint Istvan, who staked our kingdom and brought Christ to these once-heathen lands! He who begat the royal line of Arpad, which has seen our kingdom prosper for centuries, and will see the same for centuries more! Bless us, Istvan, for we are your true sons, inheritors of your will and vision, where others have strayed. Give us the strength to see your will through, to make your vision truth once more. Amen!"

Again the answering roar. Erzsebet could hardly hear prayer at all now; this was a battle-cry, a call to arms, and at the very edge of treason the men of the hall were inflamed. Her gaze flitted about, noting the fervor surrounding her, the gleaming awe in Gertrude's eyes–and Andras, still and calm, his attention flickering to Erzsebet an instant after she glanced his way. They shared a moment's look, both at odds with the zeal around them. A hint of a smile twisted his lips–but then his gaze rose back to Tamas, just as the younger man made to speak once more.