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  BOOKS BY CECELIA HOLLAND

  The Serpent Dreamer

  The Witches’ Kitchen

  The Soul Thief

  The Angel and the Sword

  Lily Nevada

  An Ordinary Woman

  Railroad Schemes

  Valley of the Kings

  Jerusalem

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  The Bear Flag

  The Lords of Vaumartin

  Pillar of the Sky

  The Belt of Gold

  The Sea Beggars

  Home Ground

  City of God

  Two Ravens

  Floating Worlds

  Great Maria

  The Death of Attila

  The Earl

  Antichrist

  Until the Sun Falls

  The Kings in Winter

  Rakóssy

  The Firedrake

  FOR CHILDREN

  The King’s Road

  Ghost on the Steppe

  website: www.thefiredrake.com

  RAKÓSSY

  Cecelia Holland

  Copyright © 1966 by Cecelia Holland

  All rights reserved

  Library of Congress catalog number 67-13037

  This edition copyright © 2006 by Cecelia Holland

  Cover art copyright © 2006 by Jon Patmore

  FOR MY FATHER

  sine qua non

  Note

  The Magyar nobility of the sixteenth century did not have titles, although their de facto power over their subjects was as absolute as that of the aristocracy in the Western monarchies. I have given János Rakóssy and Louis Malencz titles to make their ranks clear.

  With the exception of the Archduke and Duchess, Suleyman the Magnificent, and the facts of the Turk invasion and the Battle of Mohács, the people and events of this tale are figments of my imagination.

  Cecelia Holland

  1967

  This edition is exactly the same text as the original except for the very end. I was only 21 when I wrote it, and apologize now for its youthful errors and ignorance. The story needs no apology, especially now.

  Cecelia Holland

  2006

  The world is too wicked, and does not deserve to have many wise and pious princes. Frogs need storks.

  MARTIN LUTHER, 1523

  RAKÓSSY

  My dear Count,” Kamal said. “Nothing would please me more. But Mustafa my master gave me this specific instruction. I am to sign nothing that is not also signed by Baron Rakóssy.”

  Count Malencz said, “János Rakóssy is a black traitor.”

  “Granted. But a man whom it is imprudent to ignore, and my master prefers to be prudent.”

  Malencz frowned and looked at the papers on the desk. His large white hands lay flat before him. The firelight played on the carved surface of his signet ring. Kamal permitted himself to covet that ring. He thought, He is wondering if he dare tell me to sign or leave, and Rakóssy be damned.

  The spring ritual, Kamal thought. Five years of tradition can be as binding as five hundred given the proper . . . It was comforting to know that Malencz would do the same things each spring. That reminded him of Harun. Kamal smiled gently on Malencz.

  “Levolt has never signed one of our treaties,” Malencz said.

  “Levolt does not hold Hart Castle,” Kamal said. “Nor does Levolt suffer from an acute temptation to break treaties. If Rakóssy signs the treaty in our presence, we know that he knows of it, and when he breaks the treaty he has no recourse to the excuse of ignorance.” Kamal steepled his fingers. “Also, we can assign the blame properly, and you, my dear Count, are exonerated.”

  Malencz looked obliquely at Kamal, probably remembering the times that the Turks had broken the treaty, but he said only, “A man like Rakóssy, a breaker of faith with Turk and Magyar alike, should not be tolerated. It is a condition of war that we must tolerate him.”

  “Extremely well put,” Kamal said. He had a reply framed already, but Malencz spoke no Turk, and in Magyar the phrases lost their amusing nuance. Kamal said, “Sometimes it is wisest to trap a breaker of oaths in the net of his own duplicity.”

  Malencz appeared to consider this. He said, “I suppose I must summon him.”

  Kamal bowed slightly. Malencz rapped his ring on the desk. A servant appeared at the door. Kamal relaxed, smiling.

  “My compliments to Baron Rakóssy,” Malencz said to the servant. “And will he join us here immediately.”

  So Rakóssy had already been summoned to Vrath. Kamal felt it the moment for a raised eyebrow. Malencz refused to look at him and the gesture was spoiled.

  Kamal was mildly irked. “A good winter,” he said, arranging the folds of his sleeve.

  “Yes. We had hoped for more snow.”

  Kamal’s head jerked up; he had not thought Malencz capable of irony. He saw that Malencz had meant no irony at all. Malencz was staring at the treaty as if he were reading it. His left hand was poised over the desk top, wrist on the wood, the fingers ready to drum.

  Malencz was getting soft, Kamal thought. Always before he had waited until Kamal demanded it to summon Rakóssy from Hart Castle to the treaty conference. Kamal was briefly concerned: it was to the Turks’ advantage to treat with Rakóssy only through Malencz, whom the Turks never fought.

  The door opened, and the servant entered, stepping aside. “Baron János Rakóssy. Sir Denis Rakóssy.”

  Kamal straightened. A tall, slender young man came gracefully through the door, paused, and bowed to Malencz. Malencz rose, smiling. The young man was blond and elegant. Malencz greeted him elaborately. Kamal looked away from them, straight into the black eyes of János Rakóssy, shorter and stockier than his brother, swarthy as a Turk. Rakóssy looked positively sleepy. He nodded to Kamal and went on, past his brother and the enthusing Malencz, to stand behind one of the chairs by the fire. Malencz turned, saying, “Sir Denis, be seated, if you will. My lord.” He glanced at Rakóssy.

  Rakóssy sat. His brother sat to his left and a little behind him.

  “The terms of the treaty are as usual,” Kamal said. “With one or two unimportant exceptions, dealing with the procedure for exchanging prisoners.”

  “The point of exchange will be before Hart Castle,” Malencz said. “And I might add that the shift is well warranted, considering what happened last year.”

  Rakóssy mimed innocence and indignation. His face slipped immediately back to dark boredom.

  “The other details are petty,” Malencz said. “If we sign the treaty now, we will be sooner at supper.”

  “Let me see the treaty,” Rakóssy said.

  Malencz leaned back. “As I said, the changes are unimportant and indeed wise. Why quibble?”

  “I like to know what I’m signing.”

  Kamal rose, picked up one of the copies of the treaty, and handed it to Rakóssy. “For your perusal,” he said, and bowed with a flourish.

  Rakóssy could not read. He took the paper by the edge and held it over his shoulder to his brother. He looked at Kamal. His face was amused. Kamal returned to his chair and the arrangement of the folds of his sleeve.

  Denis read the treaty in a voice without inflection. It was a long treaty. Rakóssy slid down in his chair, put his head back, and stretched out his legs before him. He listened with his eyes half shut. Kamal thought that he was not listening at all. He was doing this to perturb Malencz. A glance at Malencz told Kamal that Rakóssy was succeeding admirably. Kamal watched him. The left corner of Rakóssy’s mouth drew down. Kamal knew this for a sign of unmitigated hilarity. Denis read the significant passage and went on, and Kamal saw no change in Rakóssy’s expression. He thought, Harun, you are all but home.

  “Signed this and so forth and so forth,” Denis said.

 
“About the exchange of prisoners,” Rakóssy said. “You credit me with five. I have six. I will dispose of the sixth as I see fit.”

  Kamal sat up straighter.

  “Only last Christmas you told me you had five,” Malencz said. “Where could you have gotten another since then?”

  “In a raid.”

  “You raided, in the middle of winter?”

  Rakóssy shrugged. He looked at Kamal. “It gets boring in Hart around January.”

  Kamal swore to himself, smiling. Rakóssy had found out about Harun and taken another prisoner so that he could keep Harun for his own uses. Kamal schooled his face to courtesy and disinterest.

  “You lie,” Malencz said, without schooling his face.

  Rakóssy blinked.

  “At any rate,” Kamal said, “the prisoner will have to be exchanged.”

  “But Mustafa has only eighteen Magyars in Cliff’s Eye,” Rakóssy said. “My lord Count has eight here in Vrath, Levolt has five in Kutess, and I have five.”

  “Six,” Kamal said. “He must be exchanged. That is the sole reason for these treaties.”

  “Oh? I thought they were to keep the peace.”

  Kamal unclenched his fist and smiled.

  “Who is this prisoner?” Malencz said.

  Rakóssy did not look at Kamal. “Mustafa ibn Ismail’s young brother.”

  “Harun was captured in the late summer and he was warded in Kutess,” Kamal said. “How can you have him?”

  “This is an outrage,” Malencz said. “You make a mockery of me, Rakóssy. You mock me and the King’s honor and the honor of all Magyars. This man is an important political prisoner.”

  “And mine,” Rakóssy said.

  Malencz opened his mouth, shut it, and leaned back in his chair. Rakóssy was angelic. Denis looked bewildered and frightened. Of course, Kamal thought. He’s only just come home. Now he knows.

  “Damn you,” Malencz said. “All right. Do as you please. Be careful that you don’t provoke me into informing the King of your . . . misconduct. Kindly remember that I am your military superior. Would you care to sign the treaty now?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  He rose. Malencz signed the three copies of the treaty and sealed them with his ring. Kamal signed Mustafa’s name and his own directly below it. Rakóssy could write his own name; his untutored handwriting looked narrow and awkward beneath Malencz’s and Kamal’s. Rakóssy used the last of the wax to put his seal on the pages. He straightened, took one of the copies, rolled it up, and handed it to Denis. He stood, sliding the signet ring on and off his forefinger.

  “And so, my lords,” Kamal said. “My dear Count, you mentioned supper. If I may have a moment to refresh myself in my chambers . . .”

  “Of course. Perhaps you would care for some wine now?”

  “Ah, thank you,” Kamal said, “but the dictates of the Prophet—”

  “Milk, then.” Malencz jerked his head toward Rakóssy. “Baron?”

  “Thank you.”

  Malencz summoned the servant and ordered him to fetch wine and milk. He turned heavily toward Kamal. “If you will excuse me a moment, my lords.”

  “Of course.”

  “Please make yourselves comfortable. I shall return in a few moments.” Malencz shot a vicious glare at Rakóssy and marched out.

  Kamal sat down, sighing. “What a tedious man.”

  Rakóssy laughed. “He’s a fool.”

  Kamal made a gesture. “You are to be congratulated on your coup, Rakóssy. My master will be most upset.”

  “Upsetting Mustafa is my life’s goal. When are you going back to Cliff’s Eye?”

  “As soon as possible. After last year’s . . . ah . . . lesson, I have no desire to remain long this deep in Magyar territory.”

  “I never repeat myself,” Rakóssy said.

  “What happened last year?” Denis said.

  Rakóssy glanced at him.

  “The exchange of prisoners was held before Vrath,” Kamal said. “On the way back, your most astute brother attacked us and . . .”

  The servant came in with the milk and wine, poured them into Malencz’s finest crystal goblets, and departed, all in silence.

  Kamal looked back at Rakóssy. “And beat us rather badly,” he said. “Boy, your brother is a veritable devil.”

  Rakóssy looked at Denis. Denis glanced away. Kamal said, “I wonder what’s keeping our illustrious host.”

  “I can guess,” Rakóssy said. He got up and went to the window. He looked out a moment and sat down again. “He’s down in the courtyard by the Countess Gate.”

  “Mustafa will be happy to know what happened to the envoy from Belgrade,” Kamal said.

  Rakóssy was staring straight ahead. He was as motionless as stone.

  “Not very talkative today, are you?” Kamal said.

  “Malencz makes me sick.”

  “He must. You haven’t touched your wine, and it’s probably his best.”

  The door opened and Malencz came back into the room. He sat down. “I trust you will excuse my absence.”

  “By all means,” Rakóssy said.

  “Sir Denis,” Malencz said. “How wonderful to have you back again. Tell me, did you enjoy Italy?”

  “Very much, my lord.”

  “I hope you and your lord brother will stay awhile here. I would enjoy talking to you. I traveled in Italy as a boy.”

  “We’ll be leaving when Kamal leaves,” Rakóssy said.

  “Oh? Is your escort waiting for you outside?”

  “You have no escort?” Kamal said.

  Rakóssy hesitated. He turned his head and looked at Kamal. “I left them outside,” he said.

  Kamal blinked. He rose. The tone of this meeting had changed suddenly. “My lord, if it please you, I believe I shall return immediately to Cliff’s Eye. I have no desire to wear out my . . . ah . . . white flag.” He smiled and bowed to Malencz, to Rakóssy, to Denis.

  “If you’re going,” Rakóssy said, “we will leave too. My lord, if you will excuse us. Come on, Denis.”

  Denis stood up. Malencz said, “Good day, then.”

  Rakóssy, Denis and Kamal went together out into the corridor. Kamal walked down toward the stair to the stable courtyard. He said, “What do you intend to gain by this?”

  Rakóssy spoke Turk. “Malencz was talking to his constable in the courtyard. I think he plans to hold me here. I don’t think he will if I am in your company, Kamal.”

  “And what makes you think that I shall not detain you with me, when we are without these mighty walls?”

  “Don’t be too smart for your own good, Kamal.”

  “Perhaps I am. Enlighten me.”

  They went down the stair to the court, and Rakóssy sent a boy for his and Denis’ horses. Kamal raised his hand and one of his Turks appeared. Kamal told the Turk to assemble his escort and prepare to leave.

  “As I said,” Kamal said, wheeling. “Enlighten me.”

  Rakóssy was staring up at the great outer wall of Vrath. He turned back.

  “To reach Cliff’s Eye, you must ride straight across my land. You don’t know where my escort is, or how large it is. And you have only twenty-five men, Kamal.”

  “And because of such an uncertainty I am to give you what amounts to an escort out of Vrath?”

  “Yes.” Rakóssy looked back at the wall.

  Kamal said, “Whatever the pit that spawned you, Rakóssy, it should take you back.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Denis said, “I don’t understand this at all.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Kamal doesn’t look very happy.”

  Rakóssy put one hand on his hip. “No, little brother. He isn’t. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Denis bit his lip.

  The stableboy led their horses out into the courtyard. Rakóssy went to his black mare and mounted. She half reared and he moved with her, talking to her. He looked over at Kamal and saw that Kam
al recognized the horse.

  Kamal mounted his own horse and rode over. “That’s Harun’s mare,” he said.

  “Do you want more proof that I have him?”

  “No.” Kamal rode away. He rode up beside his captain and said, “Rakóssy and his brother ride with us.”

  “How far?”

  “Not far at all.”

  “My lord—”

  “He has his men out there somewhere.”

  Kamal thought, Here, I am at Malencz’s mercy; outside, at Rakóssy’s. He saw Rakóssy riding toward the gate. Kamal felt the dangers around him like a fence of spears. He sucked in his breath. The portcullis was going up, slowly, and Rakóssy had pushed his way to the front of Kamal’s men to watch it. Kamal went up to him.

  “Don’t dream that I will forget,” Kamal said.

  Rakóssy looked at him and back at the gate.

  “My first concern,” Kamal said, “is to see that my men are safe. My second will be to repay this.”

  He turned and signaled to his men. They started out through the double gate. The outer gate was standing open. Rakóssy turned in his saddle to look up at the castle tower. Kamal followed his eyes. Malencz stood on the balcony above them. He stood unnaturally straight. Rakóssy wheeled the black mare and rammed her between two Turks toward the open outside gate. Kamal was immediately separated from him by two or three men. He saw Rakóssy lean out and catch his brother’s rein.

  Rakóssy swung the mare away from the Turks as soon as he was through the gate. He and his brother galloped off to the south. Kamal rode to the head of his troop. He saw Rakóssy rein in a little distance away and look back. Kamal waved his arm and started almost due east, along the riverbank.

  Rakóssy let go of Denis’ rein. He glanced at his brother and swept his gaze over Vrath Castle, Kamal and the country to the north beyond the river.