They Were Divided (11 page)

From the depths of the mysterious woods suddenly came a deep rumbling roar not unlike the roll of some giant drum, or empty wooden barrel, though it clearly came from some living source and not from any dead piece of wood. It was an angry sound, filled with demand and desire, a mating call or a battle cry.

They all stopped and the horses pricked up their ears.

‘It must be a fallow stag,’ whispered Balint. ‘He can’t be far away!’ and he turned his horse and trotted swiftly along a narrow grassy path which led through the wild tangle of willow trees and elders, beneath arches of giant topolya, until they reached the ford. The reeds by the riverbank were tall now and stood like a wall in front of them. A narrow path had been cut through that led down to the flat pebbles below the bank. At that season there was not much water in the sluggish little stream, indeed it barely came up to the horses’ hocks because most of it had been diverted a mile further upstream to drive the mill. The Aranyos was always like this in autumn and it was hard to believe that the mighty torrent to be seen in spring was the same river. Of course the proof was there to see on the further bank, which was a small perpendicular cliff two or three metres high, cut clean like some geological illustration with clear-cut layers of pebbles, dark humus, alternating strands of clay and stones, until finally
reaching
down to a base level of bluish-coloured slate which had once been the bed of some prehistoric sea.

They followed the path through the reeds and crossed the ford, and now, for the first time, they could look out over the Keresztes plain, the largest in Transylvania, towards the bald slopes of the Mezoseg, broken only by canyons of yellowish clay, with here and there little square patches of vineyard; over to the right to the hills of the Maros and to the left, far, far away, to the vertical line of the Torda cleft. Still further in the distance, almost melting into the clouds, were the soft grey outlines of the Jara range. The plain was bathed in sunshine and in front of them were the great fields of now harvested oats at the sides of which
enough ground had been left unploughed for three horses to
gallop
side by side. These were the autumn training grounds, for here the going was not so hard as it became inside the park itself. Along one side posts marked a six-hundred-metre stretch.

They rode the horses twice round the perimeter of the field, as a preliminary workout, and then tried out the speed of the
five-year
-old Csalma and the novice Menyet against that of the experienced Honeydew.

Balint, Simon Jäger and one of the stable lads watched from the side. The first try-out went smoothly enough and Csalma kept up with Honeydew without difficulty, even though the mare went full out.

‘She’ll do us proud, my lord,’ said Simon, and then, almost under his breath. ‘I wouldn’t give any of our horses for that spindly goat! At five thousand metres she’d be well behind!’

Gazsi now trotted over to Balint, said a few words of praise for the Denestornya mare and then, signalling to the lad to bring up the young colt that was to be tried out next, cantered back to the starting post. Then something quite unexpected happened.

Young Pisti, the lad, said ‘
Komelo
’ sharply and dug his heels into the colt’s sides to bring him up in line with Gazsi’s
thoroughbred
and the latter, perhaps believing that the command was for her, or because she was suddenly reminded of those days on the racecourse at Alag which she had so hated, and resented being shouted at once more, put her head between her forelegs, arched her back in a crescent and, turning a full circle, bolted in every direction in the wide open field. Gazsi was taken by surprise and thrown almost at once; but being the horseman he was he landed on his feet without further mishap.

Not so young Pisti! The colt snorted, flung up his tail in a
trumpet
shape – just like Honeydew – and leapt into the air so that the lad was thrown up like a shooting star and fell to the ground head first.

Both these things happened so quickly that it was like a volcano erupting and the others roared with uncontrollable laughter. Though his mount too tried some tricks of her own Balint
managed
to canter fairly calmly over towards Gazsi. At the same time Simon Jäger galloped at full speed after the colt, who was heading for home in a panic. It was one of Simon’s great passions to catch bolting horses at full gallop. The last time he had done it had been two years before when Balint had been hunting at Zsuk and Simon had brought up his reserve mount. Whenever he was
out riding he always kept a sharp eye out for a fall and then he was off, racing after the riderless mount uphill and downhill, standing upright in his stirrups, not bent forward like jockeys in a race but with his ramrod back as straight as the Hungarian
hussars
of old. In a second the riderless colt and his pursuer had crossed the river and vanished into the trees beyond.

‘What a bitch!’ cried Gazsi when he had caught Honeydew and remounted. ‘Didn’t she just thr-r-row me again, the horr-
r-rible
mare!’ But he wasn’t angry; it was all a joke to him, and Balint, looking at the mare with her flattened ears, her mouth drawn back and, in her eyes a wicked-looking twinkle, fancied that it was the same for Honeydew.

The second trial never took place as one of the chef
participants
had bolted, and so Gazsi and Balint started for home. They turned into the park towards the island of trees called Nagyberek – the Big Wood, and Balint said, ‘Let’s follow the trail through the woods and maybe we’ll get close to the deer. Those fallow stags are completely reckless when in rut, far more so than the red deer. They’re restless as anything and stay out of covert for far longer.’ Then they sent the remaining lad home and the two of them turned into the thick undergrowth.

Now there was hardly a trace left of the morning mists. The sun shone brightly through the tangled mesh of hops and other wild vines, picking up the autumn yellow of the summer’s
hemlock
stalks and making the dark web of the bishop’s cap creepers look as if it were a grille that protected passers-by from the flames that seemed to shine from the dry grass behind. Here the filtered sunlight picked up the strange contorted bark of a centuries-old tree and the red glow of another, and everywhere there were bright patches interspersed by dark blue strips of shadow. Where there was light it was blinding, and nothing seemed solid and three-dimensional, for the crowns of the giant trees around them cast their shadow at random until even the outlines of the bushes that formed the undergrowth were blurred and insubstantial.

It was still a dream forest, though quite different from what it had been in the thick mist of early morning. Here and there
berries
gleamed bright red against orange-coloured leaves, the lemon yellow of the maples was mingled with the bronze of the native oaks and everywhere were clutches of tiny berries that shone like black diamonds. There were so many that they might have been floating freely in the air. Sometimes the two riders found themselves crossing small clearings, now vividly green,
before plunging once more into the lush jungle-like thickets.

From time to time they reined in the horses and stopped to
listen
. All around them they could sense an unrest that seemed almost to vibrate. It was a feeling rather than anything they could hear. Sometimes there was a faint sound as of a dry twig being snapped underfoot, though they might have imagined it. And sometimes they heard again that deep rumbling call, though they could not tell from which direction it came. Was it in front of them – or behind – or was that too only in their imagination?

The horses too were fully alert, their nostrils flaring wide and their ears pointing now in one direction and now in another, as if they were also aware that they were close to something wonderful and mysterious.

After a little while they found themselves on the bank of a
former
riverbed. Kadacsay was a little behind and stopped while Balint went slowly ahead. The riverbed itself was filled with reeds and tall grass and sharp smacking noises seemed to come from its muddy bed. Hardly had Gazsi turned his mare’s head towards the noise and started to lean forward in the saddle to peer at whatever was there than a full grown fallow buck jumped out of the thick reeds and for an instant stood there without moving, only some ten paces away from horse and rider. His widespread shovel-shaped antlers sprung proudly from between the
eye-horns
on his forehead and his red-brown coat had a line of clear white spots. He was not a big animal – only the size of a yearling colt – but his defiant stance made him formidable enough. Honeydew gave a start and backed a pace or two and the two
animals
gazed at each other, each as surprised and impressed as the other. No doubt the stag was as startled by the sight of this strange golden-yellow animal as the mare was by him. He pushed forward his muzzle that shone like patent leather and hesitantly made one or two steps forward. Then, no doubt catching the scent of a human somewhere near, he quickly recoiled and
vanished
back among the reeds.

Gazsi trotted forward until he had caught up with Balint.

‘My dear-r-r fellow! Something mar-r-rvellous! A stag comes out in fr-r-ront of us, and Honeydew is fr-r-rightened. Honeydew! For the fir-r-rst time in her life the beast has had a shock! I could feel it thr-r-rough my leg muscles. Her hear-r-rt was r-r-racing! I never thought I’d live to see something impr-r-ress her!’

Later they saw some does and their young, but only from a
distance, and a few minutes later they heard some loud clashing sounds which were almost certainly caused by two stags fighting. Then Balint and Gazsi turned their horses and rode slowly home.

Throughout the morning’s ride Gazsi had seemed his usual cheerful self but Balint soon realized that this had probably only been because he had been cheered up by their adventures. When he asked when Gazsi would be going to Zsuk all the answer he got was, ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll go … it’s too
bor-r-ring
. Nothing but hor-r-rses, hor-r-rses, hor-r-rses! Always
hor-r-rses
! What for, I ask you? I’ve had quite enough. They bor-r-re me…’ and that tight little frown had appeared again on his forehead.

‘But the hunt is unthinkable without you!’

‘Then they’ll have to get used to it, won’t they?’ replied Gazsi gloomily.

They returned to find Countess Roza cutting flowers in front of the house. She wore thick buckskin gloves and had already cut a large quantity from the beds that lined the inner court and were thus protected from the early frosts. She walked gaily towards the two young men, giving the impression that she was preparing for some very special occasion. As well as this exceptionally festive manner they noticed that she wore the smart bonnet she normally put on only when she went to church. The wide satin bow was tied coquettishly under her chin and she had put on some new clothes that were noticeably smarter than those she usually wore, even to the extent of sporting a new white lace collar and frills at her wrists. She seemed years younger than when they had last seen her.

‘Take these flowers,’ she said to one of the footmen who was just passing, ‘and tell them to put them in the guest-rooms.’ With a spring in her step she came towards her son and Gazsi.

‘Now tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘What did you see on your ride? Let’s sit here in front of the house; I love it here when the autumn sun is out.’

She led them to a stone bench from where one could see into the horseshoe court and listened with glee to Gazsi’s story – which he made the most of – about how idiotic he’d been allowing the mare to throw him, and about the meeting with the stag and how he had felt Honeydew’s racing heartbeats when it was her turn to be frightened. And of course he praised the young horses
raised at Denestornya until Countess Roza’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. And all the time she was listening she kept on turning her eyes towards the great entrance gates beyond the outer court.

At one moment she said, apropos of nothing, that Aron Kozma was arriving that morning on the eleven-thirty train, and then turned back to listen to Gazsi once more.