A Thousand Year Summer

Chapter Five - The Royal Hungarian Court

Much to Ludmilla's relief, András and Giselbert both recovered relatively well, the former better than the latter. Giselbert had no feeling in his legs, however. He joked bitterly that he would actually be able to walk through fire for his friends–he had already shown his willingness to in any case. Ludmilla wondered what would have happened if he had not told them of the bandits–surely they would have heard the clanging of swords, but Ludmilla would not, perhaps, been able to help András beat them off.

Since their arrival, Ludmilla's life had changed dramatically. She went from the daughter of a farmer to the responsibility of a king in the matter of a few minutes–and why, she wasn't exactly clear. András promised, the day after their return, that he would explain when the time came. Ludmilla wondered when that time would be, now filling her days with with embroidering, feasting and other activities only the rich could afford. Her former ratty, worn, threadbare tunic and skirt had been replaced with a white cotehardie and a yellow sideless surcoat decorated with little red flowers and green leaves. Her hair was brushed and was braided into a single long plait down her back. Her mother would have said that the pattern and the craftsmanship was too beautiful to wear, and it should be used as a wall hanging instead.

It was quite a strange turn of events that a king and queen would so charitably take in orphans from other principalities and kingdoms–a peasant girl, no less. Many would have compensated Toris and Ludmilla for their time and sent them on their way, but King Nikolas kept them as he would his own children. They were seamlessly adopted into the court with little commotion, as if such adoption were normal. Even a peasant from the north like Ludmilla would know that it was not, especially in a royal setting. Blood really did matter in many circumstances.

That made her wonder what their intentions were. Did they know something that she did not? Was she simply a novelty? A farming girl from the Principality of Kiev was certainly hard to come by in Óbuda, and she continually asked herself if she was a member of court as some form of entertainment.

It was not long before she was questioned by heads of the military what had happened to her family. She said, simply, that her village was raided and her parents were either carried off or killed by the attackers. Ludmilla reported the same of her siblings. Their brows furrowed, they conferred with each other and decided that likely the raiders had returned home, and would not have followed the river passages towards the city.

With the news of the persistent attacks in the north, however, the king grew increasingly concerned with the state of his kingdom. Would the attackers–it was unclear at this point whether or not they were Scandinavian or truly from Novgorod, as she had said–travel by river to the capital? Would his lands come under siege? Would his allies'?

Toris approached her perhaps a week after their arrival, and said, "I am very curious. I have been thinking of your question, and I have been watching."

Ludmilla did not know what he meant by watching. He was not very specific when it came to his activities. He never was. "What are your conclusions?"

Toris was silent, and denied her an answer for a moment. "Have you found anything about our arrival?"

She shook her head. She had been preoccupied with things that noble girls were supposed to do–embroidering, painting, sewing, praying. Toris, on the other hand, had been let loose with András, out in the world to do whatever he pleased. Giselbert was still confined to the infirmary, nursing his wounds, so Ludmilla felt more companionship with him than with Toris at this point.

"Well... I would love to say that I have, but I think that I am not quite as good with questioning. I propose for us to work in tandem–we should be able to find more if we coordinate. I say this because both princes are holding back on something."

The children sat in silence, the suggestion heavy in the air and heavy on their minds. Ludmilla finally nodded, and said, "I think that our cooperation would be wise. We have only each other–András and Giselbert perhaps are not to be trusted."

A warm, gentle breeze swept through the stone corridor in which both sat, the reds and yellows and greens of their clothes reflecting off of the stone walls, and on the clear windows open to the world. The scent of fresh-baked bread, horses and mud wafted through. Toris's shoulder-length hair was tied up in a ponytail, and rustled with the wind. "I miss home. I miss the ocean," he said.

"I miss my parents, Yohanan, Kalyna...," replied Ludmilla quietly. She wondered if she would ever see them again. It seemed unlikely. Kalyna was probably married off to some soldier or warlord, and Yohanan was either a slave or a soldier or dead. She had not said good bye to any of them. Ludmilla pondered if Toris's parents were still alive. The Scandinavians were brutal, but she had heard of raiders of different nationalities among their ranks.

Toris nodded, and his eyes became slightly watery. "I want to find out why I survived, and not them." His voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

Ludmilla stood, and offered her hand to her grieving friend. "I think, for now, we should be family."

Toris agreed quietly, and the pair set off down the hall, into the courtyard. The sun was hot on their backs. It felt good to hold his hand, and for the first time in a long time, she did not feel quite as alone. It was almost as if Kalyna was holding her again.