Abady mounted swiftly and, as Zutor was adjusting his stirrups, Gaszton Simo, who had been whispering something to old Nyiresy, came up and asked if he could ride some of the way with him.
‘I thought that you were going to have lunch with Nyiresy?’ said Balint, who was not at all eager for the notary’s company.
‘I’ll be back in time. I would like to ask the Count’s opinion on something … something political, nothing to do with the estate.’ As Balint hesitated, he jumped on his horse and was soon riding beside him.
The little caravan got underway with Andras Zutor in the lead, sitting sideways as if kneeling in the saddle but still in full control of his mount. In the rear came the gornyiks in single file with the pack animals; and in between rode Balint and the notary.
When they had ridden only about a hundred paces Simo began to talk about the recent elections. Who would have thought that things would have turned out like this with the old ruling party now in the minority? How could it have happened? What would happen next? How would it affect the 1867 Compromise? What did the monarch think? Who would be the next prime minister? With all these questions he was trying to show this little aristocrat who played at politics that he too, Gaszton Simo, was no simple ink-licking notary from the backwoods but an informed man-of-the-world who deserved proper consideration. With each query he looked at Balint, hoping for an answer. The latter was silent for some time, and finally said: ‘It’s really too early to say definitely, but maybe the only constitutional solution will be a coalition.’
‘Hm!’ said Simo. ‘A coalition? Could that possibly work?’ He did not speak for a few moments and seemed worried. Then he went on talking in roundabout terms about how those loyal to the King had had to stand up to the machinations of revolutionary demagogues and finally arrived at what Balint realized was the purpose of this whole conversation. Perhaps, hinted Simo, the new party in power might now seek vengeance on those who had been loyal to the previous government? Did his Lordship believe that those who had given good service to the State in recent years might now find themselves in trouble? It was clear to Balint that the notary was scared that his own skin might be in danger. Reassuringly he said:
‘You have nothing to fear, Mr Notary. State legal officers are elected by the community and can only be displaced as a result of disciplinary action.’
‘Yes, yes, of course I know that, but …’ He looked around him as if to be sure that no one would overhear, then: ‘Look, sir, between men of the world, between gentlemen, I don’t need to hide the truth. The fact is I fixed the last elections in Hunyad. The government candidate won by nine votes, and that was only because I myself had brought in all the voters from here, all thirty-seven of them. Well, now I hear that some people are saying that the election was rigged and that twenty of those I brought were never on the electoral roll. The rascals! Someone’s already been up to spy around. Of course I threw him out.’
‘What really did happen?’
The notary, thinking his explanation had been convincing enough, began to bluster: ‘Well, the district judge is a good friend of mine. It was he who asked me to bring everyone. There are many bad people here; they hate me because I keep strict order, don’t let them get away with anything! Also I’m the only real Hungarian here, in this little outpost. Let them grumble, I’m not afraid! But if we had a new county prefect, named by the government, then perhaps they’d think they could testify against me. False witness, of course, false witness!’ He struck the pommel of his saddle to emphasize his point.
There was no need for Balint to reply at once as the road just then descended to a small river and the riders were obliged to go in single file, the sure-footed little ponies wading through the swift running water carefully testing each step for sharp or dangerous stones. When they had made the crossing successfully Simo again advanced to Balint’s side.
‘I have something else to request of your Lordship. The church at Gyurkuca is very small and ought to be enlarged. Only a small quantity of timber would do the job and it would create an excellent impression if it were to be donated by your Lordship. May I send them word?’
Balint said that he would look into the matter.
‘I can vouch for the district popa, a most trustworthy man. His son is actively pro-Romanian, but it doesn’t matter as he is dying of tuberculosis. But the priest is a good man, reliable; he always lets me know what is going on up there! I help him, of course, and try to keep the son out of trouble with the authorities. So can I tell them they can have the wood?’
‘I can’t decide now. I’ll look into it when I get there.’
‘But I’m vouching for him. I, Gaszton Simo!’ The notary was incensed not to have his word accepted at once.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Abady. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I would like you to return to Beles. I have things to discuss with the rangers. Good-day to you, Mr Notary!’ Balint raised his hat and spurred his horse on ahead to catch up with Zutor.
Simo looked after him, his expression full of hate. ‘Damned stuck-up aristocrat!’ he said to himself and turning his horse abruptly he started to gallop back the way they had come. Blind with rage he nearly ran down the foresters leading the packhorses.
Now they started to leave the valley and climb up to the high mountains. Here and there they passed log cabins surrounded by wooden fences. Dogs ran out and barked, but kept their distance as there were too many people for them to attack with safety. Krisan Gyorgye, in his self-appointed role as the young master’s bodyguard, ran towards them cursing, while the other porters and the men and women of the settlement giggled with amusement.
The valley they rode through was filled with a light mist, a bluish vapour that softened the outlines of everything around them while nevertheless holding a sparkling quality which hinted that the sun above was shining brightly. Almost before Balint was aware, the mist was blown away by the mountain breezes and the little party emerged on to a high ridge from which they could see an endless panorama of mountains and forests stretching into the far distance.
They stopped. There was not a cloud in the sky which arched above them like an ice-blue celestial dome. The mountain ranges in front receded in ever paler shades of cobalt, darkening only in the intervening valleys. On their left the bright sunlight etched the outlines of ridge after ridge of dense forest. As Balint took out his maps, Andras showed him the landmarks in front of them.
‘There, on the right, is the Gyalu Boulini! The Szamos river curves round the base of the mountain. That sandy hill there marks the start of the foothills of the Humpleu, but we can’t see the summit from here, it’s too far away. Our boundary lies on the top of that mountain ridge — there! — and then descends to the river. Beyond lie the Church lands, there, on the fourth ridge, is the Intreapa. The boundary follows that bend, rises to the left and then rises again to the summit. That’s the third side. His Lordship’s Valko forest meets the State lands at the Pietra Talharalui, those high cliffs there.’ He pointed at three rocks rising like giants’ tombstones on the horizon.
Far in the distance, about four or five miles away beyond the deep valley of the Szamos river which was shrouded in wisps of low cloud, Balint could just make out some faint black specks on the snow-covered mountainside and, behind them, a patch of grey that seemed to have a toothpick planted upright beside it.