We Hunt By The Light Of The Moon

I was born in a small district in the northern outskirts of Constantinople in 1901, the son of a foreign diplomat. Growing up I sincerely believed that my father was a well-placed and influential man but as I came of age I understood that he was merely a common civil servant who frequently traveled to places that were generally not as exotic nor as significant as I thought, and he primarily did so to attend to the needs of his superiors. Still, I was always excited when I was invited to accompany him on the occasions when he traveled to places of import like Sarajevo, Athens or Vienna. Once we spent a week in Berlin at the most majestic and awe-inspiring hotel I had ever seen in my young life. 

In the autumn of 1917, not long after my 16th birthday, my father took me on a trip to Budapest and there I met a young man of maybe 25 years who hailed from a family of noblemen able to directly trace their ancestry back to Hungarian land-owning chieftains of the period preceding the establishment of the kingdom somewhere around the year 1,000 CE. The family owned an ancient castle in the hills outside of the town of Kistarcsa and when our small carriage train arrived there we were greeted by the young lord flanked by three jet black Cane Corso hounds with tightly cropped ears, each of them over one hundred pounds in weight and sitting perfectly statuesque in a line just to the right of their master.

“Greetings gentlemen, I welcome you all to Castle Holdfény.” He removed his top hat and bowed, spilling a spray of longish dark hair onto his shoulders while holding his arms out momentarily as he smiled. “I am honored to be the Baron Stephan Kán and the son of Viscount Andronicus Kán. My father the Viscount sends his apologies to you all, as he was called into the city on urgent business at one of our banks. He will return before midday tomorrow. I know you have come a great distance to join us here and I am sure you are weary from your travels. Please follow me and I will show you all to your quarters, which I hope you will find suitable. A proper meal will be ready at table within an hour, which should give you some time to get settled and attend to any personal needs prior to our welcoming feast.”

With this, the handsome young Baron waved a gloved hand and turned on the heels of his neatly oiled leather riding boots and strode towards the massive, ornately carved oak doors to the castle. The three hounds instantly followed him, his coattails flowing in the breeze as he returned the immaculate black top hat to his head. It looked like rain would soon be falling.

As he approached the open doorway, he emitted a sharp whistle and pointed off to the left side of the castle and the three Cane Corsos split off and rounded the corner. Our group of eleven - mostly state diplomats, a few adjuncts and myself - followed him inside and I was at once intimidated by the towering, vaulted ceiling in the great hall overhead. The castle’s architecture was even more impressive internally than it was externally.

Standing near the base of the large, curved Carrara marble staircase were six servants - three dark-haired women and three dark-haired boys of my approximate age who might have been their sons - staring down at their feet humbly. The Baron explained that they would see us to our quarters, but they were all from Dagestan, in the northern Caucuses, and spoke only Avar, which none from our delegation had any facility with. Still, they proved to be diligent servants and basic communication was possible through simple hand gestures and such. I was able to unpack and wash up a bit and less than an hour later we were all seated at the long dining room table with a sumptuous feast laid out before us. I remember I was quite famished after a long day of travel.

“Well, it’s a rather provincial lifestyle here, as I’m sure you must know. But we do have our hobbies and various forms of entertainment,” the Baron said, after we had finished our second course. “I will admit that I am gaining quite the passion for my family’s love of the hunt. We have game of all types in these surrounding hills, and I find myself out there as often as my obligations allow these days. You will have noticed many of the mountings here in this hall, I am sure. Some go back more than 300 years to the time when my ancestors hunted with bow and arrow or sometimes with the spear. I, of course, greatly prefer my bolt-action Model 1893 Swedish Mauser but I do credit my predecessors for their exhaustive efforts. It must have been rather trying, I imagine.” He laughed softly, then pointed at the head of a 12-point red buck mounted on the wall to his left without looking up at it as he stabbed a bite of roast beef with his fork. 

“Shot that fine fellow there last April, I did, and I’m quite certain I could not have scratched him even once with a hundred arrows if he was willing to stand stock still before me for the whole affair.” Everyone laughed. I liked him. I think we all did.

But, formally, our delegation was there to discuss matters of trade and commerce and the Viscount was expected to be there to greet us. Some of the senior members of our group seemed a bit put off by his absence but the Baron explained that he knew his father’s will and had the authority to speak on his behalf. Some initial questions were posed, some preliminary answers were provided and it was agreed that there would be a formal meeting the following afternoon to discuss these topics in greater detail, at which time the Viscount would be present. I knew I would not be invited to this gathering so I was pleased when the Baron told me that his valet would be happy to take me out riding at that time, weather permitting.

On our way back to our quarters after dinner I noticed the shield hanging from the wall with the Kán family crest painted on it. The small cuts and dents across its surface betrayed its prior use in battle but did not mar the image it bore. The shield was black and below a blood red barre sinister sat a white and red family coat of arms showing a full moon shining down on a great sword perched beside a snarling wolf, ready to pounce. Beneath this were the words “A Hold Fényénél Vadászunk”.

I had napped for several hours on the train to Budapest that afternoon and as a result I found it difficult to find sleep that night. I sat in a chair next to the window in my room and read a book by the light of a few candles and hoped that this might help me retire for the night, as it often does. But a short time later I saw a man riding out from the estate on a black stallion, and though the moonlight was strong I hadn’t the proper angle to see the rider’s face.

Less than an hour later, I was still reading when I heard the sound of a whicker and saw the stallion walking back on to the grounds of the estate, riderless. The three black Cane Corsos quickly surrounded it and led the horse around the castle towards the stables in the rear and out of my sight. I read on for a while longer and soon enough, mercifully, Dostoyevsky succeeded in putting me to sleep. 

The following morning the Baron stood in the great hall, meticulously dressed in black at the base of the central staircase, ready to formally greet our delegation as the servants led us down to the dining table for breakfast. He had a large rhinoceros horn in his hands and a smile on his lips.

“Good morning, my friends. I hope you all slept well and awoke with a strong appetite for a breakfast which awaits you now. But first, I thought you might be interested to see this family artifact. When my father finished his duty in The Second Boer War, he traveled to the Lake Chad region where he had the opportunity to participate in a hunt and was able to take a white Rhino, a very rare species indeed.” He raised his free hand in gesture to the many mounted heads of Deer and Boar and various other species adorning the walls.

“As I mentioned last night, my family has a long-held heritage of love and respect for the hunt.” He then handed the horn to me first, and I inspected it with earnest attention before passing it to my father, who did the same and then handed it on to his direct superior. The rhino horn made the rounds and was soon returned to the Baron who handed it off to a servant and then led us to the dining table.

During our breakfast meal, the Baron was called away by a servant and when he returned he apologetically explained that a courier boy from the village had just delivered a message. His father, The Viscount of Holdfény, would not be able to return today. However, he again assured our delegation that he knew his father’s wishes and was authorized to speak on his behalf. A meeting was scheduled in one hour's time as we would be departing that afternoon to attend to other commitments in the region.

When we left the dining hall, I found myself walking directly beside our host as we passed beneath the wall-mounted shield that had caught my attention the previous night, and I asked him about its meaning and the Hungarian words inscribed upon it. He laughed a bit sheepishly as he looked up towards it briefly.

“That ancient relic? I really could not say. It’s well over 500 years old and I’m sure I was educated on its meaning in my youth but I surely cannot recall the details now. I believe you are the first person who has ever commented on it, actually. The large banner you see hanging over the window there has been our family crest for the last century or so.” He patted me on the back lightly and introduced me to his valet, a young man named Andras, only a year or two older than myself. Andras bowed slightly and then led me out to the stables and a short time later we set out for a ride.

I had done some riding in my time but I was nowhere close to the equal of Andras in this regard, so he took mercy on me and reduced his pace to match mine. My mount was a chestnut palfrey; a beautiful, well-trained and amiable creature. I nearly fell in love with her that day.

We rode through the hills surrounding the family estate and although the sky was gray we passed many scenic vistas of the deep, green valley and the quaint little town at its center. At one point we passed through a small mountain village and upon reaching the woods on the other side we came upon two men dressed in workman’s clothing, in the process of digging a grave in a large clearing lined with roughly hewn headstones. They stopped their efforts as we rode up and looked at us through dark eyes. Nearby lay an object of some sort wrapped in an old gray blanket. Dark brown stains were apparent near its center. It was not difficult to determine what lay within.

I spoke no Magyar, the Hungarian common language, but Andras spoke a few words and one of the men pointed at the object wrapped in the blanket and provided a response. The other just stared at the bronze letter H imprinted on my saddle. After a moment of contemplation, Andras felt my eyes upon him and he turned to me and spoke softly.

“I think he say…they preparing for burial of young man from this village who was…kill? Last night? I am sorry but I am from Makhachkala, in Dagestan, and Hungarian not my tongue. I do not understand all he say, but they are preparing...burial ceremony. We must leave them to their business,” he said to me in Turkish. (They speak only Avar?) We lowered our heads as we rode off and about an hour later we arrived back at the estate just as the rain began to fall, the three midnight black Cane Corsos greeting us silently upon our return and following us back to the stables.

A few hours before sunset that day I left Castle Holdfény with the rest of our delegation and I would not see the ancient estate again for almost three decades, on another rainy day in July of 1946, as the embers of the Second World War were beginning to cool and I was just entering the latter years of my adult life.

**********

After graduating from Bosphorus University in 1922, I followed in my father’s footsteps and joined the diplomatic service in Turkey. Over time I rose to a position exceeding my father’s achievements and he was sincerely proud of me. Not long after his retirement I was formally attached to a group of trade delegates sent to Budapest in order to meet with a number of Viscounts and Barons and a few untitled but influential local businessmen to discuss matters of trade and lending. As it happened, my itinerary brought me back to Castle Holdfény, where I saw a familiar face.

The three black Cane Corso hounds I remembered were now replaced by three black Bull Mastiffs seated in a row, but the smile on the face of the young man who welcomed us to the estate was immediately familiar.

“Greetings, gentlemen! I am the Baron Alexander Kán and I am most pleased to welcome you all to Castle Holdfény. My father, the Viscount Stephan Kán, lord of this estate, bids me to apologize to you all on his behalf. He was unexpectedly called away to address some urgent business in Vienna the night before last but he is expected to return tomorrow before noon. Please follow me and I will show you to your quarters, which I hope you will find suitable to your needs.”

It was much like a dream. This time the sharp whistle sent the hounds running off toward the right side of the castle and the servants were no longer Dagestani - they were all Armenian now, and none from our delegation spoke their language, not that I believed any would truly engage with us if we did - but the rest of it was all hauntingly familiar. It looked like rain would soon be falling. A welcome feast would be served within the hour.

As we left the long dining table after a sumptuous meal, I looked up at the old shield bearing the ancient Kán family crest and asked the young Baron about the words inscribed at the bottom. He smiled at me and shrugged slightly and then smiled. “If only I could remember. It has been so long.” This gave me pause for a moment but then I asked the question before I even gave it any true thought.

"Have we met before?"

He just smiled at me briefly before turning to speak with the servant walking just to his right in a language I did not know. Maybe it was Armenian. Maybe it was not.

Again that night I found sleep evasive. I had napped on the train as usual and the two glasses of Bordeaux I had with my dinner were not enough to send me off. I was reading Mircea Eliade’s “Nearsighted Adolescent” by the light of a few candles in a chair by the window when there was a quiet knock on the door just before it was softly pushed open and the Baron entered the room. He looked right past me, out the window over my shoulders for a moment, before he spoke.

“I have given it some thought and I believe you are correct. We have indeed met once before. It was in 1917 when you visited our family estate with your father and the rest of his diplomatic cadre from Istanbul. Of course, it was known as Constantinople then. I have seen many such changes in my time.”

He paused then and stared directly at me.

“You have asked me twice now about the words on our family shield hanging down in the great hall, and I must confess that I did not answer you honestly when I claimed ignorance of their meaning. Those words are far more ancient than that shield. They translate to We Hunt By The Light Of The Moon.”

He stepped towards the window and stood beside me, then stared up at the sky and I saw that his eyes had begun to yellow when he looked back down at me.

“I can hold it back for a short time now, but not for very long,” he said softly, shaking his head just a slight bit. “There is a strong mount saddled and waiting for you right outside. I can promise you fifteen minutes, but no more than that.”

I noticed the coarse, dark hair just beginning to sprout from the backside of his left hand as he turned to walk towards the door. When he got there he paused and turned his head without fully looking back towards me, and then he spoke in a voice that suddenly bore a slightly guttural pitch.

“The end can be quick or the end can be slow. Please do not deny me the honor of a proper hunt. Ride hard, my friend. Ride Fast...”

And with that, the ancient Lord of Castle Holdfény departed and quietly closed the door, and I soon rode off from the estate at a hard gallop with only the radiance of the full moon lighting my way.

THE END