She bit her lip. Perhaps she had forgotten about the colonel. Then she tossed her head again. “You have first to get me to Belgrade.”
“Oh, I intend to do that, no matter how many people I have to shoot to get you there.”
She gulped.
“Tell me about yourself,” he suggested.
“I thought we were going to leave.”
“All in good time.”
“You will have the whole town against you.”
“Let me worry about that. Is your mother alive?”
“My mother died during the War.”
“And how have you survived?”
“My brother and sister and I were looked after by an . . . uncle.”
“I see,” Berkeley said, wondering just what she had had to do, how many men she had had to sleep with, to keep herself and her siblings alive. “But not in Sabac.”
“We live in Nish.”
“That sounds right. How did you find out about your father?”
“Magrich told us.”
Berkeley nodded. Karlovy had had two men with him during that last frantic shoot-out. One had been killed, the other, Magrich, Berkeley had let go, as he had sworn he was just obeying orders.
“Where is Magrich now?”
Her eyes flickered. “I do not know.”
Clearly she was lying. Berkeley wondered if Magrich might be one of the men downstairs, perhaps the man he had hit. But he would have supposed Magrich knew him well enough not to attempt to take him on.
“So, are you still determined to kill me?” he asked.
“It is my duty.”
He nodded. “I hope you get over it. I hope you get over Colonel Savos.”
She licked her lips. “What are you going to charge me with?”
“Attempted murder. But I imagine the colonel will also be interested in which member of his force tipped you off. Even if you won’t tell me, I strongly suggest you tell the colonel everything he wants to know.”
“Do you know what he will do to me?”
“I know he has his little ways,” Berkeley said. “That is why I strongly suggest you co-operate.”
“He will rape me.”
“Come now, are you claiming to be a virgin?”
“I survived a war,” she said sulkily.
“Exactly. So grit your teeth and see if you can survive this one. And do remember that you have brought it entirely on yourself.”
She spat at him, but he caught the flying spittle on the back of his hand.
“You do really go looking for trouble,” he remarked.
She was breathing heavily. “What do I have to offer you to let me go? I am good in bed.”
“I don’t doubt it. But the only thing which will save your skin, as far as I am concerned, is for you to swear an oath – and it will have to be before a priest – that you will abandon this senseless vendetta.”
She stared at him. “Are you a eunuch, or a homosexual?” Her hand played with the bodice of her gown, the nipples beneath clearly visible.
“Irene,” Berkeley said. “I happen to have loved, in every possible way, both the women who used to live here. I happen also to have had to bury them both. I’m sure you understand that you could never be a replacement for either, much less both.”
“I shall curse you to your grave,” she said.
“Or to yours,” he said equably.
Her face distorted, as it had just before she had attacked him the first time, and he half expected her to hurl herself at him again, but before she could do so they heard the crack of Lockwood’s revolver.
“Come!” Berkeley seized her arm and thrust her into the hallway, where Lockwood crouched.
“Someone was coming up,” Lockwood said. “I just thought I’d frighten him a little.”
Berkeley took out his watch. It was a quarter to four.
“I think we can make a move,” he said. “You down there,” he shouted. “We are coming down, with Miss Karlovy. If we are attacked in any way, I shall shoot her through the head.”
Irene gave a convulsive tug on her arm, but his grip was too strong.
“Shall I go first?” Lockwood asked.
“No. Cover us. You are going first,” Berkeley told Irene. “And do please behave.” He thrust her at the steps, and she went down, slowly, Berkeley immediately behind her, now with his left arm round her waist to keep her against him; his right hand held his revolver. He could feel her trembling and she moved very slowly, obviously afraid that one of her friends might do something rash. There was indeed movement beneath them, but then the repaired front door banged open and they saw two men running into the street.
“Bastards!” Irene snapped.
“They’re holding low cards,” Berkeley told her, and took her down the last of the steps and to the door.
Outside there was now a considerable crowd. The man he had hit was lying by the roadside, being tended by two women. The other would-be assassins had retired against the crowd, and remained glaring at him, still holding their weapons, but now preferring to leave matters to the squad of police who had appeared, also armed.
The sergeant advanced. “You have shot a man,” he said.
“I’m afraid I have,” Berkeley agreed. “I was stopping him shooting at me.”
“You are under arrest.” The sergeant looked past Berkeley and Irene at Lockwood to indicate that he was included.
“I’m sorry to say I can’t accommodate you,” Berkeley said. “I have a train to catch, and time is passing. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“I have said you are under arrest,” the sergeant shouted.
“And I am saying you are exceeding your authority.” Berkeley pocketed his pistol and took out Savos’s warrant. “Can you read?”
The sergeant glared at him, then snatched the paper and perused it. As he did so some of the colour faded from his cheeks. He looked up. “You are General Townsend? Who led the cavalry charge at Monastir?”
“I am.”
The sergeant licked his lips. “I apologise for this inconvenience, sir. I was informed there had been a shooting, and I had to take action.”
“Of course,” Berkeley said. “I shall commend you to Colonel Savos.”
“If there is anything I can do to help . . .”
“You mean you are going to let him go?” Irene demanded.
“If this girl is being a nuisance,” the sergeant said, “give her to us. We’ll tan her tail for her.”
“I’d rather give her to Colonel Savos,” Berkeley said. “But what you can do is provide me with an escort to the railway station.”
“And those men?” The sergeant looked at Irene’s would-be rescuers.
“Oh, by all means arrest them,” Berkeley said.
The Homecoming
“Well, now, you see,” Savos remarked. “I warned you there would be trouble. Suppose you had been killed? Think of the fuss, both here and in England.”
“Suppose,” Berkeley said. “But I admit you were right. I am leaving here tomorrow, for Greece and then England. I will accept both your advice and your offer, and leave the sale of the house in the hands of your solicitor. Here is my address in England . . .” He gave the police chief one of his cards. “You may forward the money whenever the place is sold.”
“I shall do that. But what of the young lady? Do you intend to prefer charges?”
“Not really. I just want you to keep her in custody until Lockwood and I are safely out of the country. She seems to have a lot of friends. There was a moment back then when, despite the presence of your policemen, I felt we could be lynched.”
Savos nodded. “As you say, she has a lot of friends. But we shall take care of the matter.”
“Savos,” Berkeley said, evenly, “I do not wish Miss Karlovy to be killed, or even to die, accidentally. Nor do I wish her to be mutilated in any way.”
“You English,” Savos said contemptuously. “This girl tried to kill you, Berkeley.”
&n
bsp; “If everyone who has tried to do that were to be executed, Savos, you would have a severe demographic problem on your hands.”
Savos shrugged. “Would you like to see her before you leave?”
Berkeley considered. But he did wish to see Irene Karlovy again, and not just to reassure himself that she had not been harmed. In the few hours they had known each other they had become peculiarly intimate. “Where is she?”
“I will show you,” Savos said.
The colonel led Berkeley down several flights of steps, into what appeared to be the very bowels of the police station. Here were the cells, and several were occupied. Some of the prisoners lay silently on the cots, others clung to the bars and shouted obscene remarks; several were women.
“Black marketeers and petty criminals, mainly,” Savos remarked.
“What will happen to them?”
Savos shrugged. “Fining them is a waste of time, as they have no money. The lesser offenders will be flogged and released. Those guilty of more serious crimes will be sent to prison, at hard labour. They will work on rebuilding Serbia. Here she is.”
Irene Karlovy was in a cell by herself. To Berkeley’s consternation he saw that she had been stripped naked, and secured by her wrists to a bar running across the ceiling of the cell. Her back was to the corridor, and she was not immediately aware that the two men were there. As far as Berkeley could see, she had not yet been ill-treated in any way, although there were red marks on her buttocks where she had at least been fondled.
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“What?”
“To so humiliate her.”
“Bah,” Savos said. “She is a criminal. She deserves everything that is coming to her.”
“And what is coming to her, if I do not prefer charges?”
“Well, you certainly wish us to hold her until you are out of the country, eh?”
“That will be tomorrow.”
“Then we will release her tomorrow.”
“And before then?”
“We will flog her. That is standard procedure. Then . . . my men may amuse themselves a little. But as you wished, she will neither be killed nor mutilated. Do you wish to speak with her?”
Irene had heard their voices, and turned her head to listen. Her cheeks were pink, indeed, her whole body seemed to glow.
“No,” Berkeley said. “I have already told her that she brought this on herself. I’ll say goodbye, Savos.”
Savos started to move his hand, then changed his mind, let it fall back to his side. “Will you return to Serbia?”
“Not if I can help it,” Berkeley said.
*
“So, did you manage to sell your house?”
General Gorman leaned back in his chair. He was getting on now, Berkeley reflected; he had to be about sixty and would probably soon be retired. He wondered if the British Government would ever find anyone to take his place?
Gorman had always looked like a large bulldog; now the jowls were even heavier, the eyes more lost in deep cavities. But they were none the less as watchful and as sharp as ever in the past.
“I put it on the market, yes, sir.”
Oddly, while he had been a brigadier in the Serbian Army, Berkeley remained only a colonel in the British; where the Serbs had put him in command of a brigade of cavalry during the Balkan Wars with Turkey and then Bulgaria, valuing his military ability more than the possible problems of his lame leg, the British, when he had returned to them in 1914, had preferred to use him as an attaché in Greece throughout that war – he had seen little action.
“Hm,” Gorman commented. “That’s a pity. Do you need the money so very much?”
“As a matter of fact, it would come in handy. But I really wanted to sever all my links with Serbia. Most of the memories I have are somewhat sombre.”
“I know, my dear fellow. On the other hand, you must realise that you are our leading expert on Balkan affairs. Having a house in Serbia would give you a legitimate reason for revisiting the country, periodically.”
“I would prefer not to have to do that, sir.”
“You cannot let your life be ruled by memories.”
“I should inform you that an attempt was made on my life, in Sabac.”
“Good heavens! Someone tried to kill you? One of those Black Hand people?”
“I did not find out. I handed the would-be assassin over to the Serbian police, and left the country. I assume you have heard of the IMRO?”
“Some Macedonian terrorist group,” Gorman said. “Now working for the Bulgarians. Don’t tell me they’re after you?”
“I don’t know for sure. They’re certainly about.”
“I suppose you did make a lot of enemies while you were out there,” Gorman mused. “And you say you do not wish to go back.”
“I have my children to think of.”
“Oh, quite. How are they, by the way?”
“I hope they are well. I haven’t seen them for more than a month. I am on my way to do so now. Unless you have anything urgent you require of me.”
“Of course you must see your children,” Gorman said, and gave a bleak smile. “Yes, I have something in the pipeline for you to do. But not for a week or two. What I require you to do first is write me a complete report on what you saw and heard and were told while in Serbia. And particularly, your estimation of how well this new country is going to work. Because if it does, it is going to be quite a powerful force. It will dominate the Balkans. Do you agree?”
“If it works.”
“And you don’t think it is going to?”
“Frankly, no. Oh, it may give the impression of doing so, while the ravages of the War are being repaired. It also has a chance of success as long as King Peter is alive. But he is over seventy. For the rest, to take several different nations who have spent hundreds of years fighting each other, and hating each other, who speak several different languages, hold fiercely to several different religions, and expect them overnight to become one people, patriotic and indivisible, is asking a lot of human nature. Especially if the whole show is to be run by Serbia, as seems to be the idea. The Serbs have no reason to love any of their neighbours, and those neighbours have even less reason to love the Serbs. And the Serbs, I can tell you, are a hard and grasping people, conditioned by centuries of opposition to and murder by the Turks. They are going to run things the Serbian way, and for the good of Serbs, and heaven help anyone who gets in their way.”
He found himself thinking of the girl Irene, tied up naked in Savos’ cell, waiting for rape and torture before being thrown out into the street. And she was one of their own!
Should he have handled it any differently? Like shot her on the spot? But however many times he had been forced to kill, he had never murdered an unarmed assailant, and he had never killed a woman. No doubt that was his British public school and university background controlling common sense. But it was there. Well, then, raped her himself and paddled her bottom and thrown her out into the street, as Savos was going to do? She had even suggested she might enjoy that. But again, that was not his scene.
He had considered only two points of view. That she should be taught a lesson for her attempt on his life, and that the Belgrade police should be interested in her, and therefore limit her future activities. He had had no choice, and if she hated him for what he had done to her, well, she had apparently hated him long before that.
“You paint a sombre picture, Berkeley,” Gorman remarked. “But then, you were always a bit of a pessimist. Go home, and see your children, and write me out that report. Put what you have just said in it. I’m sure Whitehall will be very interested. I’ll be in touch.”
*
London was depressing. Compared with Belgrade, of course, it was a latter-day heaven; there were no shattered buildings, no craters in the streets; there were more motor cars than horses. And huge numbers of people. But it was the people who were the problem. They had recently won the greatest war in h
istory, or at least, been on the winning side. They ruled the greatest empire the world had ever seen. But they did not look happy, and Berkeley didn’t think they were happy.
He could understand the feelings of the too-hastily demobilised soldiers, who stood on street corners hoping for charity, as there were no jobs to be had. But the malaise went much deeper than that. The nation, he felt, was very rapidly descending into a ‘them’ and ‘us’ division. With the ‘them’, considered from his point of view, looking appreciatively to the East and Moscow; they were more inclined to believe the propaganda being perpetrated by well-meaning but essentially innocent western and American observers, and indeed by the Bolsheviks themselves, that here was the dawn of a new society to which every right-thinking man or woman should subscribe, and dismiss as anti-Bolshevik hate the truth of the matter, the millions being killed or starving to death as civil war gripped the enormous country, as Lenin’s terror squads rounded up the so-called bourgeois for execution.
One could only be grateful that it was the ‘us’ ruling Britain – but for how long they could continue to do so was another matter.
He was glad to get out of the capital and take the train up to Northampton. He had telephoned ahead, and his father was there to meet him, in his new car, an Austin Seven, which looked rather like a box on wheels. Berkeley was not at all sure that someone pushing seventy should have control of an automobile, but the car didn’t go very fast and the country roads were empty.
With him, to meet her father, was Anna Townsend. Anna had recently celebrated her eleventh birthday, and was a quite beautiful little girl, with long auburn hair; she took after both her mother and the grandmother after whom she had been named.
“It is so good to have you back, Papa,” she said, as he swept her from the ground for a hug and a kiss. She was an unusually serious child. One could never be sure what she was thinking, or how much she remembered of those traumatic days in 1914 – and before. She had been very small, then, but the continuing crisis that had surrounded her family had certainly had some effect.
Equally did he have no clear idea of how much of her own hatred for the men who had killed her father and mother Caterina had managed to instil in the child’s mind. It was a problem compounded by his own long absence during the War, when Anna and her siblings had been brought up entirely by her English grandparents. He needed to make the most of the few weeks he now had before Gorman sent him on his travels again.
The Quest Page 3