Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  She had seen him do so quite clearly. It had been an interfering spectator standing behind him who had seized hold of his arm and prevented him from committing suicide. The man had been wearing a fez and she hated him with all her heart. If he had not acted as he had, Gavrilo would have died quickly and cleanly in the street. Instead, in the mêlée that had followed, he had been nearly lynched and there was no telling what brutality he had suffered since, while being questioned.

  Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she thought of the physically fragile Gravilo being tortured. Again and for the hundredth time she wondered why, at that particular street corner, at that particular time, it was Bosnian Moslems who were standing thickly on the pavement and not Bosnians who would have been more sympathetic with Gavrilo’s aims. Non-Moslems would not have helped the police arrest Gavrilo, they may even have prevented Gavrilo’s arrest and enabled him to escape. Moslems had, however, always been favoured by the Austrian authorities as part of their policy of encouraging divisions within the country’s mixed racial and religious community and it was Moslems loyal to Austria whom Gavrilo had found himself among when he had fired his fatal shots.

  No-one had asked her how she now felt about Gavrilo. Not her father or mother or Katerina. Not even Julian. For a while she had been uncertain as to what her feelings were. The Duchess’s death had distressed her profoundly and in the immediate aftermath of the killings it had seemed inconceivable to her that she should still regard herself as being Gavrilo’s friend. Yet as the shock of what had happened faded she found to her incredulity that she still did so. She understood his fierce Slav nationalism and his virulent hatred of all things Austrian. As a Bosnian, he had lived daily under the oppression of Austro-Hungarian misrule and she knew that he had seen the act he had committed as being not a crime, but a patriotic act of liberation.

  Wearily she rose to her feet, pulling her sleeping berth down from the wall, wondering if Trifko had also been in Sarajevo and if he, too, had been arrested. As she undressed she wondered which of them had first thought of striking at Austria by murdering the heir to the Austrian throne; from where Nedjelko and Gavrilo had got their weapons; what would happen to them when they were tried. She climbed into the narrow sleeping berth, making a space for Bella next to her, wondering about something so terrible she had not yet been able to put it into words. Wondering if her friends would hang. When she woke in the morning, she felt as if she had not slept at all. She wished that Julian were with her, so that she had someone to talk to. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Julian would understand her feelings about Gavrilo. She hadn’t, as yet, been able to talk about them with anyone. She wondered if she would see him if she went into the dining-carriage for breakfast. They were both under strict instructions not to speak to each other and her father had told her to stay in her compartment and not run the risk of being recognized by fellow-travellers in the parlour and dining-carriages.

  She kissed the top of Bella’s head and released the window-blind. They were no longer in Serbia and the scenery that met her eyes, though beautiful, did not warm her heart. The rivers were not Serbian rivers, the lakes not Serbian lakes. She wondered how long it would be before they reached Budapest. The attendant had promised her he would take Bella for a walk when the change-over to the Orient Express was made and she was hoping she would also catch a glimpse of Julian.

  By the time she had finished dressing they were drawing into the station. Porters came for her luggage, an attendant came for Bella. Her father had given her strict instructions on how she was now to behave. She was to leave the Belgrade train quickly and quietly and board the Orient Express in the same manner. A private compartment had been booked for her. She wasn’t to speak to anyone on the platform, not even Julian.

  Knowing she couldn’t speak to him didn’t stop her looking for him as she walked across the platform to the waiting train. She saw him almost immediately. Tall and broad-shouldered, his hair gleaming gold in the morning sunlight, he was talking to an elderly gentleman who also looked to be British.

  At the sight of him her spirits rose buoyantly. She wished she could run down the platform and join him. In their short time together in the Italian drawing-room she had discovered that in his company things no longer seemed to be as bad as they appeared. He was able to put things into perspective for her. She wanted to be able to talk to him about her nightmare that Gavrilo and Nedjelko would be hanged. She wanted him to comfort her and she knew that he would do so.

  When she was safely on the train and in her compartment, she lowered her window, leaning out to see if he was still there. He was still with his companion, still deep in conversation. Mindful of her father’s stern instructions she didn’t call his name but she waved furiously. The movement caught his attention, he looked directly towards her and grinned. Incredibly, despite all her nightmares and all her grief at no longer being in Serbia, she grinned back complicitly. He was her friend and he understood her and for the short time she was going to be away from home, he would make her exile bearable.

  As a guard exhorted all passengers to board the train and as Julian turned reluctantly away from her in order to do so, she reflected on how much worse things could have been. It could have been the ornately dressed French attaché, Monsieur Quesnai, who had fallen in love with her and who had asked her father if he could make her a proposal of marriage. What on earth would she have done if her father had suggested she marry Monsieur Quesnai? A chuckle rose in her throat and wishing that Katerina were with her so that she could share the joke, she closed the window and waited for the attendant to return Bella to her.

  The tedium of the journey, alone in her private compartment, was crushing. She couldn’t enjoy the scenery because with every change in the landscape she was forcibly reminded of how far from home she was travelling. Every time a border was crossed and her documents examined she expected a contingent of soldiers or police to arrive and place her under arrest and her nerves were stretched to breaking point. She was travelling under her married name. Prime Minister Pasich had handed her travel documents to her himself, the ink on them still wet.

  That night, as she lay in her wagon-lit cuddling Bella, it occurred to her that Julian was probably very nearby. Whatever the reason given for Mrs Julian Fielding travelling in seclusion, it would surely look very odd if their sleeping compartments were not adjoining. She suddenly felt less lonely. Tomorrow morning they would reach Vienna and by the afternoon the city would be safely behind them and the worst would be over. In another twenty-four hours they would be in France and she would be able to come out of seclusion, knowing it would not matter if she were recognized.

  She slept restlessly, waking up to the brief, tormenting belief that everything that had happened on and since 28 June, was nothing but a hideous dream. The realization that it was reality came with the force of a fist being punched into her stomach.

  As they drew into Vienna her anxiety mounted. Surely, if the Austrian authorities were now seeking her and if they knew she was aboard the train, this was where they would arrest her. She allowed Bella to be exercised only with the greatest reluctance and immediately the attendant had left the compartment with Bella at his heels she crossed to the window in order to pull the blind down.

  The station was draped with black crêpe and black flags hung everywhere. Julian was on the platform twelve yards or so away, his back towards her. She didn’t wait for him to turn so that she could wave to him. She tugged the blind down against the lavish display of national mourning and sat in the muted light wondering what Katerina was doing in Belgrade, if Vitza and Max had been told of her departure to Britain and if Sandro had minded not being at her wedding and not saying goodbye to her.

  When finally the whistle blew and the train began to steam once again on its way she let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief. There was still a long way to go before they would be out of Austria, but the worst was over. She was sure now that she would not be arrested. The offi
cer at the Oriental bazaar had not recognized Gavrilo. Gavrilo hadn’t spoken about her when questioned, and would not. She was as safe as she had been a week ago, before she had left Belgrade for Ilidze.

  She released the window-blind. Was it only a week ago? It seemed a lifetime. She remembered laughing with Katerina on the car ride from Ilidze down into Sarajevo, happily untroubled by any premonition of disaster. Perhaps, where she was concerned, there had been no disaster at all. If the Austrians did not wish to question her she could return at any time to Belgrade and her journey to Britain could be seen as being a holiday.

  And Julian? A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. Being married might prove to be very interesting. In her mind’s eye she again saw his broad shoulders and narrow hips, his thick tumble of blond hair and his finely chiselled mouth. Her smile deepened. Marriage to Julian was going to be more than interesting. It was going to be the most fun she’d ever had.

  All day the train steamed through Austria towards Germany. When she woke in the morning they were in Munich. By evening they were in France. Sunnily she showed her documents to the official who knocked on her compartment door. Buoyantly she dressed for dinner, knowing that Julian would be waiting for her in the dining-carriage. Hoping that a dress that had been the height of fashion in Belgrade would not be shamingly passé in France, she tucked a wriggling Bella under her arm and for the first time since she had boarded at Budapest, walked down the corridor to the public carriages.

  He was seated facing her as she entered. There was a bottle of champagne on the table and flowers. He flashed her his heart-stopping smile and rose to meet her.

  ‘Have you been all right?’ he asked, concern in his eyes and something else. Something that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

  She sat down, settling Bella beside her, feeling suddenly ridiculously shy. ‘I’ve been bored,’ she said frankly. ‘I thought we were never going to get out of Austria. It went on and on and on.’

  ‘We’re out of it now,’ he said comfortingly, sitting down again. ‘And Germany. You won’t have to see either country ever again.’

  She was about to say that it wasn’t true, that she would have to travel through them when she returned home, but she thought better of it. It would be tactless to bring up the subject of her return before they had even arrived in Britain, especially if it wasn’t an event he was anticipating.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said as the appetizing aroma of hot soup reached her from a nearby table. ‘All I’ve done for three days is eat off trays.’

  He laughed, wanting to feast his eyes on her and trap her hands between his, knowing he must do nothing that would disconcert her and spoil their easy camaraderie. Common sense had told him right at the outset that he had to take things slowly. He felt a rising in his crotch and wondered for how much longer he could do so. They had been married for three days and he still had not kissed her on the mouth.

  ‘What would you like?’ he asked, turning his thoughts away from bed with superhuman effort. ‘Quail or chaud-froid?’

  She chose the quail and when they came they were deliciously fat and stuffed with chestnuts.

  ‘Have you heard any more news from home?’ she asked, knowing that he would have bought newspapers both in Vienna and Munich. ‘Is Sandro managing to convince Emperor Franz Josef that Uncle Peter and his government had absolutely nothing to do with Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s death?’

  ‘Not according to Austrian newspapers.’ Julian’s thoughts were suddenly very far from bed. ‘The Reichspot had a headline on its front page announcing that although the assassin was a Bosnian, the guilt for the crime lay with Serbia. It said Serbia’s foreign policy had encouraged the crime and that Serbia’s existence was a constant threat to Austrian security.’

  She put down her knife and fork, suddenly not hungry any more. ‘Does that mean there is going to be a war?’

  His frown deepened. ‘I’m not sure. If there is a war I can’t see Russia remaining on the sidelines. She’s always regarded herself as Serbia’s big brother and I’m sure she would come to her aid.’

  ‘Of course she would!’ Natalie’s innate optimism swiftly re-asserted itself. ‘And so it won’t matter that Serbia isn’t yet ready to go to war.’ She picked up her spoon again. ‘Austria will be defeated, Bosnia and Herzegovina will be freed from Austrian rule and Gavrilo will have succeeded in what he set out to do, which was to liberate his country.’

  It occurred to Julian that as the wife of a diplomat, Natalie was going to be far from ideal. He would have to explain to her the need for caution and reticence whenever they were in public and politics were under discussion. He wondered what would happen if he had the ill-luck to be re-assigned to Berlin or Vienna and shuddered. The prospect of Natalie at Potsdam or Schönbrunn Palace garden parties was too horrendous to contemplate.

  He said divertingly, ‘The Archduke’s and Duchess’s funeral is to be held tomorrow in Vienna. No heads of state are to be in attendance. The official explanation is that the Emperor is too old and infirm to be able to cope with the exertion of a long funeral.’

  A waiter removed their plates, another refilled their champagne glasses.

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute,’ Natalie said with beguiling forthrightness. ‘It’s been done so that Uncle Peter won’t have to be invited to the ceremony.’

  Julian grinned. Beneath Natalie’s riotous mass of thick dark curls, now anchored in a becoming chignon, there was an amazingly quick brain. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said as they were served with lobster. ‘If one monarch was invited, they would all have to be invited, including King Peter. Can you imagine the embarrassment that would have caused, with Austrian newspapers declaring him to be the villain of the piece?’

  Natalie giggled. She had never drunk more than a glass of champagne at a time before and it was an extremely pleasant sensation. She was feeling wonderfully relaxed and she was also, whenever she looked straight into Julian’s amber-brown eyes, beginning to feel something else as well. Something she had never felt before and which both excited and disturbed her.

  He stretched his hand across the table, taking hold of hers. ‘Let me tell you about England,’ he said, an unmistakable throb of patriotism in his voice. ‘Let me tell you about my family.’

  She didn’t particularly want to know about Britain and until now it had never occurred to her even to wonder about his family. It was nice, though, to have her hand once again in his as he told her about the family house overlooking Regent’s Park and the ancestral home in Northumberland.

  ‘You’ll like Northumberland,’ he had said enthusiastically. ‘There’s a wild, untamed feel to it …’

  Her eyes had lit with genuine interest. ‘Like Serbia? Are there mighty rivers like the Danube and the Sava?’

  He laughed, thinking of the North Tyne and the Tweed. ‘There are some big rivers, though none as mighty as the Danube, and there are scores of burns, the Usway, the Fallowlees, the College, the Chirdon, the Blacka …’

  ‘Burns? What are burns? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Northumberland is near to Scotland and burn is Scots for a small stream.’

  The waiter came to remove their plates of barely touched lobster and reluctantly he released her hand.

  ‘There are wonderful stretches of coastline as well,’ he added. ‘We can sail and swim.’

  It didn’t sound at all like Serbia and she wasn’t sure that she wanted either to sail or swim.

  Strawberries were placed on their table. Neither of them made a move towards eating them.

  ‘The last twenty-four hours must have been very stressful for you,’ he said, and this time both her hands were trapped in his.

  She thought of Vienna and the station draped with black crêpe and shivered, then she thought of what Gavrilo and Nedjelko must be undergoing and said in a low voice, ‘The only terrible thing that has happened to me is my having to leave home. I can’t stop thinking about what must be ha
ppening to Gavrilo and Nedjelko. I can’t stop thinking about what will happen to them after they are tried and sentenced.’

  Julian looked around swiftly to make sure no-one was within hearing distance. The tables nearest them had been vacated and the waiters were at the far end of the carriage. He said very quietly, ‘Don’t give yourself nightmares about it, my love.’

  It was the first time he had ever called her his love and she liked it. It made her feel very sophisticated and secure. What was more, she knew that he was now going to vanquish her demons for her.

  ‘From what you have said about them they were both highly intelligent,’ he continued. ‘They would have known what the consequences for their deed were. They weren’t frightened of risking them and I doubt if they are frightened now.’

  ‘But when they are tried … if they are hanged …’

  ‘They won’t be hanged.’

  At the certainty in his voice, her heart almost ceased to beat. ‘What do you mean? How do you know?’

  Julian looked around the carriage again. The vacated tables had not been taken. The waiters were nowhere in sight.

  ‘Knowing that you might be arrested as well and be charged as an accessory, and knowing that in Bosnian law an accessory to murder is considered to be guilty of the deed itself, I made it my business to know. The maximum charge for either murder or treason is death, but not if the accused is under twenty at the time the crime was ommitted. You told me Gavrilo was studying for his high-school graduating examination. He can’t be twenty yet. The most he can be is nineteen.’

  ‘He is nineteen, and so is Nedjelko!’ Natalie’s relief was absolute. He had done what she had known he would do. He had put an end to the dreadful images that had tormented her every time she had closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

  He said now, the heat at the back of his eyes deepening, ‘I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?’

  She sighed, sad that their lovely evening together had come to an end but happy in the knowledge that she would finally sleep restfully. Bella was already asleep and had been for a long time. She picked her up lovingly. ‘Good night,’ she said as Bella stirred and made a little snuffling sound and fell asleep again. ‘Thank you for finding out about Gavrilo and Nedjelko and the law about their ages.’