Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  It was a state of bliss that didn’t last long. The headlines in the morning papers were that two more assassins, Trifko Grabez and Danilo Ilich, had been arrested.

  ‘Do you know them?’ Julian asked her, wondering how many more people were involved and were going to be arrested.

  ‘I know Trifko.’ She thought of their meetings in the Golden Sturgeon and a tremor ran through her. She had never liked Trifko as much as Gavrilo and Nedjelko, but the thought of him standing trial on charges of treason and murder was horrific.

  ‘And Ilich?’ Julian persisted.

  She shook her head. If Nedjelko had thrown the bomb at the Archducal motor car, and Gavrilo had fired the shots that had killed the Archduke and Duchess, what were Trifko’s and Ilich’s crimes?

  From that moment on they bought every edition of every newspaper. In mid-week there came reports that scores of people had been arrested in Bosnia and charged with complicity in the crime and at the end of the week Julian received a letter from Alexis telling him the Austrian government had requested Natalie’s extradition from Serbia. He decided not to tell her. Events in Sarajevo and Belgrade were causing her enough anxiety without his adding to it needlessly. There was nothing the Austrians could do about Natalie. She was in London and she was safe.

  On 23 July Austria delivered its long threatened ultimatum to the Serbian government. All publications directed against Austria-Hungary were to be suppressed. All anti-Austrian propaganda was to be eliminated from schools. All illicit traffic in arms was to stop and all officials who had helped the conspirators to cross the border were to be punished. All army officers and civic functionaries guilty of propaganda against the Habsburg monarchy were to be removed from their positions. Two Serbians, an army officer and a student, were to be arrested, suspected of complicity in the assassinations. All nationalist societies were to be dissolved.

  Natalie could no longer complain that Britain was not interested in events taking place in Sarajevo and Belgrade. Newspaper headlines screamed the details of the ultimatum and declared that war was imminent. Germany declared it would support Austria-Hungary if Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Russia and France declared they would support Serbia.

  The Serbian reply to the ultimatum was delivered within the deadline stipulated and met virtually all the points in the ultimatum. It was rejected.

  On 28 July a telegram was sent from Vienna to the Serbian government, informing them that war had been declared and that evening the Austro-Hungarian armies attacked Belgrade.

  Natalie was distraught. Julian spent nearly every waking moment at the Foreign Office, giving his superiors the benefit of his first-hand knowledge of the government in Belgrade.

  On 1 August, as Russia ordered a general mobilization, Germany declared war on her. Two days later she declared war on France.

  ‘Britain will be next,’ Julian said, red-eyed from lack of sleep. ‘If she is, I shall enlist immediately.’

  Panic bubbled up into her throat. ‘But if you do, I’ll be alone here with your parents! I couldn’t bear it! I couldn’t survive it!’

  ‘You’ll have to,’ he said gently, taking her into his arms and rocking her as if she were a child. ‘Everyone is going to have to bear colossal burdens.’ He didn’t add that not all would survive them.

  All next day, a Monday and a Bank Holiday, he was at the Foreign Office. Hourly the tension mounted. Germany had declared her intention of attacking France through Belgium. If she did so, Britain would honour a long-standing commitment to defend Belgium from any such invasion. The invasion came.

  As crowds gathered in Whitehall and outside Buckingham Palace, news spread that Britain had presented Germany with an ultimatum. Belgium’s neutrality was to be honoured by Germany. She had until midnight, Berlin time, to make a satisfactory reply. If none were received, then Great Britain and Germany would be at war.

  Midnight in Berlin was eleven o’clock in London and at ten o’clock Julian left his nerve-wracked colleagues in the Foreign Office and hurried home to Cambridge Gate.

  ‘Is it going to be war?’ his mother asked tensely, hurrying into the hall as he entered the house.

  ‘We won’t know for nearly an hour,’ he said, knowing in his heart already; having known for days. ‘I’m going to take Natalie down to Whitehall. I want her with me when Big Ben strikes eleven.’

  She was in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, listening to the wireless, hoping to hear news of Serbia.

  ‘Get dressed,’ he said peremptorily, yanking open her wardrobe door and snatching at random at a blouse and skirt. ‘We’re going down to Whitehall.’

  She didn’t ask any questions and she didn’t argue. She scrambled into the clothes he tossed towards her and then, her hair tumbling hoydenishly around her shoulders, she ran with him from the house.

  The chauffeured Mercedes took them as far as the edge of Trafalgar Square and could go no further owing to the crowds that had gathered there. It was ten to eleven.

  Julian flung the car door open. ‘Come on,’ he said, ignoring the horrified expression on his chauffeur’s face. ‘Let’s join the crush.’

  There was a sea of straw boaters, a forest of fiercely waving hand-held Union Jacks. Every now and then, for no reason that Natalie could see or think of, a whole section of the crowd burst out in loud cheering. Many men had beer bottles in their hands. There were children holding on to balloons and she remembered that the day had been an English holiday.

  ‘Let’s try and reach the War Office!’ Julian shouted over the din, hauling her after him through the bizarrely festive throng.

  All along Whitehall the windows blazed with lights. Policemen massed the fronts of many buildings. Official cars were parked two deep.

  Suddenly the mood of the crowd changed. Silence fell. Solemnly Big Ben began to strike the hour.

  A woman standing near to Natalie began to cry. Another began to pray, very softly, beneath her breath.

  Slowly, irrevocably, the chimes continued.

  Julian slid his arm around Natalie’s shoulders.

  The last stroke sounded and faded away on the hot night air. For a long moment the silence continued and then someone shouted, ‘Down with the bloody Kaiser’and pandemonium broke out.

  ‘Is Britain now at war with Germany?’ Natalie asked uncertainly. ‘Will you be enlisting? Will you be going away?’

  He nodded, damning Princip, damning the Austrians and their high-handed ultimatum, damning the insane German army scything its way through Belgium, damning everyone and everything responsible for the ending of their too-short time together.

  All around them the mood had returned to one of frenzied carnival, a rowdy rendering of the ‘Marseillaise’vying with a bawdy music hall song. He said sombrely, ‘I report for officer training immediately. I leave in the morning.’

  Chapter Nine

  Katerina returned home from saying goodbye to Natalie lonelier and more bereft than she had ever been before in her life. She had no close friend to turn to; no-one who could take Natalie’s place. Certainly Vitza would not be able to do so. Natalie was catastrophically impetuous, infuriatingly self-centred, but her innate gaiety and buoyant vivacity ensured that life with her was never dull.

  As the Vassilovich carriage-horses trotted through the now dark streets, Katerina was sure that not only was it going to be exceedingly dull in the future, it was also going to be aridly bleak. Her heart hurt, as if it were physically bruised. To think of Natalie was also to think of Julian. She had hoped to catch a glimpse of him at the station, to see him for one last time, but he had followed her father’s advice to the letter and had not so much as looked out of his carriage window.

  As the landau turned off the street and into the courtyard she reflected that if he and Natalie had not married, and if he had not proposed marriage to herself, she would not only be feeling devastated by his return to Britain, she would have the added misery of knowing it was extremely unlikely sh
e would ever see him again. Now, ironically, that was not so. She was his sister-in-law. She would be aunt to his children. They would undoubtedly continue to see each other, however intermittently, for the rest of their lives.

  Alexis’s secretary was in the entrance hall as they entered the house.

  ‘A Major Zlarin wishes to speak with you, sir,’ he said respectfully. ‘It’s official business.’

  Alexis nodded. There was going to be lots of official business in the next few days. He only hoped none of it would centre around Natalie.

  ‘I’m going to bed, Alexis.’ There were deep dark rings shadowing Zita’s eyes. She turned to Katerina, kissing her lovingly on the cheek. ‘I think you should too, my dear,’ she said, aware that Katerina was as emotionally exhausted as herself. ‘Today has been traumatic and we both of us need a good night’s sleep.’

  Katerina nodded in agreement. She had no intention of staying up any longer. There was no point. There was no-one to talk to over cups of cocoa; no-one in whom to confide.

  As she began to walk up the grand staircase towards the room she would never again share with Natalie, she saw a tall, uniformed figure emerge from the Italian drawing-room behind her father’s secretary. As they walked towards her father’s study he looked upwards, towards her. He was in his early thirties with typically high Slavic cheekbones and olive skin. His hair was black and sleek and he exuded an air of indisputable authority. She looked away, thinking about Julian again, wondering how long it would be before her father received a telegram from him announcing that he and Natalie had arrived safely in England.

  At breakfast the next morning Katerina said curiously, ‘What did the major want with you last night, Papa? Was it anything to do with Sarajevo?’

  Alexis hesitated, he had still not decided whether to keep the news of Austria’s request for Natalie’s extradition from her, in order to spare her further anxiety.

  Zita, who believed that as a family they should all share everything, the bad news as well as the good, saved him from having to make a decision.

  ‘Uncle Peter sent Major Zlarin with the news that the Austrians have asked for Natalie’s extradition,’ she said, her voice carefully controlled and calm. ‘Apparently the terms of the request were most cordial and even a little hesitant.’ She sliced an apricot with a pearl-handled fruit-knife. ‘It would seem they are not at all sure of their ground. Sandro has replied to them, saying that Natalie returned from Sarajevo incubating scarlet fever and that she is at present too unwell to be questioned. Eventually he is going to inform them that a young man accosted Natalie and made a temporary nuisance of himself when she became detached from the Archducal party at the bazaar, but that she certainly didn’t later recognize him as being Gavrilo Princip, that she is quite sure he was not and that her presence in Bosnia for questioning is unnecessary.’

  ‘Apparently Sandro is hopeful that the matter will be pursued no further,’ Alexis finished for her. ‘Whether he is right or not only time will tell.’

  As the week progressed and the Bosnian authorities announced the arrest of Danilo Ilich and Trifko Grabez, Alexis spent longer and longer hours at the Konak. On Sunday, a week after the assassinations, Katerina and Zita were taking afternoon tea in the garden when Alexis strode across the lawn towards them, grim-faced.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ Zita said apprehensively, rising to her feet as he approached. ‘Is it more bad news?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, thank God. But both Sandro and Pasich think the Austrians are eventually going to declare themselves at war with us. I think they are right and I’ve decided it’s about time we talked about what will happen to us, as a family, when they do so.’

  Katerina put down her cake-fork and pushed her plate and slice of almond cake away from her, her appetite gone. ‘What do you mean, Papa?’ she said, her tummy tightening into unpleasant knots. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that we are separated from Natalie? Why should anything else awful happen to us?’

  He sat down on an insubstantial looking garden chair. At forty-eight he was still handsome, still superbly physically fit. ‘I fought the Turks, and if Austria declares war against us, then I shall fight the Austrians,’ he said starkly. ‘Sandro has already made it quite clear that as Crown Prince Regent and Commander-in-Chief of the Army, he doesn’t intend issuing orders from the rear. He’s going to call on every Serb to defend his country and he’s going to lead the fighting from the front. The least I can do is to follow his example.’

  ‘It may not come to it.’ Zita’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, the knuckles bone-white. ‘We must pray it doesn’t do so.’

  ‘Major Ivan Zlarin has been given instructions to defend Belgrade from attack across the Sava,’ Alexis continued grimly, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘He has promised me that as he will be in Belgrade and as I, most likely, will not be, he will afford you as much of his protection as he possibly can. That being the case, I think you should both become acquainted with him. He will be joining us for tea in five minutes or so.’

  Katerina looked towards her mother. A week ago they had been a happy, united family with no cares other than Bella’s infuriating habit of chewing every slipper, shoe and boot that she could find. Now Natalie and Bella were in Britain and soon, if Sandro’s and Prime Minister Pasich’s premonitions were correct, her father would be leading volunteer irregulars into battle.

  A uniformed figure emerged from the rear of the house and began to cross the terrace, striding towards the flight of stone steps leading down to the lawn.

  Zita looked towards him meditatively, narrowing her eyes against the sun’s glare. ‘Is Major Zlarin married?’ she asked with interest.

  Alexis shook his head. ‘No, he’s a career soldier. Men like that don’t have time for marriage.’

  It had been over a week since Zita had smiled but a smile touched the corners of her mouth now as she said fondly, ‘Don’t be silly, darling. He simply hasn’t met the right girl yet.’

  As Major Zlarin approached, Katerina was aware her first impression of him had been correct. There was something very forceful about him, something almost threatening.

  When he took hold of her hand, bowing slightly over it, his touch was cool and firm. It was with something of a shock that she met his eyes. They were very dark, very intense, and the admiration in them was blatant.

  ‘I’m so glad you were able to join us for tea, Major,’ Zita was saying, the loose sleeve of her turquoise chiffon dress fluttering in the air as she poured tea into a wafer-thin cup. ‘It means my husband is also with us and for that I am grateful. I’ve seen very little of him since we returned from Sarejevo.’

  Major Zlarin looked even more incongruous than Alexis, sitting on one of the fragile-looking garden chairs. He was a big man and there didn’t look to be a spare inch of flesh on him. Everything was hard muscle.

  ‘You were the witness of an historic event, Ma’am,’ he said as he took the cup and saucer from her.

  He had a clipped way of speaking and once again the faint touch of a smile brushed Zita’s mouth. Unless she was very much mistaken, Major Ivan Zlarin was far more at ease issuing and receiving orders than he was in feminine company.

  ‘So my husband tells me. It is his opinion that Princip’s action will precipitate us into war.’

  Major Zlarin’s eyebrows rose slightly and Alexis said, ‘My wife and daughter are fully aware of the situation in which Serbia finds herself. I have been telling them of the provisional arrangements that have been made in case of enemy attack and that you have very kindly promised to do all you can in the matter of affording them protection.’

  ‘To do so will be an honour,’ the major said, looking with uncomfortable directness towards Katerina.

  Katerina dropped her eyes. If Major Zlarin was hoping to conduct a discreet flirtation he was going to be disappointed. Her heart and mind were full of Julian and she had no desire to flirt with anyone, least of all a stern-looking man more than ten years her sen
ior.

  The major circumspectly returned his attention to Alexis. ‘I think, however, that perhaps it might be best if your family were to leave Belgrade now, before any attack is made.’

  Alexis frowned as if he were considering the suggestion and Katerina said with a suddenness and vehemence that took them all by surprise: ‘No, Papa! If Belgrade comes under attack there will be scores of injured, perhaps even hundreds. The medical sevices will need every possible willing volunteer. I may not have nursing experience but I have lots of common sense and I shall offer my services immediately.’

  ‘No, my dear. That would be most unsuitable …’

  ‘Surely not,’ Zita interrupted composedly. ‘After all, I shall be with her. I think we shall both make extremely able volunteer nurses.’

  It was a blatant statement of her own intention to remain in Belgrade should it come under attack. Their eyes met and held and as he saw her determination he knew it would be futile to attempt to change her mind.

  ‘Then if that is the decision you have both taken, I had better tell you exactly what the position is,’ he said, conceding defeat and not altogether unhappy at the choice his wife and daughter had made. ‘Belgrade cannot be easily defended and the Prince Regent has decided that only a small division be spared in the attempt to do so. The main bulk of the army will be elsewhere, trying to prevent Austro-Hungarian forces from sweeping over the borders to the north and west and I shall be with them. Major Zlarin and his men will prevent any crossing of the Sava from Hungary.’

  It sounded strange to hear her father referring to Sandro so formally and Katerina wondered when she would see him again. The weekly family tea parties at the Konak had come to a very abrupt halt and she hadn’t even had the opportunity to speak to him about Natalie.

  Though she was scrupulously avoiding all eye contact with him, she was aware that Major Zlarin was again looking in her direction. She continued to think about Sandro and the heavy burden that was now on his shoulders. She knew that by nature he was a pacifist, but she also knew he would fight like a tiger to save his country from Austrian domination.