“Keep going,” he told them.
They could hear the sound of hooves as the hussars mounted up and rode out of the yard. The three fugitives pressed on into the trees, whipped by low-hanging branches, tripping over fallen tree trunks, but always climbing.
“Shouldn’t we stop those fellows, sir?” Lockwood gasped. He was carrying the heavy knapsack of food.
“Let them come into the trees,” Berkeley said. “You all right?” he asked Anna, who was hampered by her heavy skirt.
“I am all right,” she panted.
They climbed, listening to the horsemen shouting as they rode into the trees, becoming separated as they did so. They and their horses were making so much noise they could not possibly hear the fugitives, and after some minutes there came a bugle call, summoning them back.
“They’ll mount a proper pursuit in the morning,” Anna said.
“By which time we’ll be far away,” he said. “But we can take ten minutes’ rest, now.”
She collapsed to the ground, as did Lockwood, taking off the knapsack.
“What’s in there?” Berkeley asked.
Lockwood opened the bag. “Going by feel . . . a ham, a cheese, some loaves of bread, even a couple of bottles of wine. He’s done us proud.”
“Dittmann is loyal,” Anna said. “Will they hang him?”
“Only if they can prove he helped us. He would have to be betrayed for that.”
“We were betrayed,” she said bitterly. “Poor Otto.”
“Were you lovers?”
She glanced at him, but he couldn’t make out her expression in the dark. “We had known each other a long time,” she said. Which wasn’t really an answer, he supposed.
“What will you do?” he asked. “After we reach Russia?”
“I must get back to Belgrade. Will you come with me?”
“No,” he said. “I must get back to London.”
It was tempting to ask, will you come with me, but he decided against it.
Part One
A Matter of Honour
‘What is honour? A word.’
William Shakespeare
The Mission
“Hm,” remarked General Gorman, using a magnifying glass to study the drawings on his desk. “Hm. These are awfully good, Townsend.”
“Thank you, sir.” Berkeley stood in front of the desk.
“However . . . the cost.” The general laid down his magnifying glass and raised his head; he looked rather like a large bulldog. “You were sent to the Carpathians to report on the Austrian military capabilities vis-à-vis the Russians on the other side. There was no intention that you should virtually start a war.”
“I was overtaken by events, sir.”
“The events, as I understand it, being a considerable rustle of skirts. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“The lady was being tortured by the Austrians, sir. I considered it my duty as an officer and a gentleman to go to her assistance.”
“The lady,” Gorman mused, opening a file and picking up a sheet of paper. “Anna Slovitza. In 1894, she shot at the Emperor. She missed. In 1896, she planted a bomb intended to blow up the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. It went off prematurely. In 1896, she and her associates held up a train at gunpoint and escaped with a considerable amount of money and valuables taken mainly from the mail compartment. In 1898, she was traced to a house she was using in Vienna, and there was a gun battle in which three policemen were killed and two wounded. She escaped. In 1902, she and her husband, Milan Slovitza, were arrested after a shoot out in Banja Luka. Slovitza was captured, taken across the border into Hungary, and executed. Again, she escaped. It was thought by the Austrians that the death of her husband might have ended her career. And now this, blowing up a railway station in Budapest simply because the Minister of the Interior was arriving there. Twelve people were killed, and thirty-odd injured. On this occasion several of her accomplices were taken, but needless to say she and one other escaped. To the village of Seinheit, where they were traced by the Austrian army. But once again she escaped, with the assistance of a British subject, a newspaper reporter, after another gun battle, which left another four men dead. The woman is the original human equivalent of a hungry lioness.”
“I was unaware that we kept a file on her, sir.”
“We don’t. This has been supplied to me by the Austrian Embassy. Well, not to me personally; to the Home Secretary, who is very unhappy about it. The Austrians don’t yet know who you really are, you see. They have identified John Smith as a newspaper correspondent; but as the editor of the Morning Post has never heard of you, even the Austrians understand that John Smith is almost certainly a pseudonym. But they are still applying for his extradition to face charges of murder. If that extradition procedure were to reach the courts, and you then be identified as a serving British army officer engaged upon undercover work within the Austrian Empire, well, it could be a very nasty business indeed.”
“Yes, sir. With respect, sir, when I went to Madame Slovitza’s assistance, I was not in possession of the information you have just divulged.”
“You were unaware that she was a wanted anarchist?”
“I realised that she had just committed an anarchist crime; that she had planted a bomb in the Budapest railway station.”
“Aha! But you still went to her help, shooting down anyone who got in your way.”
“As I have explained, sir—”
“Yes, yes, noblesse oblige and all that.” Gorman leaned back and stroked his chin. “What happened to the woman when you reached Russia?”
“We agreed to part company, sir. It was my duty to return to England with those drawings just as rapidly as I could, and she conceived it to be her duty to return to Serbia just as rapidly as she could.”
“Do you suppose she got there?”
“I would imagine so, sir.”
“A single woman, alone in a strange country, many miles from her home – how was she going to manage?”
“I gave her some money, sir.”
“You mean you gave her some of His Majesty’s Government’s money.”
“That is correct, sir. It can be stopped from my pay.”
Gorman’s expression indicated that there had to be some doubt as to whether Berkeley was still going to receive any pay. “And you still think she will manage. Is she good-looking?”
“Very, sir.”
“Then she is probably lying raped and robbed and perhaps murdered in some ditch.”
“I doubt that, sir. Madame Slovitza is a very formidable woman. And she was armed.”
“Good God! You didn’t give her a British service weapon?”
“No, sir. I gave her a revolver I took from the Austrian captain.”
“Well, that’s something. At least the Austrians won’t be able to trace that back to you. Now tell me, you were alone with this woman for several days . . .”
“Not alone, sir. I had Lockwood with me.”
“Lockwood?”
“My valet, sir. An invaluable man.”
“I suppose he was also engaged in killing Austrians. I don’t want to hear about it. At least they haven’t named him. Just another person who was involved in the criminal activities of this fellow Smith. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“With respect, sir, you haven’t asked it.”
“You know what I mean, Townsend.”
“Well, sir, I am bound to say that Madame Slovitza was very grateful to me for saving her life.”
Gorman pointed. “You, Townsend, are a cad.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Aren’t you engaged to that lovely Gracey girl?”
“Ah, no, sir. We are not actually engaged. There is an understanding.”
“And are you going to tell her about your Serbian bit?”
“I hadn’t thought of doing so,” Berkeley said, “as it would involve telling her what I was really doing in Hungary, and that is top secret, is it not?”
Gorman clear
ed his throat, noisily.
“Sir,” Berkeley said, “I will admit I acted hastily and perhaps irresponsibly. In my defence I would claim, however, that any English officer would have acted as I did when he saw a lovely and appealing woman being tortured.”
“Hm, I hope most British officers would have a greater sense of responsibility. However, the question remains: what are we to do with you? I hope you understand that were we to let the Austrians extradite you, they would certainly hang you for murder, quite apart from the international scandal that would result from it being discovered that you are a serving British officer. The Kaiser is already making all manner of anti-British pronunciamentos. He is furious over the way we backed France at the Algeciras Conference. He would love to stick another needle into us. And Germany is allied to Austria. He would have a field day. I suppose you have been relying all along on the fact that we cannot allow this to happen.”
“I hadn’t really considered it that deeply, sir. I did what I considered to be my duty, and will stand by that decision.”
“Even if your so-called duty were to bring down the government, eh? It seems to me that we have only a couple of possible alternatives. One is to bury you alive in some outpost of the Empire, so remote that not even the Austrians will wish to follow you there.” He paused to gaze at his subordinate. “This would have to be for a period of several years, and would, I’m afraid, put the kybosh on any plans you might have for either marriage or promotion for that time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does that idea appeal to you?”
“Not in the least, sir.”
“But there is another alternative, which could clean the whole thing up in a matter of weeks, and put you, and the government, entirely in the clear.”
Berkeley waited.
“One gets the impression,” Gorman said, “that the Austrians are less concerned that you killed some of their people than that you assisted this most dangerous anarchist to escape when they actually had her under arrest. You will have noted, no doubt, from that brief biography I read to you just now, that she appears to be getting both better and bolder at her job. They really feel she should be stopped before she does manage to kill a member of the royal family, or blows up any more railway stations. So it does occur to me that if we were to offer to exchange Madame Slovitza for the dropping of all charges against you, they may agree.”
“Unfortunately, sir, it is a matter of first catch your hare.”
“Yes,” Gorman said.
Berkeley swallowed. “I hope you’re not serious, sir.”
“The Austrians,” Gorman said, “have an almost insuperable problem, unless, of course, they can catch her on the job, as they so nearly did in Seinheit. For the rest, having committed her crime, she disappears across the border back into Serbia. I understand from the report that she is actually a Bosnian by birth, and it is of course the Austrian designs on Bosnia-Herzegovina that are causing all the trouble. However, Madame Slovitza is using Serbia, where anti-Austrian feelings are running high, and where she is safe. Even if they could find out exactly where she was at any given moment, for Austrian agents to attempt to arrest the lady would result in their lynching on the spot. What is required is an agent who can travel freely in the Balkans, a national of a nation which is known to be sympathetic towards Serb aspirations. If, in addition, this agent is someone known to Madame Slovitza, and trusted by her, as would necessarily be the case if he had once saved her life, well, I would say his task would be made extraordinarily simple.”
“I am sorry, sir, but I must decline,” Berkeley said. “It would be the most underhand act in history.”
“I think it is something you need to consider very carefully,” Gorman said. “You speak of it as underhand. Let us analyse what this woman did to you. She appealed to you for help, a woman on the run from what she represented as a minor anarchist action. You, being a gallant British gentleman, responded most effectively. Now, Townsend, if this woman had come up to you and said, I need your help, but I must tell you that I have just killed twelve innocent people, having already, over the past few years, killed several more and attempted to kill another several more, that I am a cold-blooded international assassin with a list of crimes to my name that is a yard long, and that if, with your help, I am enabled to continue my career I will undoubtedly kill quite a few more people, many of whom may well again be innocent bystanders . . . would you have been quite so anxious to rush to her help, no matter how attractive she might be?”
Berkeley bit his lip.
“Exactly,” Gorman said. “You acted as you did because you were not in possession of all the facts. Now that you are, you must realise that you made a mistake, a mistake which could have the most serious consequences unless it is set right, and very quickly. You, and you alone, have the ability to correct your own mistake.”
Berkeley sighed. Everything the general was saying was true. But it would still be a despicable act. “May I ask, sir, is this idea yours, or did it originate with the Austrians?”
“I will take the credit, Townsend. But as I have said, I have no doubt that the Austrians will go for it. They will also be prepared to keep it a secret, as will we. No one will know of your exploit, outside a few army officers, of senior rank, and a very few government ministers.”
“And Madame Slovitza.”
“I don’t think anything she may have to say will be of much importance. While you, on your return from this mission, will receive your majority. As I am sure you are aware, any army officer needs to be a major by the time he is thirty-five, or he may find further advancement difficult.”
“Yes, sir. I will need to take Lockwood with me.”
“Very good. Having arrested Madame Slovitza, you will convey her to the Austrian border and hand her over. There is no need to do more than that. Once your mission is accomplished, I suggest you and, ah, Lockwood, return home just as quickly as possible, travelling through Hungary and Austria, as I do not imagine you will any longer be very popular in either Serbia or Bosnia. I will attend to the details, passages, false passports, safe conducts, etc., but of course I must not be involved in any way.”
“And should Madame Slovitza, or her associates, discern what I am doing and shoot me, sir? And Lockwood?”
“Then you will have died doing your duty to King and country. But do you really think that is likely?”
“No, sir,” Berkeley said.
*
Berkeley took the train up to Northampton and hired a trap to ride out to the village where his parents lived. He was an only son, and the more highly prized for that; they had in fact been very relieved when his wound had meant the end of his active service career – as far as they were aware. Equally, they were pleased that he had not been discharged, but had been continued in the army, both as a superb horseman and for his abilities as a draughtsman. “So how was Hungary?” John Townsend asked, shaking hands with his son. A retired civil servant, he relished the quiet of the countryside after a lifetime spent in London.
“Wet. Lockwood arrived yet?”
“He came yesterday. No use asking him anything.”
Berkeley grinned. “That’s why he’s such a good servant.”
He went into the garden to hug and kiss his mother.
“Did you find any good horses?” she asked.
“A few. They’re being shipped over.”
How easy was it to lie, even to his own parents.
“I know Julia wants to see you. She and her parents were over here last week. They . . . well, now you’re past thirty, they’re wondering when you’ll tie the knot.”
But lying to one’s wife on a daily basis would be an entirely different matter. And he really hardly knew the girl, for all that they had been thrown together as often as possible by their respective families, as being the ideal match.
“I’ll go over and see them,” he said. “Tomorrow.”
“I understand she’s been seeing quite a lot of Harvey Brad
dock,” Alicia Townsend remarked. Berkeley wondered if that might not be a good thing.
*
Lockwood had already unpacked their gear. “How was the War Office, sir?”
“All hell has broken loose,” Berkeley said, and outlined the first part of his conversation with General Gorman.
“Well, sir . . .”
“You are quite entitled to say, I told you so, Harry.”
“What I was going to say, sir, was that if they hand you over to the Austrians, they have to hand me over as well.”
“Good fellow. However, we have been given a way out.” He repeated the second half of his conversation with the general
Lockwood listened with a frown. “We go into Serbia, find the lady, arrest her, convey her to the border, and hand her over to the Austrians? Just like that?”
“Simple, isn’t it?”
Lockwood scratched his head. “And then we just leave again.”
“Even more simple, wouldn’t you say?”
Lockwood made a whistling sound through his teeth.
“Yes,” Berkeley said. “If we get through this one our nine lives will have been reduced to one, I should think. But . . . King and country and all that.”
“And the lady, sir? I had the impression—”
“Oh, fuck it, Harry! Of course I found her attractive. And compelling. Another week and I’d have fallen in love with her. Even if I’d known she was a murderess.”
“The Austrians will hang her, sir. After . . .”
“Yes, Harry. After tossing her about a bit. Believe me, I am trying desperately to think of some way to get us, and her, off the hook.”
“But we are going to Serbia, sir?”
“Yes, Harry. We are going to Serbia. Because we have no alternative. We’ll just have to see what turns up.”
*
Rationalise, he told himself, as he walked his horse over the rolling countryside to Gracey Farm, some ten miles away. He had acted irresponsibly, in terms of his mission, in getting involved with the anarchists. It had, as he had told Gorman, been a knee-jerk reaction to an appeal for help from a beautiful woman. Had he known she was a multiple killer he might have rejected her. Now it was simple: that as she was a multiple killer, and as he had wrongly killed several men in her defence, it was his duty to atone for that crime by arresting her and handing her over to the Austrian judiciary, even knowing that it would involve hours, perhaps weeks, of torment with a rope in a public square at the end of it. But that knowledge could not be allowed to interfere with his duty, any more than the memory of that naked, voluptuous body dangling from the beam to be whipped, or even more the memory of that same voluptuous body writhing naked beside his own beneath their blanket in the Carpathian Mountains.
To All Eternity Page 3