To All Eternity

by Christopher Nicole

  But for the week, at any rate, they recaptured the relaxed and loving gaiety of their first two weeks together, taking long rides in the countryside, walking the streets of Sabac hand in hand, enjoying the company of their children when at home.

  Yet there remained tensions.

  “Do you remember a woman named Julia Gracey?” Caterina asked one day.

  “Indeed I do. I was returning from a visit to her home when I was shot.”

  “Absolutely. Did you know that she is now married, to someone in the British Foreign Office named Braddock?”

  “Is that a fact? I recall there was some talk of it when last I was in England.”

  “She is now living in Belgrade.”

  Berkeley raised his eyebrows. “What is she doing there?”

  “Her husband is consul.”

  “Good Lord! How did you find this out?”

  “She wrote to me, oh, some time ago. During the campaign. Asking if she could come to visit.”

  “And did she?”

  “No, because I never replied to the letter.”

  “Don’t you think that was rather rude?”

  “Perhaps. I did not wish to see her. Did you ever have a relationship with her?”

  “Well,” Berkeley said, “as our families were near neighbours, we saw a lot of each other as children, and I suspect there was some sort of understanding between our parents, but it was never a possibility. She isn’t my type, and I think she always preferred Braddock.”

  “I am glad of that,” Caterina said.

  The next day Karlovy arrived.

  He entered the house somewhat suspiciously, as well he might, Berkeley supposed. He received him in the reception room, and closed the door.

  “Gregory said you had business,” the anarchist said.

  He looked somewhat down at heel, having lacked regular employment for the past couple of years.

  Berkeley poured them each a glass of wine and gestured Karlovy to a chair.

  “Did he tell you what this business might be?”

  Karlovy’s eyes were opaque. “No, he did not.”

  “It is my intention to reactivate the Black Hand.”

  “You, General? What brought on this change of heart?”

  “My knowledge of what is happening in and around Serbia.”

  Karlovy stroked his chin.

  “Specifically,” Berkeley said, “I wish to restore our contacts in Hungary, with a view to getting in and out of the country as we require. I am thinking of people like Paul Szigeti, and any other of Anna’s people who might still be willing to help us.”

  “It will take time.”

  Berkeley nodded. “You have the time. I wish everything in place by the end of this year.”

  “It will also take money.”

  “You shall have it.”

  “You also understand that, now the Austrians control Bosnia-Herzegovina which includes Slovenia, getting in and out of Hungary can no longer be a simple matter.”

  “Was it ever?” Berkeley asked.

  Karlovy gave a quick smile. “You also realise that crossing the border, legitimately, with anything like a machine gun, is no longer as easy as it was.”

  “We will be a hunting party, and will carry only hunting weapons.”

  “Next year.”

  “I will tell you when. I have said I wish our agents activated by the end of this year.”

  Karlovy nodded. “I will attend to it. Are we going after another payroll?”

  “I will tell you what we are going after when the time is right.”

  “Very good.” He stood up, and the door opened to admit Caterina.

  She gazed from one to the other in surprise.

  “It’s all right,” Berkeley said. “We are not about to kill each other.”

  “What are you doing here?” Caterina asked.

  “Your husband will tell you, madame,” Karlovy said, and left.

  Caterina looked at Berkeley.

  “Briefly,” he said, “I have decided to resume our campaign against Austria.”

  She gaped. “With Karlovy?”

  “With the Black Hand, yes. Karlovy is going to reactivate all of our agents.”

  “Oh, Berkeley,” she said, and went to him, hugging him tightly. “Does Gregory know?”

  “He does. He found Karlovy for me.”

  “Oh, Berkeley,” she said again, “I am so proud of you. And I shall ride at your side, just like Mother.”

  “Ah . . . we’ll have to talk about that, when the time comes. You understand that it cannot be for a while. Karlovy has to put things back in motion, and I have to get out of the army. That cannot be done until peace has definitely been concluded.”

  “But it will happen.” She hugged him again. “You have made me the happiest woman in the world.”

  When Caterina was the happiest woman in the world, she was also the most loving, and the most loveable woman in the world. When he lay in her arms, to leave her for another woman, even a woman like Julia, became unthinkable. And Julia was surely now gone forever.

  Now the lead weight of what he had been ordered to do became heavy indeed. And yet, without it, the total reconciliation with Caterina could not have happened.

  He returned to the army to be summoned immediately before General Putnik.

  “I am glad you are back, General,” Putnik said. “Have you heard the news?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “King George of Greece has been assassinated. Shot through the heart as he took his morning walk.”

  “Good God!” Berkeley’s mind immediately turned to Gregory. But what possible reason could any Serb have for murdering the King of Greece, their ally? “Do they know who did it?”

  “Oh, they have the assassin. He is a peasant, named Alexander Schinas.”

  “But why?”

  “He refuses to talk, either about his employers or about such mundane matters as where he got the gun, and the expertise to kill with a single shot.”

  “So, presumably . . .”

  “Oh, the Greeks will beat it out of him if they can. But whether they do or not, we can have no doubt as to who was responsible. So, we must prepare ourselves for another campaign.”

  “You think this was inspired by the Turks?”

  “The Turks no longer matter, General. The people we are now going to fight are the Bulgarians.”

  The Hand of Fate

  It appeared that Serbia and Greece had signed a secret treaty, not only jointly to oppose any further Bulgarian claims, but also to regain some of the territory Bulgaria had already claimed, and of which she was in possession. Berkeley was less astonished than Putnik had supposed might be the case, but now the assassination of King George gave them a casus belli, supposing it could be proved that Bulgaria was behind it. He had no doubt that London already knew of the murder, and had formed its own opinion as to who was responsible, but as to whether the War Office knew of the secret treaty was another matter. He gave Lockwood leave of absence from the brigade and sent him off to Salonika to find Smailes, hoping he was still there. The colonel had in fact returned to Athens, but Lockwood caught up with him. He returned three weeks later to tell Berkeley that Smailes was already aware of the situation, but that the great powers, who had been monitoring the settlements in London, had forbidden the Serbs or the Greeks to take any aggressive action. This was reassuring, but only the following week it was Bulgaria which declared war and crossed the frontiers in great strength.

  This war lasted little more than a month. The Bulgarian calculations had been based on three facts. Firstly, that it was necessary to sort the situation out by force before a final settlement was imposed by the powers. Secondly, that they possessed the largest army in the Balkans, and thirdly, that it was battle-hardened from the recent war. But it still remained a wild throw, inspired entirely by the Bulgarian commander-in-chief, General Michael Savov, without consulting his government. This hastily disavowed his action, but by th
en it was too late. The Greeks and the Serbs were already mobilised, and now they had the excuse to take unilateral action. Their combined numbers were not so inferior to the Bulgarians, and their men were just as battle-hardened. Putnik and his men advanced, the cavalry brigades to the fore, and gained a series of smashing victories. The Greeks in the south were no less successful, while the Turks in Constantinople immediately resumed activities. Bulgaria had been utterly defeated before the powers could react.

  Unfortunately, the war again exceeded parameters acceptable to the men who supposed they ruled Europe. The Albanians had taken advantage of Serb preoccupations in the east to cross the frontier into Macedonia and see what they could pick up for themselves. Berkeley was ordered to clear them out and occupy their country. This he did very rapidly, supported by an infantry brigade. Whereupon the powers, or at least Austria, did sit up and take notice. A Serbian-held Albania not only gave the Serbs access to the sea, but it reversed the situation in Bosnia-Herzegovina, in that the provinces were now surrounded on two sides by the Serbs.

  General Putnik himself arrived to inspect the troops. He was greeted with acclamation by his men, but when he entertained his senior officers he was very serious.

  “We have been ordered to evacuate Albania,” he told them.

  “May we ask who by?” Berkeley enquired.

  “Austria. She has given us an ultimatum, to be out in eight days.”

  They stared at him in consternation.

  “Then it is war at last,” General Palich said, “with the old enemy.”

  Putnik sighed. “There will be no war.”

  Once again they stared at him.

  “The Austrians have two army corps mobilised in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” he said, “just across the border. That is superior to any forces we have. We cannot fight them without being massacred.”

  “But, Russia . . .” someone ventured.

  “Is proving, as usual, all bluster and no substance. They tell us the recent famine in the Ukraine, and the political uncertainty since the assassination of Prime Minister Stolypin, has made it impossible for them to act on our behalf.”

  “So, we are going to crawl away with our tails between our legs,” someone said, bitterly.

  “I’m afraid that is what we are going to have to do. This time. One day, perhaps . . . I thank you, gentlemen. I thank you all. General Townsend, a word.”

  Berkeley waited while the other officers filed from the room.

  “You tendered your resignation a few months ago, and I could not accept it. You are welcome to tender it again, now.”

  “Will you tell me why, sir?”

  Putnik shrugged. “It would appear that our fighting days are done, without Austrian permission. That is an intolerable situation, but it is one we have to face. I do not think you, as an Englishman, should be required to endure it. My advice to you would be to leave Serbia. Take your wife and children back to England and resume your life there.”

  “But you still expect to fight Austria, one day.”

  “It is my hope, certainly,” Putnik said. “One day. If I live long enough.”

  “Then, sir, while I will accept your permission to retire from the army and attend to my own affairs, I will remain in Serbia, so that you may call upon me when that day arrives.”

  Putnik clasped his hand. “I wish there were more like you, General Townsend.”

  How Berkeley wished it could be possible to tell this gallant old gentleman the truth of what was happening, or about to happen!

  *

  “Strange, but I really feel as if we are going home,” Lockwood remarked, as they walked their horses north.

  Sabac was in fact the only home he had ever truly had, and his wife and family were there. Unlike Berkeley’s his had been an entirely happy marriage.

  They had changed from uniform into civilian clothes so as not to attract attention.

  “At least temporarily,” Berkeley agreed.

  Lockwood glanced at him. “Is there something on, sir?”

  “I’m afraid there is,” Berkeley said, and repeated the gist of his conversation with Smailes.

  Lockwood gave a low whistle. “Some do.”

  “A highly dangerous do. I am not insisting that you get involved, Harry.”

  “But you wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t wish me to be involved, sir.”

  “I have told you because you are the only person in this entire world I can trust. And I do need to trust someone. But it might be equally important for you to remain in Sabac to take care of things there, supposing I don’t come back.”

  “But you do expect to come back?”

  “Haven’t I always?”

  “Indeed, sir. I would like to accompany you, sir.”

  “And Marie, and the children?”

  “Well, sir, if you intend to come back, then I do also. If I do not come back, well, Marie knew she was marrying a soldier. And also, if I may say so, someone with already established loyalties which she has always known I would honour even above marriage.”

  Berkeley clasped his hand.

  *

  “So, you are giving up soldiering, again,” Colonel Savos remarked, when Berkeley paid him his customary visit. But now the situation was entirely reversed; Berkeley no longer needed to obtain information from the policeman, but he did wish to know just how much Savos knew about what was going on.

  “There comes a time,” Berkeley agreed.

  “Absolutely. So, are you now going to retire, General?”

  “I think so.”

  “Ah. Tell me, do you still see anything of Gregory Masanovich?”

  “I paid him a call the last time I was in Belgrade,” Berkeley said, having no doubt at all that Savos already knew that.

  “But he too is retired, eh?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Would it be possible for you to find out?”

  “I am not a police agent, Colonel.”

  “Of course not. But you are an old acquaintance of the good doctor, and I believe you have the well-being of Serbia at heart. After all, you have spent the last couple of years fighting for us, have you not?”

  “Does that have anything to do with Gregory Masanovich?”

  “It may. You are of course aware that there is considerable tension between Serbia and Austria. Déjà vu, eh? That ultimatum . . . the Austrians are just dying to get at our throats.”

  “We accepted the ultimatum, Colonel. Which is why I am here.”

  “Absolutely. However, we are again in a position where any overt act of aggression towards Austria could have the most serious consequences.”

  “And you think Gregory is planning some such action? My dear Colonel, the Hand has been disbanded.”

  The two men gazed at each other. He does know something, Berkeley realised.

  “As I said to you once before, General, I do not believe societies like the Black Hand ever disband, entirely. Certainly not as long as there are one or two principals left. Did you know that shooting has been heard coming from that school of his?”

  Berkeley frowned. “Shooting?”

  “We think it was target practice. These are schoolboys, you understand. Do you consider target practice should be a part of the normal school curriculum?”

  Berkeley stroked his chin. “You are not suggesting that Gregory would use schoolboys to raid into Austria?”

  “I believe he is training them for use somewhere. I think it might be a good idea for you to have a word with him.”

  “You mean, warn him off.”

  “That is what I mean, yes. It would be best coming from you rather than, officially, from me.”

  “I’ll see what can be done,” Berkeley agreed.

  He knows nothing of Karlovy, he thought, with some satisfaction.

  As it was now August, the school was shut for the holidays and Gregory was not to be found. “The doctor goes into the country, for the air, during the holidays,” the concierge explained.
r />   “And all the pupils go home,” Berkeley suggested.

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Some, I believe actually live abroad. In places like Bosnia.”

  “Well, they did. But most of their families have moved out, since Austria took over the provinces.”

  Berkeley nodded, thoughtfully, and made his way to Sabac.

  He was more disturbed than he had allowed himself to reveal by what Savos had told him. He couldn’t criticise Gregory for attempting to recreate the Hand, using entirely fresh, and very young, blood. Schoolboys, and schoolgirls for that matter, are always more eager to sacrifice themselves for a cause than their elders, however unpleasant the thought might be of using such essentially immature and innocent material to carry out crimes which could take them to the gallows.

  What he did not want, and could not allow, was for Gregory to embark upon some scheme which might cause a crisis which could result in the borders being closed and travel in Hungary restricted, at any time before next summer. Berkeley and Lockwood rode into Sabac, thus arriving before the train. In any event, no one at the Slovitza House was expecting them so soon. Marie seemed overwhelmed to see them, hugging Lockwood with desperate pleasure while the valet looked extremely embarrassed.

  “I hope you’re glad to see me as well,” Berkeley remarked.

  “Oh, General, sir, but . . .” She took in the civilian clothes for the first time. “You have left the army?”

  “That we have. Is Mrs Townsend up?”

  “I think she will be in the nursery, with the children. Or perhaps . . .” she changed her mind about what she would have said.

  “Yes?” Berkeley asked.

  “She will be in the nursery,” Marie said, with great determination. “Shall I tell her you are here?”

  Townsend wished, just once, that he was not be surrounded by deceit, or half-truths. On the other hand, was he not deceiving all of these people, all of the time?

  “I will tell her myself,” he said, and went to the stairs. Then paused, and looked over his shoulder. “Has Mr Karlovy called?”

  “No, sir. I have not seen Mr Karlovy. Dr Masanovich was here . . .”

  Foot on the bottom step, Berkeley frowned. “Dr Masanovich? When?”

  “A week ago, General. He came with a friend.”