Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  Two days later Gavrilo’s friend, the Vassilovichs’butcher-boy, solved her immediate problem.

  ‘Gavrilo won’t be at the Golden Sturgeon tomorrow,’ he said as she waylaid him at the kitchen door. ‘He and Nedjelko and Trifko all caught bad chills when they were away.’

  ‘How?’ she asked, nonplussed. It was the middle of June and the weather was scorching.

  He grinned. ‘Something about falling into the Drina,’ he said, hitching his basket higher on to his hip.

  Natalie frowned. The Drina river served as a border between Serbia and Bosnia. For the first time she wondered just how her friends had entered and left their homeland.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, knowing that she couldn’t keep him talking any longer without someone seeing them. ‘Tell Gavrilo I won’t be at the Golden Sturgeon for a week or two. Tell him I’ll see him in July.’

  As she watched him hoist his basket on to his bicycle and pedal away towards the street she was vastly relieved. She didn’t have to worry now about not going to meet Gavrilo and with luck, by the time they did meet again, she would be in the happy position of knowing that nothing about her family’s trip had appeared in any Belgrade paper.

  The night before they were due to leave for Sarajevo she knocked on her father’s study door. He called out for her to enter and as she did so, she said, ‘I need to talk to you, Papa.’

  He put down his pen, saying gently, ‘About tomorrow?’

  She nodded, sitting down on the leather chair opposite his desk. ‘Yes. I don’t understand why you should have agreed to pay your respects to an ogre like Archduke Franz Ferdinand…’

  Alexis suppressed a smile. ‘Franz Ferdinand isn’t an ogre, Natalie. In fact, for a Habsburg, he’s extraordinarly radical.’

  He seldom spoke about politics to Natalie as he did to Katerina but now he said, trying to make a complex subject simple, ‘When he becomes Emperor he intends taking drastic steps in order to silence Slav discontent within Austria-Hungary.’

  ‘How can he do that? Slavs don’t want to live within the horrid Habsburg empire, they want…’

  ‘He intends forming a separate state for them.’

  She stared at him, not understanding.

  ‘Instead of two states in the empire, Austrian and Hungarian, there would be three, Austrian and Hungarian and Slav. Power would be shared equally by all three states, there would be joint foreign policy, joint armed forces, a joint economy. It would be very similar to the American system where…’

  She understood now. And she understood what the consequences would be. ‘But that would be terrible!’ she whispered, hardly able to believe he was telling her such things.

  ‘Why? It would remove all grounds for discontent. Given such freedoms Slavs would live quite happily beneath Habsburg rule…’

  ‘And they would no longer want to leave the empire!’ Her eyes were wide and dark and horrified. ‘They would no longer want to join with Serbia in a united South Slav State!’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, highly pleased with the speed with which she had grasped the nub of the matter. ‘There would be no more talk of engaging in a war to liberate them because Franz Ferdinand would have liberated them himself.’

  The enormity of what he was saying made her feel faint. Unsteadily she rose to her feet, saying hoarsely: ‘But if Franz Ferdinand’s plans for reform are ever implemented there will never be a Yugoslavia! There will never be a Kingdom of the South Slavs with Belgrade its capital and Sandro its king!’

  His eyebrows lifted sharply. Because he wasn’t in the habit of talking politics with her he hadn’t realized quite how much of a Slav unionist she had become. With great gentleness he said, ‘Extremists may dream mystically of a great confederation uniting all the scattered remnants of our race, irrespective of religion, but it isn’t a realistic dream, my dear.’

  ‘It is, Papa,’ she said with fierce stubbornness. ‘It will just be harder to achieve it if Franz Ferdinand becomes emperor and I hope he never does.’

  A spasm crossed his face. She had merely meant that she hoped the middle-aged Archduke would die of natural causes, but there were other people who would not be particular about what causes Franz Ferdinand died of as long as he did not become Emperor and put his plans into action.

  He thought of Apis and shuddered. Apis wouldn’t scruple to assassinate an archduke, not if it meant keeping Slav discontent alive.

  ‘Good night, my pet,’ he said tiredly, hoping to God that Bosnia’s governor had done as he had advised him and put all his security forces on the alert. ‘Don’t forget we have an early start tomorrow. You need to be up early.’

  It took Natalie a long time to fall asleep. The more she thought about Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s plans for reform, the more horrifying she found them. What if union within a Austro-Hungarian-Slav federation appealed to Slavs outside the empire as well as within? What if it appealed to Serbians? What would happen then? Would it be the end of the Karageorgevich dynasty? The end of Serbia as an independent kingdom?

  A few yards away from her, Katerina also lay awake in the darkness. Julian had paid no further visits to the house, nor had he been at the weekly afternoon tea party at the Konak. Despite all the fierceness of her wishful thinking, underlying common sense was beginning to raise its ugly head. If he had intended proposing to her at the Summer Ball surely by now he would have manipulated another occasion on which he could do so?

  A surge of hope overcame doubt. How could he have done? There had been no parties at which they had both been invited; no court functions. Wishing she wasn’t going to be away from Belgrade for the best part of a week she closed her eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep.

  ‘And so we are staying at the Hotel Bosna, in Ilidze,’ Alexis said to his family as their private train sped west. ‘It’s a small resort town near to Sarajevo. We shall be there in time to greet the Archduke and Duchess on their arrival. Tomorrow and the day after I shall talk with the Archduke’s aides while the Archduke attends the army manoeuvres. Your duties will be to accompany the Duchess on her visits to hospitals and orphanages in the area.’

  ‘I’d rather watch army manoeuvres,’ Natalie said darkly.

  Alexis’s straight handsome mouth crooked into a smile. ‘Young ladies do not attend mock battles and you will enjoy yourself much more with the Duchess. She is an extremely likeable woman … and a maligned one.’

  Natalie’s interest was immediately caught, as he had intended it to be. ‘Why?’ she asked as their train steamed towards the Bosnian border. ‘Because the ogre is cruel to her?’

  ‘I’ve told you before, Natalie, Archduke Franz Ferdinand is not an ogre.’

  ‘Papa describes her as maligned because of the treatment she has received from the Emperor and the rest of her husband’s family,’ Zita interposed before tempers grew frayed. ‘Although she is of noble birth she isn’t of royal birth. When she married the Archduke the Emperor insisted that the marriage be morganatic, consequently she doesn’t receive the same deference her husband does. She isn’t allowed to accompany him in the royal carriage or sit by his side at the theatre in the royal box. At court dinners the youngest archduchess is placed above her at table and at court balls, though Franz Ferdinand might lead the procession, Sophie has to leave his side and appear behind the last princess of royal blood.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ Katerina was appalled. ‘If she’s his wife, she should be treated as his wife.’

  ‘Ogre!’ Natalie said again vehemently.

  ‘I shan’t tell you again, Natalie,’ Alexis chided. ‘The Archduke is not a…’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to the Archduke,’ Natalie said succinctly. ‘I was referring to the Emperor.’

  This time no-one disagreed with her. Her mother said: ‘Even worse than the social slights is the fact that no child of the marriage can succeed to the Habsburg throne. Franz Ferdinand sacrificed a lot in order to marry Sophie and it would seem he has never regretted it. Friends in V
ienna tell me he is as devoted to her now as he was fourteen years ago, when they married.’

  ‘I think that’s terribly romantic,’ Katerina said dreamily, staring out of the carriage window at a wild landscape of mountains and forests and rushing rivers and thinking of Julian.

  ‘I quite agree,’ her mother said, opening her bag to take out some embroidery. ‘It’s a love story that would make a wonderful novel.’

  For the rest of the journey Natalie imagined the Duchess as a fatally beautiful, ethereal heroine. The reality did not live up to her expectations.

  ‘My daughter, Natalie,’ her father said, introducing her to a middle-aged motherly looking woman with a cloud of superbly coiffed soft dark hair and a warm smile.

  There were other introductions. To the Archduke, who was just as stiff and formidable as she had imagined he would be; to the Governor of Bosnia, General Potiorek; to the Moslem mayor, Fehim Curcic; to Colonel von Bardolff, the head of the Archduke’s military chancellery, and to Countess Lanjus, the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting.

  When all the introductions had been completed and when refreshments had been served in the hotel dining-room, the Duchess said to Natalie, ‘We have received some very pleasant news today. My eldest son, Maximilian, has passed all his high-school examinations with distinction.’

  Natalie was genuinely pleased for her. It would have been very hard not to have liked the Duchess and as the Duchess was not a Habsburg, she saw no reason why she should even try.

  ‘After we have rested, we are going to drive into Sarajevo to visit the Oriental bazaar,’ the Duchess said confidingly. ‘Would you like to join us? I do so love shopping, don’t you?’

  ‘I adore shopping,’ Natalie said truthfully, deciding that the Duchess was very much her sort of person. ‘Will there be dresses at the bazaar as well as objets d’art?’

  ‘I imagine so. There will certainly be silks and I’m hoping there will be some inlay and metal work and that I can buy something for Maximilian, as a reward for his having worked so hard at his lessons.’

  Paul Nikitsch-Boulles, the Archduke’s private secretary, arranged that the Archduke and Duchess would travel with General Potiorek and that other members of the Archduke’s retinue who wished to shop, including the Vassilovich girls, would travel in another car.

  Natalie was beginning to enjoy herself. Much as she hated all that Archduke Franz Ferdinand stood for it was impossible to brood continually on that hate when she was amid countryside she had never seen before and when she was about to visit Sarajevo’s fabled Oriental bazaar.

  The city lay in a bowl, surrounded by mountains, and the journey down from Ilidze did not take long. Everywhere there were flags and bunting in readiness for the official start of the visit the next day. As their Daimler sped across a bridge fording a mud-green river and headed towards the centre of the town, Natalie felt light-headed with happiness. There would be an exceedingly grand dinner that evening at the hotel and no doubt there would be shoals of handsome young army officers present.

  She forgot all about her distress at being forced to be part of the hated Archduke’s retinue. None of her new friends would ever know. The visit was turning into an intriguing, exciting experience and she was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

  Within seconds of their Daimlers drawing up outside the bazaar word spread of their arrival. Well-wishers came running from all directions and even before they had reached the first of the stalls a crowd had gathered. Officers in the Archduke’s entourage slowly paved a way through the crush and Natalie laughed across at Katerina, revelling in the noise and the colour and the sensation of being in an exotic, medieval Eastern market. It was then, as a shaft of late afternoon sunlight dazzled her eyes, that she saw him.

  She blinked, her smile vanishing, certain she must have make a mistake. Like everyone else his eyes were on the Archduke and as she stared, still disbelieving, he moved slightly to try and see better over the heads in front of him.

  She hadn’t made a mistake. The sun was no longer in her eyes and he was barely three yards from her. Horror engulfed her. What on earth would he think when he saw her? How could she possibly convince him that her family’s inclusion in the Archduke’s retinue was a matter of political expediency and that none of them truly wished to be there?

  As the Archduke’s party moved with difficulty deeper and deeper into the bazaar she remained standing absolutely still, staring at Gavrilo. Her initial horror was beginning to ebb and bewilderment was replacing it. What on earth was he doing in Sarajevo? The butcher’s boy had told her that he and Nedjelko and Trifko had all returned from Bosnia a week ago, and that they were all suffering from severe chills and in bed, ill.

  An eager stallholder, seeing that she had become separated from her companions, thrust a roll of crimson silk into her arms and was grinning toothlessly at her as he urged her to buy. She ignored him, still staring at Gavrilo. As if sensing her eyes on him he turned his head suddenly, too suddenly for her to swing round and pray he wouldn’t recognize her from the rear.

  His eyes widened and she saw in them all her own emotions of disbelief, horror, and stunned amazement. He began to struggle through the crush towards her and as he broke free of the crowd surrounding them he grasped hold of her arm as if to steady himself, saying dazedly, ‘Natalie … for the love of God … what the devil are you doing here?’

  Chapter Five

  The roll of silk spilled from her arms, streaming over the dusty ground like a river of blood.

  ‘I … I …’ She tried to think of a plausible explanation and failed. ‘What are you doing here?’ she countered, deciding that attack was the best form of defence. ‘Your friend told me you left Bosnia a week ago and that you were sick.’

  It was Gavrilo’s turn to flounder in search of an explanation. ‘I was due to return to Belgrade last week when Trifko and Nedjelko returned, but there was a hitch.’

  The crowd had closed in around them and the Archducal party was now too deep within the bazaar to be seen.

  ‘And you’re not sick?’ Natalie demanded as the stallholder scrambled on the ground to retrieve his precious silk.

  ‘Sick?’ Gavrilo looked blank for a moment and then said, ‘No. I’m not sick.’

  He looked it. Never robust he now looked positively feverish. He looked around quickly as if nervous of being seen, and then said quickly, ‘I’m not supposed to be here and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell a single soul we’ve met up like this…’

  Over his shoulder Natalie could see a member of the Archduke’s entourage pushing his way through the throng, obviously searching for her.

  ‘… I can’t explain but I’m sure you understand, Natalie. It’s all part of the training exercise and…’

  Natalie didn’t understand but was too relieved at his not pursuing his questioning as to why she was in Sarajevo, to care.

  ‘… you must just forget this meeting. You haven’t seen me. I’m not here.’

  The uniformed member of the Archduke’s staff was looking straight at her. She saw recognition flare through his eyes and then relief followed almost immediately by annoyance.

  ‘Then if I haven’t seen you, the sooner we finish talking together the better,’ she said, anxiety returning in full flood as the uniformed figure began to bear down on them. ‘We’ll talk later, Gavrilo. At the Golden Sturgeon …’

  Gavrilo was still holding her arm. ‘You do understand, Natalie, don’t you?’ he asked, his hazel eyes urgent. ‘For your own sake it really is vitally important…’

  What was vitally important to Natalie was that Gavrilo didn’t realize she was a member of the Archduke’s shopping party.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, stepping away from him, praying that the officer who had come in search of her would not ask her to accompany him in Gavrilo’s presence. ‘And now I must go, Gavrilo.’

  She didn’t wait for him to say goodbye. His hand was no longer fraternally on her arm and she turned on her heel,
forging her way through a mass of Sarajevans towards the formdiable looking Austrian officer who had come to retrieve her.

  ‘What on earth happened to you?’ Katerina asked her later in the privacy of their bedroom at the hotel. ‘One minute you were by my side and the next you were gone.’

  ‘It was the crowd,’ Natalie said, wishing she could be more truthful. ‘The crush was terrible. I just couldn’t keep up.’

  She pretended to be deeply intent on choosing which of the gowns she had brought with her to wear to dinner. When she had first embarked on her meeting with Gavrilo and his friends at the Golden Sturgeon she had felt a frisson of excitement every time secrecy and subterfuge had been called for. She did so no longer. A secret it was impossible to talk about had drawbacks and she longed for the thrill of being able to share it with Katerina.

  ‘I’d save the hyacinth-blue for tomorrow night,’ Katerina said, looking across at her as she continued to gaze at a Paris-coutoured gown Helga was holding up for her inspection. ‘It’s only going to be a quiet dinner tonight. I don’t think Papa is looking forward to it. Count Conrad von Hötzendorf, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, is to dine with us. Papa says he is a terrible old warmonger who has been urging Emperor Franz Josef to crush Serbia for years.’

  Natalie’s eyes blazed with patriotic fervour. ‘Just let him try! It would be the exact excuse we need finally to rout the Austrians from Bosnia and Herzegovina…’

  Katerina’s eyes darkened. Despite all her expectations she was quite enjoying the trip and she didn’t want it spoiled by reminders of how tense the political situation was between Serbia and Austria and of how difficult a position her father was in, representing the Serbian government on Habsburg-ruled soil and in the presence of the heir to the Habsburg throne.

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about freeing Bosnia,’ she said, fastening a white rose to the neckline of her gown. ‘We might be overheard. It might cause terrible trouble for Papa.’