Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  The Austrian’s body was horrendously heavy. Time and again she had to halt, panting for breath. Blood smeared the carpet and she wondered if she was wasting her time. Anyone entering the konak would be aware that an act of violence had recently taken place. She remembered that the house had served as Austro-Hungarian headquarters and that prisoners had no doubt been questioned in it. Blood on the carpet would arouse no undue curiosity.

  Reaching the cellar door she yanked it open with relief. Hiding the body was perhaps totally unnecessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. If Austrian officers returned and found their murdered comrade she didn’t want an innocent person being shot in retribution.

  Summoning the last remains of her strength she dragged the cumbersome body to the head of the stone steps and pushed. It buckled over, slithering and sliding down into the darkness. Panting harshly she turned her back on it, shutting the cellar head door firmly behind her. With luck it wouldn’t be found until after it had ceased to matter.

  Her mother was waiting for her in the hall, dressed in an incongruously resplendent matching afternoon dress and winter coat.

  ‘If we’re going to be liberated I want to be dressed for the event,’ she said defensively.

  She no longer looked like a woman who had suffered near rape. Though her face was still ashen, her eyes were no longer in shock. They were those of a woman who had herself in control again. A woman who wasn’t going to let the action of a now-dead stranger upset her equilibrium.

  Sensing the change that had come over her mother in the short while they had been apart, Katerina felt relief flood through her. Her mother had changed into the most elegant outfit she could find not just in order to celebrate the city’s liberation, but as an act of defiance towards the outrage she had suffered. The colour of the dress and coat was royal purple and she wondered if the colour, too, had been chosen on purpose. The coat was narrow and twelve inches or so shorter than the equally narrow ankle-length dress. The lapels and cuffs were edged in black braid and if her mother had also been wearing a hat she would have looked as if she were about to attend a Konak tea party.

  Reading her thoughts a ghost of a smile touched the corners of Zita’s mouth. ‘I have every intention of stepping inside the Konak before today is over. I wonder if Peter has thought to give orders that no-one is to remove the Habsburg flag until he is able to do so himself? I hope he has. I want to be there when he hauls it down and tramples it underfoot.’

  They began to walk out into the courtyard and she said, her smile fading, ‘I wonder how his arthritis is after all these months of fighting? A lesser man would have simply stayed with his government in Nish, not shared the hardships of the trenches with men anything up to forty years his junior.’

  Katerina’s eyes darkened apprehensively. She was wondering how her father had fared. Though only in his forties, not his sixties, he was still no longer young and the last few weeks of winter damp and cold would have taken their toll.

  As they stepped out into Prince Milan Street it became obvious that the fighting was now in the city itself. As sniper-fire whistled over their heads, they ducked into the first gateway they came to, pressing their backs against a high stone wall.

  ‘Should we go back to the house?’ Zita asked, still deferring to Katerina’s new-found authority.

  Katerina shook her head. ‘No. We’re going to be needed at the hospital. If we take it slowly and carefully we’ll be all right.’

  A fleet of Austrian staff cars roared down the street, heading towards the river.

  ‘They’re going!’ Zita said exultantly. ‘Every last Austrian officer is running away! Oh God, please let your father be among the troops about to enter in triumph. And Alexander. And Max.’

  Katerina put her head cautiously around the corner of the six-foot high gateway. What looked to be an entire division of Austro-Hungarian troops was surging down the street, racing after their fleeing officers. She ducked back again, wondering how long it was going to be before they could continue on their way.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Max,’ she said as the troops began to thunder past, only feet away from them.

  Zita had to raise her voice to a shout in order for it to be audible. ‘Your father will tell you everything you need to know! When the wedding will take place! Where you will live!’

  A fresh outburst of gunfire added to the din. Katerina took a deep breath. She should never have started the conversation under such grotesque circumstances but now she had done so, she was determined to finish it.

  ‘I’m not going to marry Max!’ she shouted as a fresh barrage of shots flew over their heads. ‘If Papa consents, and I think he will, I’m going to marry Major Zlarin!’

  Zita’s jaw dropped. ‘Zlarin?’ she asked increduously. ‘But when did the two of you become acquainted? Where? I don’t understand.’

  Despite the danger of the position in which they were, with enemy forces fleeing through the streets and bullets flying, Katerina felt a spasm of amusement. Never in her life had she seen her mother so stunned.

  ‘Nothing has been going on behind your back,’ she said as the number of running soldiers began to thin. ‘I haven’t seen him on any occasions you don’t know about. He asked me to marry him when he came to the hospital and gave me the pistol. I accepted.’ She gave another cautious look around the corner of the gate. The road was now clear of enemy soldiers and she said decisively, ‘Come on. Let’s make a run for it.’

  ‘Wait!’ Her mother clutched hold of her arm. ‘What do you mean, he asked to marry you when he gave you the pistol and you accepted? Hadn’t he given you any indication previously of his feelings? How long had you been secretly in love with him? Why hadn’t you told me?’

  ‘Not now, Mama. We’ve got to get back to the hospital. Can you hear distant cheering? Do you think the army is at the city gates?’

  Together, hand-in-hand, they broke into a run, taking the shortest route. In every street and every alleyway Belgraders were pouring out of their homes eager for their first glimpse of their returning, victorious army.

  ‘They’re here!’ came the cry. ‘They’re here!’ And long before Katerina and Zita reached the hospital Serbian cavalry was pouring into the city to be greeted by a deliriously grateful population.

  ‘Shall we stay here and join in the fun?’ Katerina shouted to her mother as they were deafened on all sides by Slavic hurrahs of ‘Zivio! Zivio!’

  Zita nodded vigorously, her hideous ordeal nearly forgotten in the dizzying exhilaration of welcoming back an army so obviously, unequivocally triumphant.

  From open windows winter flowers began to fall as women and girls raided vases and gardens. Chrysanthemum after chrysanthemum, white and yellow and flaming orange, were hurled over the heads of the exultant heroes until the ground beneath their feet was a literal carpet of petals.

  A joyous-faced girl next to Katerina held the ceremonial sash she had embroidered for her bridegroom to wear on their wedding day. Squeezing a way to the front of the crowd she ran out into the street, hurling it around the neck of a delighted soldier. Other girls began to do the same until the marching men began to look like an army of festive bridegrooms.

  When shots again began to ring out from the direction of the Sava no-one was perturbed. Everyone knew it was only their own troops helping the last of the Austrians and Hungarians back across the river into Hungary.

  When Alexander rode down the street the cheering was at fever pitch. Tears poured down Katerina’s face. For the first time in weeks she wished desperately that Natalie was in Belgrade; that she, too, was sharing this wonderful moment.

  Shouts of ‘The King! The King!’ went up in a tornado-like roar as a ramshackle open-topped car trundled into view. Katerina’s throat hurt with the intensity of her cheers. Elderly and arthritic her uncle had fought alongside his troops like a common soldier. Never again would she feel less proud of her Karageorgevich heredity than her Vassilovich one. Not since the elderly Fred
erick the Great had ridden into battle with his troops had a king of his age acted in such a way.

  In her vibrant purple Parisian coat and dress Zita stood out from the crush around her as if she were wearing a tiara. Peter saw her and in disbelief and concern instructed the officer driving the car to halt.

  Zita seized hold of Katerina’s hand. ‘Come on,’ she said abandoning a lifetime of cool dignified reticence. ‘We’re Karageorgevichs and this is our moment just as much as it’s Peter’s and Sandro’s and Max’s and Papa’s,’ and before Katerina could protest she dragged her after her through the crowd, out into the street and across to the car.

  Peter’s grizzled eyebrows were high in disbelief. ‘Zita! My dear girl! I had no idea you were still in the city! And Katerina, too!’ He motioned them to join him. ‘You should both have been at Nish…’

  ‘We’ve been nursing at the hospital, Sir,’ Zita said as she sat in the rear seat, overwhelmingly grateful that she had changed into an elegant outfit and looked as if she were a member of the royal family and not a scullery-maid.

  Katerina sat beside her, well aware that she looked every inch a scullery-maid. Her serviceable blackberry-blue dress was splattered with bloodstains and tendrils of sweat-soaked hair had escaped from her neat chignon and were clinging damply to her temples and the nape of her neck.

  The crowd didn’t care. It was obvious from King Peter’s action that they were members of his family; members who had quite voluntarily stayed in the city to suffer under enemy occupation.

  As the battered staff car once more revved into life the deafening roars of ‘Zivio! Zivio!’ were as much for them as they were for the King and his troops.

  ‘Alexis is leading his men in somewhere behind the cavalry,’ Peter said, acknowledging the cheers as they neared the Konak. ‘And young Max is also leading troops into the city. He and his men fought their way north like devils. I’m going to have him promoted to brigadier. He’ll be the youngest brigadier in the army and one day he’ll be our youngest general.’

  At the prospect of being flung so soon into Max’s company Katerina shot her mother an anguished glance. Max’s conversations with her father would have convinced him that he was on the point of becoming engaged to her. Who was going to tell him differently?

  Zita, interpreting the glance correctly, laid a comforting hand on hers. ‘Don’t worry, my love. Immediately I see Papa I will tell him of Major Zlarin’s proposal to you and of your desire to accept it.’

  Katerina didn’t correct her mother by saying that she had already accepted the proposal. If her mother wanted to believe that circumstances were normal and that she was waiting for her father’s consent before accepting Major Zlarin’s offer of marriage then she was quite happy to allow her to do so. All that mattered was that her father abandoned all thought of Max as a son-in-law. He had always been a loving and tolerant father and she was certain that now she had made her own choice as to a husband he would respect that choice and give her his blessing.

  She wondered where Major Zlarin was, if he were among the troops who had fought their way north and retaken the city.

  As the staff car rumbled into the Konak courtyard euphoric, near hysterical Belgraders thronged after it. The Habsburg flag had already been hauled to the ground by a triumphant student. Too much a gentleman to show his intense disappointment at not being able to haul it down himself, Peter courteously allowed the proud young man to present it to him. For a brief second he held it aloft so that there might be no mistaking the object he held and then, as the crowd roared themselves into a near frenzy, he threw the yellow and black flag to the ground, spat on it and trampled it underfoot.

  Katerina found entering the Konak after its occupation by the Austrians an even worse experience than entering her own home. Though her own home had suffered vile desecration it had not been stripped of its contents. In the Konak, room after room was totally bare.

  ‘They brought furniture vans from Hungary, your Majesty,’ a distraught official told the king. ‘Nothing remains, not even your Majesty’s personal photograph albums.’

  Haggard-faced, his rheumatically afflicted hands clasped behind his back, King Peter walked through the rooms of his plundered palace.

  Katerina and Zita, sensing it was a tour of inspection he wished to conduct alone, remained in the now echoingly empty Grand Salon.

  They were still there when a weary but triumphant Alexis strode in on them.

  Zita entered his arms like an arrow entering the gold, tears of thankfulness streaming down her face.

  ‘Oh my love! Oh my darling!’ she gasped between kisses. ‘Are you all right? Have you been hurt? Are you going to be staying in Belgrade? Is the worst over now? Is the war drawing to a close?’

  He hugged her close, hair that had previously only been grey at the temples now grey all over. ‘I’m not staying,’ he said thickly, knowing the worst news must be broken at once. ‘The enemy may have been chased across the Sava but they still have to be chased across the Drina.’

  Reluctantly he released her and turned towards Katerina, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Has it been very terrible, my darling?’ he asked, taking her in his arms and rocking her against his chest as he had used to do when she was a little girl. ‘Was I grossly neglectful in allowing the two of you to stay?’

  Katerina thought of the nightmare that had taken place only an hour or so ago. She wondered if her mother would ever tell him all the details of what had happened and doubted it.

  ‘No,’ she said, not wanting him to feel the slightest measure of guilt for a decision that had been taken in defiance of his wishes.

  Zita said, her eyes carefully avoiding Katerina’s, ‘There was an incident at home. An Austrian officer was shot and killed. His body is down the cellar steps.’

  Slowly he released hold of Katerina, his eyes holding his wife’s. ‘An incident?’ he asked, his voice raw with dread. ‘What kind of incident? And which cellar steps? Our house has a score of cellars.’

  ‘The ones nearest the downstairs public rooms,’ Katerina said, coming to her mother’s rescue. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. Papa. We’ll tell you all about it later. But if you could have the body removed …’

  Despite her elation at the expulsion of the Austrians and her joy at their family reunion, her face was pale with strain. That she and Zita had witnessed unspeakable horrors was obvious, as was their reluctance to put those horrors into words. It was a reluctance he understood. He, too, had no desire to talk of what he had seen and done since they had last been together.

  He said: ‘I’ll send men to remove it immediately. Meanwhile, what is all this about Major Zlarin wishing to marry you? He told me when his troops and mine joined forces at Rudnik. He was exceedingly apologetic at speaking to you without having spoken to me beforehand but I assured him that, under the circumstances, I quite understood.’ A slight smile touched his mouth, the first time it had done so in months. ‘I was tempted to tell him that it wasn’t the first time a young man had omitted such a politeness when courting one of my daughters.’

  Katerina tried to smile in return and failed. He was referring to Julian’s initial proposal to Natalie on the night when she had been so certain he was going to propose to herself. For weeks she had successfully kept all thoughts of Julian at bay. Panic welled up in her throat. If she succumbed to them now she would never be able to marry Major Zlarin. And if she didn’t marry Major Zlarin she would have to live with the knowledge she was causing her father great distress by not agreeing to marry Max.

  ‘Is Major Zlarin with the troops who have entered the city?’ she asked, struggling to drive Julian’s image from her mind.

  Alexis nodded and then, sliding his arm around Zita’s waist, taking Katerina’s hand in his, he said gravely, ‘I want you both to listen to me very carefully. Belgrade may be back in Serbian hands but Serbia itself is far from being so. Austro-Hungarian forces still have to be routed from the north-west. Shabatz and all
the towns and villages around it still have to be re-taken. That being the case, very few of the troops who have just entered the city will be remaining. We will be leaving almost immediately to consolidate the victories of the last few days and to ensure that no enemy troops remain anywhere in the country.’

  Zita leaned against him, knowing there was going to be no closer physical reunion than the kisses they had just exchanged. Reading her thoughts, sharing her feelings, his arm tightened around her.

  ‘What I am going to ask of you now is going to be difficult for both of you. We have already had one hasty wedding in the family, without ritual and any kind of celebration. Now I am going to ask that we have another.’

  Zita pulled away from him, horrified. ‘What are you talking about? You’re surely not suggesting that Katerina should marry Major Zlarin in the same … the same unsatisfactory manner in which Natalie married?’

  ‘I’m suggesting that the wedding takes place without prior preparation,’ he said gently. ‘That doesn’t mean it has to take place privately, in the palace, as was the case with Natalie. This time the wedding will take place in the cathedral, but I want it to take place within the next few hours, before I leave the city.’

  ‘But why?’ Zita asked despairingly, all hope of seeing at least one of her daughters married with pomp and ceremony fast disappearing. ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘The war we are now in is not a war purely between Serbia and Austria. It is a world war, and it is not going to be over by Easter or even by next Christmas. When I leave the two of you this time there is no telling when we will be reunited and I would like to see Katerina married before I leave. Now do you understand?’

  Looking down into her bewildered face he saw that she did not. Gently he drew her once again into the circle of his arms. He had not wanted to put his reason for wanting a hasty marriage between Katerina and Major Zlarin into brutally blunt words but knew now that he had no option.