Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  As Ivan stepped down from the carriage and turned, offering her his hand, she was aware of a moment of pure happiness. The war was turning in her country’s favour; her uncle and Sandro were back in Belgrade; all the Vassilovich and Karageorgevich family members possible were again gathered together; her parents were reunited and by marrying Ivan Zlarin she had given her father peace of mind.

  Ivan’s men had dismounted and were beginning to form a ceremonial pathway for them. As they did so a young woman carrying a baby pushed her way directly in front of Katerina, thrusting the baby in her arms. Knowing that by tradition the baby would be a boy Katerina kissed him while her well-wishers cheered themselves hoarse.

  After, when she had handed the baby back to his mother, other age-old symbols of good luck and prosperity were pressed on her. With her arms full of wheat loaves and bottles of red wine she entered the palace as laughingly laden as a peasant girl returning from market.

  All through the first part of her wedding breakfast, her optimism about her married future never faltered. It was a junior officer who ended it. Not a guest, he had entered the room as discreetly as possible and asked permission to speak to Ivan.

  At first Katerina was barely aware of him. In looking happily around the long banqueting-table she had realized for the first time that Max had accompanied them back to the Konak. He was seated at the far end of the table and, flanked by two of Ivan’s military friends, was drinking heavily and joylessly.

  ‘They are five of them, sir,’ she heard the young officer say to Ivan. ‘All Austrians and all mere boys. They were found hiding in the Konak stables.’

  Ivan gave an irritated shrug of his shoulders. ‘Have them shot,’ he said peremptorily.

  Katerina forgot her distress at Max’s obvious misery. It was Ivan, now, who had all her attention. She turned towards him, deeply shocked. ‘Surely they don’t have to be shot if they are so young? Can’t they be sent to a prison camp?’

  ‘If the Austrian army hadn’t behaved like animals at Shabatz, maybe they could have been,’ he said dryly. ‘As it is, they killed all prisoners and wounded and I gave orders yesterday that we would return the compliment and that no prisoners were to be taken in Belgrade.’

  He turned again to his waiting officer. ‘Have them shot,’ he ordered again. ‘At once.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As the officer saluted Katerina felt panic bubble up in her throat. She, herself, had killed an Austrian but it had not been in cold blood and on her wedding day.

  She said tautly, ‘I understand how you feel about the men the Austrians slaughtered, I understand because of the crimes they committed here, in Belgrade. But even though I understand I don’t want any Austrians executed on my wedding day. It would be something I could never forget.’

  ‘I’m sorry if my decision is causing you distress,’ he said with obvious sincerity. ‘It’s one with which you should never have been burdened and you can rest assured that the officer in question will be severely disciplined.’

  All around the table their guests were keeping their eyes tactfully averted, pretending that nothing was amiss. Only Max was openly watching their exchange of words, the expression on his heavy-featured face unreadable.

  ‘I don’t want him disciplined,’ Katerina said, her horror increasing. ‘I don’t want anyone disciplined or executed or treated harshly in any way at all!’

  Max had risen unsteadily to his feet. No-one took the slightest notice of him. All attention, however much the pretence was otherwise, was centred on the bride and groom.

  ‘My decision is a military one and it is pointless our discussing it any further,’ he said, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. ‘We should be enjoying our wedding breakfast, not discussing matters which have no place at such a time.’

  As he was talking Max had begun inebriatedly to walk from the room. Ivan diplomatically ignored him.

  ‘Have you seen the number of wedding gifts we have received?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘Where on earth are we going to store them all?’

  She had no idea, nor did she care.

  She said in a choked voice, ‘You don’t seem to understand how important this is to me. Please, as a special favour…’

  Distantly, from the courtyard, a rifle-shot rang out.

  Ivan’s best man sprang to his feet. ‘It’s time for some music and some dancing!’ he announced boisterously. ‘Where’s the gypsy band? Tell them we’re ready to begin dancing!’

  Another shot rang out and Katerina knew it was too late for any further pleas. The gypsies bounded in and there were shouted demands from the guests for them to play a wedding kolo.

  Katerina felt frozen inside. How could she lead the dancing in the kolo when two young boys had been executed and another three, within hearing distance of the music, were about to be so? Why had Ivan been so obdurate? Surely a gesture of mercy on their wedding day would not have been interpreted by anyone as a sign of weakness?

  Ivan had taken her hand in his and was drawing her to her feet. ‘We must lead the dancing,’ he was saying reasonably, as if nothing untoward had happened.

  Conscious that all eyes were now on her, she forced herself to comply with his request, listening all the time for further sounds of rifle-fire.

  None came. In a sea of misery she wondered if it was because more than one man had been shot by the previous volleys of fire.

  As the band began to play and a huge circle was formed, she looked across at her husband and saw the familiar small frown creasing his strongly marked brows. Was he, too, aware of the oddness of the two separate volleys of rifle-fire? She had no way of telling. The communication that had begun to burgeon between them was now at an end, not just temporarily but permanently. In a moment of stark reality she knew she had been wrong in thinking she could learn to love him. His personality was too stern and too unbending for her ever to be able to do so. All she was going to be able to do was to go through the motions of being a loving wife just as now, her heart totally untouched by the music, she was going through the motions of dancing.

  As the kolo eventually came to an end she saw Max re-enter the room. Gracelessly he began to walk in their direction and in growing alarm she realized that he was intent on speaking with Ivan.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said to him with rude off-handedness a few seconds later, ignoring her completely. ‘Welcome into the Karageorgevich family, Major Zlarin.’

  ‘Thank you, Major Karageorgevich. I deem myself highly honoured…’

  ‘We are, of course, a family with a bloody history,’ Max continued, cutting him short. ‘To listen to our enemies you’d think each and every one of us was a barbarian, including King Peter and Prince Alexander. It isn’t true, of course. We are only barbarians on the battlefield. That being the case, and not wanting there to be any confusion in the public mind about Karageorgevich honour, I have just returned from attempting to rescind your recent order for the execution of five prisoners.’

  Ivan drew in a savage intake of breath and Max continued unperturbed, ‘Unfortunately I was too late to prevent the execution of two of the men, or should I say boys as they could have been no older than seventeen. The remaining three, however, are on their way to a prison camp.’

  ‘You’ve over-reached yourself, Major!’ Ivan’s voice shook with the force of his anger. ‘You’ll be court-martialled for this insult! Ruined!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Max said disinterestedly. ‘There isn’t a military tribunal in the country would sanction the court martial of a Karageorgevich. Especially one about to be promoted to brigadier. Your own court martial, however, would be a relatively easy matter to arrange. Good day, Major.’

  Still avoiding all eye contact with Katerina he turned on his heel, walking away from them with the obvious intent of leaving the room for good.

  ‘Let’s dance,’ Katerina said quickly, before Ivan’s wrath exploded and he made his fury with Max public. ‘They’re playing a Machvanka
and it’s my favourite.’

  He was rigid with fury, his nostrils pinched and white, his mouth a thin hard line. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond to her and then he nodded, saying tightly, ‘Yes. Of course.’

  The danger was over. As they again led the dancing she felt weak with relief, knowing that if he had embarked on a public feud with Max he would have been professionally destroyed by it. As it was, she knew that Max would not gossip about the incident, that as far as he was concerned it was over and closed.

  Her heart hurt with the force of the gratitude she felt for him. He, alone of everyone who had overheard Ivan’s tersely given order, had appreciated the monstrosity of it. As Ivan whirled her around in time to the music and the skirts of her white chiffon dress floated around her ankles, she wondered when she would be able to thank him; and if she would ever be able to do so adequately.

  That night, and for the next three nights, it was arranged they stay at the Konak. It had been Sandro who had suggested the palace for their honeymoon and Katerina had been deeply appreciative. It meant she would be among familiar surroundings in what she feared were going to be the most stressful few days, and nights, of her life.

  Her premonition didn’t fail her. When, that night, Ivan entered their bedroom from his dressing-room, his sleek black hair shining with water droplets, a tie-belted silk dressing-gown hiding his nakedness, his first words did nothing to create a sense of ease between them.

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ he said succinctly.

  She was sitting in bed, decorously attired in an exquisitely embroidered nightdress, her arms protectively clasped around her knees. Her heart, already racing as if it were about to explode, began to race even more swiftly and more erratically.

  ‘Yes?’ she said hoarsely, grateful at least that a confession would delay the inevitable moment when he joined her in bed, wondering if the time had come when she should tell him why she had accepted his proposal of marriage.

  The candle-lit room, plundered of its sumptuous furniture and fittings, had been hastily refurnished with basic necessities. These did not include sofas or chairs and he remained standing a yard or so from the bed, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his dressing-gown.

  ‘I’m fourteen years your senior and our marriage has been very … precipitate. It would have been unnatural if I had not had certain friendships in the past and I am not going to burden you with a confession of all of them. The majority were merely youthful escapades and of no moment then and certainly of no moment now.’

  He paused, seeking for the right words with which to continue and she said hastily, ‘But there’s no need for you to make any confession of past relationships! I don’t expect it. It never even occurred to me that …’

  ‘One relationship you must know about,’ he said, interrupting her with the same lack of empathy with which, at the wedding breakfast, he had refused her pleas that he show mercy to the Austrians. ‘It concerns a family member, a woman you will no doubt meet some time in the future and so it would be most remiss of me not to speak to you about it.’

  Katerina felt her cheeks beginning to burn. Whatever it was he was about to tell her, she didn’t want to know about it. Instead of making their first night together easy he was, by the very formality of his manner, making it even more fraught than it need be.

  ‘Please, Ivan,’ she pleaded, ‘it really isn’t necessary … I’d rather know about your life when you were a little boy, where you lived, the things you liked doing …’

  His frown intensified and she knew that he was not listening to her and that, no matter how much he might believe himself in love with her, he was never going truly to listen to her or understand her. His inflexible personality was, quite simply, incapable of it.

  ‘Zara is my cousin,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘She was widowed ten years ago and it was then we began our … relationship. It is now over and has been ever since I first met you.’

  She knew that the moment had come for her to make her own confession and was totally unable to do so. He was a man whose pride would never enable him to cope with the knowledge that she had married him without being in love with him, nor could she tell him she would quickly learn to love him as she had initially intended doing, for she doubted now that she ever would.

  The expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice changed as he said thickly, ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Katerina.’

  She knew that he was going to make love to her without there being any bridge of understanding between them and her arms tightened around her knees. Countless other women had endured the same fate and at least her husband loved her; at least he was in the prime of life, good-looking and a hero.

  As she tried to think of all the ways in which she was fortunate he walked to the side of the bed and blew out the candles on the night-table. In the thick darkness she heard the slither of silk as he discarded his dressing-gown.

  Unless she were to seem ridiculous, she knew she could no longer remain sitting, her arms around her legs. Exercising all the will power of which she was capable she slid her legs flat, her heart slamming against her rib cage as he slid into bed beside her.

  His own breathing had become harsh and heavy and she wondered if he, too, were nervous. His hands reached out for her, assured and knowledgeable, and she knew that he was not.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered fiercely, drawing her against the heat and hardness of his body.

  It was the body of a stranger and as his mouth closed on hers and she struggled to respond to him, she became aware of the faint lemon tang of his cologne; a cologne heart-achingly familiar. Memories came rushing back; Julian speaking to her at Konak afternoon tea parties, dancing with her at the Summer Ball, walking with her in the moonlit rose garden.

  Suddenly, as with ownership in his fingers he began intimately to caress her, she knew a life-line had been offered her. In the inky darkness she could imagine it was Julian who was making love to her; Julian to whom she was lovingly responding. She knew she would suffer guilt and shame afterwards, but afterwards could take care of it itself. It was now that mattered. Now, that had to be survived.

  When, four days later, he left with his troops for the north-west border, her relief was crippling in its intensity. Conscious of her lack of radiant happiness and aware of both her mother’s and Cissie’s concerned curiosity, she avoided all opportunities for confidential feminine chats by spending all day, every day, nursing at the hospital.

  Soon she was there day and night. During the Austrian occupation

  there had been an outbreak of typhus in the north of the country

  among Austrian troops. Now, though there were no longer any Austrian troops on Serbian soil, the epidemic spread. Within weeks the entire country was devastated by it.

  One morning, exhausted to the point of collapse after yet another night without sleep, Katerina said fearfully to Cissie, ‘I think I’m infected, Cissie. I feel terrible.’

  Cissie paused in what she was doing, wiping perspiration from her forehead and looked at her critically.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said bluntly. ‘Let me take your temperature.’

  ‘I can’t! I’m going to be sick!’

  She grabbed hold of the nearest bowl and as she vomited Cissie filled a glass with water.

  ‘Here,’ she said after a little while. ‘Drink this.’

  Katerina’s hand shook slightly as she accepted the proferred drink. She had known, when she had begun nursing typhus patients, the risk she was running and had thought herself prepared for any consequences. Now she realized how wrong she had been. She wasn’t prepared at all. She was horrifically frightened.

  ‘Let me take your temperature,’ Cissie said again, ‘and let me check your pulse rate.’

  When she had done so she said, ‘Is this the first morning you’ve been sick?’

  Katerina shook her head. ‘No, I was sick yesterday morning. I thought then
it was just over-tiredness. I still don’t have any spots and to be truthful, I don’t feel feverish, just vilely nauseous.’

  ‘You’ll probably feel like that for a while,’ Cissie said without the least trace of concern. ‘For three months or so at least.’

  Katerina stared at her, her eyes widening.

  For the first time since typhus had been diagnosed in Belgrade, Cissie grinned. ‘You are a simpleton, Trina. You haven’t typhus. You’re pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant?’ For a moment she was disbelieving and then she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. She hadn’t the slightest temperature. She felt her pulse. Despite her tiredness it was strong and steady. Relief and joy swamped her. She wasn’t sick. She was having a baby. A baby she wanted more than she wanted anything else in the world.

  All through the spring the typhus epidemic raged and all through the spring there were no further direct attacks by the Austro-Hungarian army.

  In July, there came reports of Austro-Hungarian troops and German troops, massing in huge numbers in Hungary and the rumour was that they intended forcing their way through Serbia to Constantinople.

  All through late summer and early autumn the country waited for the inevitable onslaught. Alexander appealed to the Allies for help and was told that aid would come from Bulgaria. Alexander, knowing that Bulgaria was only waiting for the most advantageous moment to enter the war alongside Germany and Austria, protested vainly. Even when Bulgaria began mobilizing her army, the Allies refused to believe her intention.

  In October, when three hundred thousand Austrian and German troops began a tremendous attack upon the Danube front and Bulgaria threw off her mask of deceit and simulataneously hurled four hundred thousand troops across the western frontier, Serbia was without Allied aid.

  By November it was obvious that defeat was inevitable. It was Zita who broke the news to Katerina.

  ‘Sandro sent news this morning,’ she said, walking in on Katerina in the nursery where she was breastfeeding Peter. ‘Apparently there can be no question of the remnants of the army falling back. There is no longer anywhere for them to fall back to. There is going to have to be a complete retreat.’